have the contact number for Bazz in Brooklyn to get the shoes made, so make an appointment, and quickly because he’s super-busy.
Leo’s are next. And, speaking of Leo...drumroll...tonight he’s cooking me dinner!
We’ll get onto the wedding menu tonight too. I’m thinking we should lean towards seafood, but with a chicken alternative for those who are allergic, and, of course, a vegetarian (dullsville) option.
Sunny xxx
PS: Was Marco Valetta always such a douche? Had dinner with him last night and he spent the whole meal talking about his inheritance—scared his father is going to gobble it up on overseas travel. Seriously, let the man spend his own money any way he wants! Marco thought he was going to get lucky, but after banging on all night about money and then suddenly switching to the subject of lap dances??????? As if!!!! He is SO off my Christmas card list. I’ll bet Leo Quartermaine would never be such a loser.
PPS: I saw a statistic recently that said about twenty-five million dollars is spent on lap dances each year in Vegas alone. Amazing!!!!
TO: Leo Quartermaine
FROM: Caleb Quartermaine
SUBJECT: Loving the Sunshine...
...and I don’t mean the New York weather, which is icky-sticky right now.
Just warning you, bro, that my custom-designed shoes are eye-poppers. I love them—but I’m the flamboyant type. Better prepare yourself!
Love the invitations, love the save-the-date, love the fact that you sent Sunshine a photo of the restaurant toilet rolls (yep, she told me). Think I love Sunshine too if she can get you to do that. Jon tells me half the male population of Sydney is in love with her—gay and straight—so I’m in good company.
Also glad about your hair—go, Sunshine! And glad about South.
Can’t wait to marry Jon. Seriously, I don’t care where or how we do it, as long as we do it. The party is just the icing on an already delicious cake.
Your turn now. Hope you’re out there hunting instead of spending every spare minute slaving over assorted hot stoves.
And please tell me the bunny-boiler Natalie is under control. If she turns up at the reception I am getting out the power tools and going for her.
CQ
Sunshine lived in an apartment in Surry Hills. The perfect place for people who didn’t cook, because wherever you looked there were restaurants. Every price range, every style, and practically every ethnicity.
Leo had sent a ton of supplies and equipment ahead of him, because he had a shrewd understanding of what he could expect to find in Sunshine’s cupboards—i.e., nothing much—and the thought of overbalancing the bike while lugging a set of knives was a little too Russian roulette for his liking.
He’d been cursing himself all day about offering to cook for her. Cursing some more that he’d offered to do it at her apartment—his own, with a designer kitchen and every appliance known to man, would have been so much easier. But then, of course, he wouldn’t get to see what her place was like. And, all right, he admitted it: he was curious about that. He imagined boldly coloured walls, exotic furniture, vibrant rugs, maybe some kick-ass paintings or a centrepiece sculpture.
He buzzed the apartment and she answered quickly.
‘Leo!’
He could hear the excitement in her voice. How did she do that? Could she really, truly, be that enthusiastic about everything?
‘Yep.’
‘Fourth floor,’ she said, and clicked open the door to the lobby.
She was waiting for him, apartment door wide open, when he got out of the lift.
Her hair was piled on top of her head—kind of messy, but very sexy. She was wearing an ankle-length red kaftan in some silky material that managed to both cling and flow. It had a deep V neckline and was gathered at the base of her sternum behind a fist-sized disc of matching beads. Voluminous sleeves were caught tightly at the wrists. She looked like a cross between a demented crystal healer and a Cossack dancer—but somehow bloody amazing.
His eyes, inevitably, dropped to her feet. She was barefoot. Good God! Stop the presses.
‘I am so looking forward to this,’ Sunshine confided, and puckered her lips.
Leo steeled himself, and after the tiniest hesitation she went right ahead and laid the kiss on him.
‘That pucker was enough warning, right?’ she asked with a cheeky smile. And then she rolled right on before he could answer. ‘And I was right—trout do not have especially thick lips. So! This way,’ she threw over her shoulder, and walked to the kitchen.
She gestured to three boxes on the counter. ‘Your stuff arrived about ten minutes ago.’
‘Good. I’ll unpack everything,’ he said, but he was more interested in the uninterrupted view into her apartment afforded by the open-plan kitchen.
And it was...disappointing.
White walls. No paintings. A serviceable four-seater dining suite in one section of a combined living/dining room in a nondescript, pale wood—pine, maybe. The couch was basic, taupe-coloured. A low coffee table in front of the couch matched the dining suite. There was a television atop a cabinet that matched the other furniture. Carpet a similar shade to the couch. Absolutely nothing wrong with any of it, but...no. Just no!
He nodded towards the living room. ‘What’s with the porridge-meets-oatmeal thing out there?’ he asked, shrugging out of his leather jacket, and tossing it onto one of the stools on the other side of the kitchen counter.
‘Oh, I thought you’d like it.’
Leo was speechless for a moment. Seriously? That was how she saw him?
When she came to his apartment she would see just how wrong she was!
Not that she would be coming to his apartment. But if she did...
Nope, he had to address this now or he wouldn’t be able to cook. ‘You’ve seen my restaurants—do they look like they’ve been furnished from a Design for Dummies catalogue?’
‘I guess I didn’t imagine you did that part personally. But there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with a neutral colour palette, you know! And... Well...’ She waved a hand at the living area. ‘This part wasn’t me, or it would be very different.’
‘So who was it?’
‘Moonbeam—and she just went for quick, basic, affordable. Out here and in her own room.’
‘But aren’t twins supposed to...you know...have the same taste?’
‘Negativo.’
‘So that’s a no, is it?’ Leo asked dryly.
‘A big no way, José.’
Eye-roll.
