Melody could respond, the doorbell rang again. “Too late. They’re here and you can’t escape.”
“No way, you couldn’t pay me—”
Melody opened the door and Bass lost the ability to speak. Two statuesque models preceded Stephanie into the apartment. He promptly flopped onto the sofa and crossed his ankles on the black trunk used as a coffee table.
“Where should I put these?” Stephanie huffed as she held out two large shopping bags filled with boxes.
“Over there.” Mel pointed to the large wooden craft table that doubled as her dining table. The varnish was long gone and it was stained, paint-splattered and grooved, but she loved it more with each new flaw.
Melody was about to shut the door when she heard the elevator yawn open at the end of the hall. Out of habit, she stuck her head out to see who’d gotten off. Her breath caught. It took all her strength not to jump back into her apartment and slam the door.
Swallowing, Melody wiggled her fingers in a halfhearted wave and turned to her sister with gritted teeth. “You did not tell me Mother was coming to this thing.”
Her sister at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I didn’t? I thought you knew she was bringing Vicky.”
Dutifully, Melody waited by the door to greet her mother who flung her arms wide and brushed right past her. “There’s the bride,” she cried as she flitted across the room to envelop Stephanie.
Mel’s gaze connected with her youngest sister Vicky’s. They both rolled their eyes and shared a private smile. Reaching out, Melody wrapped an arm around her sister’s neck and tugged her into a tight hug.
At seventeen, Vicky was turning into a real beauty. She’d recently decided that she wanted to grow her hair to her waist like Melody’s. It currently hung just past her shoulders, and Mel was certain her baby sister would tire of the idea before it could get as far as her back.
Vicky was heavily influenced by both of her older sisters—a bit of a tomboy like Mel, with a knack for shopping like Stephanie. And, of course, she carried the full weight of their mother’s expectations on her shoulders.
All Rush women had been groomed to be role models in the African-American community. Beverly Rush presided over any and every minority-related organization or charity in the tri-state area. For her, image was everything, and today was no exception. She was the picture of elegance in her pearl-gray pantsuit, which perfectly complemented the silvery strands in her stylish bob.
Later, as the girls were all perched around Mel’s big art table addressing envelopes by hand because her sister insisted on the “personal” touch, Melody knew this was one area in which she excelled.
Having paid her dues hand-lettering comic books, Mel was confident her penmanship was beyond reproach. She addressed her first envelope in calligraphy, underscoring the last line with an elegant flourish. “How’s that, Stephanie?”
“Oh, Melody, that’s fabulous. If we didn’t have nearly five hundred to do, I’d ask you to do all the invitations. Doesn’t that look great, Mother?”
Melody winced instinctively, but couldn’t resist sliding her gaze in her mother’s direction. Beverly Rush got up and circled the table to stand behind her—Mel presumed to study the envelope up close.
Instead, Beverly grabbed a handful of Melody’s ponytail and wrapped it around her hand. “You are going to cut this for the wedding, aren’t you? It would take Francisco hours to force all that hair into a bun. You don’t want to take time away from the bride on her wedding day.”
Vicky gasped and Stephanie shouted, “Mother, stop it! I’d rather die than ask Mel to cut her hair for my wedding.”
Her mother released Melody’s hair and returned to her seat. “Well, Francisco is a genius. I’m sure he’ll think of something.”
Melody gripped the edge of the table. Two more months. She only had to endure this for two more months.
Bass came from the kitchen with the hors d’oeuvres she’d prepared. He passed finger sandwiches like a white-gloved waiter instead of a Web designer wearing black fingernail polish. He lingered beside Lana, the Nordic blonde, who took two sandwiches, much to everyone’s surprise.
Melody suspected that Lana had a crush on Bass despite the disapproval of the other model, Jessica. Earlier she’d heard Lana remark to Jess that Bass resembled rocker Dave Navarro.
Beverly picked up a sandwich and sniffed it. Sensing the forthcoming snide remark, Melody cried out, “Don’t eat them, Mother. They’re loaded with carbs.”
Both models dropped the sandwiches like poison. “They’re not low-carb?”
As Will guided Melody into the Franklin Hotel, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Melody Rush was proving to be anything but predictable. Part of him had thought she would show up in army boots and a black shroud. Instead, she came to class in a brown broomstick skirt, black silk peasant blouse and slinky gold sandals. Her long tresses had been braided into three sections and then wrapped into a knot on top of her head.
She didn’t exactly blend in, but a sore thumb she wasn’t. It wasn’t her attire, but her mood that was most surprising. In the short time he’d known her, he’d never seen Melody so quiet. This entire evening had probably been a mistake. What had he been thinking bringing Melody so far out of her element?
“Are you okay?” he asked as they rode the elevator down to the ballroom. “You’ve been quiet ever since we got into the cab. If you’re not up for this, we can—”
“No, I’m fine. I’m sure this will be fine.”
But, to Will, she looked anything but fine.
They entered the ballroom where it was already starting to get crowded. Several couples glided around the room as the live band played a waltz.
Fearing that Melody would panic and bolt, Will kept his hand firmly on her back. The trouble was, the feel of her back, warm to his touch through the thin silk of her top had him wishing they were in a room that wasn’t quite so public.
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