Here Comes The Bridesmaid

Chapter 2

TO: Caleb Quartermaine

FROM: Leo Quartermaine

SUBJECT: Seriously?

Caleb, mate

What's the deal? Where's your invitation list? Are we really talking 150 guests? I thought it was an intimate dinner.

Sunshine is descending on me tomorrow to kick off the invitation process, so it would be nice to know who's got what expectations. So I don't end up looking like a completely clueless moron.

LQ

TO: Jonathan Jones

FROM: Sunshine Smart

SUBJECT: Wedding of the century

Hello, darling

Had dinner at Q Brasserie tonight—fabulous. We're meeting again at one of Leo's other places, Mainefare, tomorrow. Can't wait!

I've worked out that Mainefare is a play on words. Mayfair as in London (it's in a British-style pub) but with Maine as in Quartermaine and fare as in food. Leo is so clever!

Invitation samples attached: (1) ultra-modern, cream and charcoal; (2) dreamy romantic in mauve and violet; (3) Art Deco—blue and teal with yellow, brown and grey accents.

PLEASE like the Art Deco one, which I know sounds ghastly, but open it and you'll see!

All else is on track. Party of the year, I'm telling you!

Sunny xxx

PS—and, no, in answer to your repeat question—I have not done it yet. You're getting as bad as Mum and Dad.

TAP-TAP-TAP. Same sound effect, just on floorboards.

Leo saw her scan the room. Mainefare wasn't as open as Q Brasserie and it was harder to spot people—so he stood, waved.

His eyes went automatically to Sunshine's feet. Coral suede. Maybe four inches high—he figured the missing inches equalled casual for her. Oddly, no polish on her toenails; now that he thought of it, he hadn't seen colour on her toenails at their previous two meetings. Fingernails, either.

Hello, Mr Estee Lauder —since when do you start noticing nail polish?

He didn't. Of course he didn't. But she just looked like the kind of girl who wouldn't be seen dead with unpainted nails.

Then again, she didn't look like the kind of girl who would eat like Henry VIII either.

Sunshine gave him her usual beaming smile as she reached him. She was wearing a pair of skintight pants in dark green, with a 1960s-style tunic. The tunic was cream, with a psychedelic red and black swirl on the front that should have looked like crap but didn't. She had on the same sun/moon necklace, but no other jewellery. And that was kind of strange too, wasn't it? Where was the bling?

She kissed him on the cheek, same as yesterday, before he could step out of reach, and sat as though exhausted, thumping an oversized tote—rust-coloured canvas—on the floor beside her chair.

'Whew,' she said. 'I've got lots of samples with me, so that bag is heavy.'

Leo couldn't work out how she could wear colours that didn't match—her shoes, her outfits, her bags always seemed to be different shades and tones—and yet everything looked I'm-not-even-trying perfect. He'd been out with models and fashion PR types who didn't make it look that easy.