typical. Her head knew this. Once again, though, it was her heart that was the trouble.
In fact it was a good thing, a needful thing, that Neil was insisting she come to his party. There’d be loads of men there, all quite as civilised as her lovely brother. It could be her testing ground. From this moment on, serenity was her cloak and her shield.
When her hand grew steady again, she lined both lids with the darker shade, painted a band of purple shadow beneath her eyes and on the upper lids, then switched to the turquoise brush inside the corners, across the bridge and all the way to her brows.
Standing back to examine her handiwork, she felt a surge of relief. Not only was the bruise undetectable, the stripe across her eyes looked quite atmospheric. It was dramatic, maybe a little over the top, but it suited her. Somehow it made her irises glow a vivid sea-green.
If she hadn’t been kicking herself over what a fool she’d been, how needy she must have been to fall for such a cliché, she’d have laughed to think of how poor old Neil and Emilie would freak when she turned up looking like Daryl Hannah in Bladerunner.
Though Emilie was no fool. She had grown up with Rémy.
That set Shari worrying again, so as an added decoy she drew a frog on her right cheekbone.
Now what to wear to Neil’s fortieth? If a woman was forced to go to a party wearing a stripe, it might be best to look gorgeous. A little shopping might be called for. Her smile broke through. With her camouflage in place, the frump could go out.
She’d cried her last tear over the man who couldn’t love. Cried and cried till she was empty.
It was time to get back on the horse.
CHAPTER TWO
LUC was made to feel abundantly welcome in Emilie and Neil’s pretty harbourside home. Luc, and at least a hundred of their friends. The place was crowded, its family atmosphere so warm it was palpable.
Too warm. A reminder of all that had departed from his world.
And, quelle surprise, Emilie was pregnant.
It seemed to Luc everyone was. Everywhere he looked from Paris to Saigon to Sydney women were swollen, their husbands strutting about like smug cockerels. The epidemic had spread across the equator.
He doubted he’d have noticed if he hadn’t looked, really looked that day, at the boulanger in the Rue Montorgeuil strolling with his pregnant wife, a brawny tender arm around her waist. The guy had been so proud, so cock-a-hoop, so in love with life and the world, Luc had carried the image home with him.
Worst mistake in history.
Apparently, when lovers ran out of things to say to each other, the last remedy to propose was marriage. Manon’s response to the suggestion of a child had been as swift as it was ferocious.
‘What has happened to you, darling? Do you suddenly want to tie me in chains? I am not the brood mare type. If you want that, find another woman.’ Her smile hadn’t diminished the anger in her lovely eyes.
Once he’d recovered from the shock, he’d realised the enormity of what he’d suggested. The fact that some women did agree to sacrificing their freedom and autonomy to reproduce was nothing short of a miracle.
Inclining his head, he accepted another canapé, wondering how long he would have to wait here in this hothouse of domestic fecundity before Rémy put in an appearance. He was beginning to have his doubts it would even happen. Could his cousin have got wind of his arrival? He’d hardly known himself until the last minute, when he was due to leave Saigon and thought of his pleasant Paris apartment waiting for him.
That empty wasteland. Traces of Manon in every corner.
Otherwise he doubted he would ever have dreamed of travelling so far. But from Saigon a few extra hours’ hop to Sydney had had its appeal. Deal with the Rémy problem, enjoy a few days of sunshine, blue seas and skies. Postpone work, Paris, his life. What was not to enjoy?
He should have realised. Wherever he went in the world, he was there.
At least Emi hadn’t changed. Like the sweetheart she was, every so often she darted back to the corner he was lurking in to ensure he wasn’t neglected.
Smiling, she offered him wine, her blue eyes so reminiscent of her twin’s. Or would have been if Rémy’s had ever possessed any kindness, humanity or the tiniest hint of the existence of a soul.
‘So tell me, Luc … is it true? Manon is pregnant?’
A familiar pincer clenched Luc’s entrails, though he maintained his smile. ‘How would I know? I don’t keep up.’
Emilie flushed. ‘Pardon, mon cousin. I don’t mean to intrude. I was just so surprised when Tante Marise mentioned it. I wouldn’t have thought … Manon never seemed the—the type to want babies.’
No, Luc acknowledged behind his poker face. She hadn’t been the type when she was with him. But there were only so many forms of betrayal a man cared to discuss.
He steered Emilie away from the blood-soaked arena of his personal life and onto the subject of burning interest to Head Office.
‘Do you see Rémy often?’
Emilie shook her head. ‘Mais non. Not so often since he was engaged.’ She smiled fondly. ‘He is in love at last. I think he has no need of his sister any more.’
Her hopeful gaze invited Luc to think the best of her beloved brother. Fat chance. The notion of Rémy in love with anyone but himself was about as easy to gulp down as this over-oaked blend.
‘Maybe he has gone to the outback to see a client,’ Emi said eagerly. ‘You know he needs to fly to the clients sometimes.’
Luc frowned. ‘Without informing his staff?’
Emilie coloured and cast a glance at her husband, who’d just joined them. ‘Well, Rémy’s always been—private.’
‘Secretive,’ Neil put in.
‘Neil. Don’t say secretive.’ Emilie gave her husband a spousely shove. ‘I’m sure he’s done nothing wrong. He may just have forgotten to leave a message.’
Reading Neil’s suddenly bland face, Luc had the impression Neil didn’t share his wife’s confidence in her charming brother.
Shari took a moment to nerve herself before pressing Neil and Emilie’s bell. She’d stopped wearing the ring weeks ago, of course, but if anyone asked her about it, if they even mentioned Rémy’s name, she still wasn’t sure how far she could trust herself not to turn into a complete wuss and burst into tears.
Too emotional. Just too emotional.
Emilie opened the door.
‘Enfin, Shari, after all this time …’ She stopped short, looking Shari up and down. ‘My God. Is it really you? You look … incroyable.’ Emilie kissed her on both cheeks and dragged her inside. ‘I adore it. So sexy and mystérieuse.’ Emilie
