“Something is wrong with speaking correctly?”
“It’s what you do when you’re nervous.”
“You do the same thing.”
“Yes. But you’re the one doing it right now.”
“No, I am not. I am not doing…” Bianca narrowed her eyes at her sister’s smug expression. “What’s your point?” she said, though it took all her determination to say what’s instead of what is.
“My point,” Alessandra said, “is that Chayton Olivieri is hot. And he has the hots for you.”
“Ridiculous.”
“That he’s hot?”
“That he has anything but disdain for me. And trust me, the feeling is mutual.”
“But you admit that he’s hot.”
Bianca ran her hands through her helmet-flattened hair. It tumbled over her shoulders and she flashed to a moment in the bar when she’d realized a strand of hair had come loose. She’d brushed it back, looked up—and found the lieutenant’s eyes on her hand. On that strand of hair. Whatever he’d been thinking had been there, blazing in his eyes, and for a heartbeat, just for a heartbeat, she’d wondered what would happen if she whispered his name and went into his arms…
“Bianca?”
“What?”
Alessandra handed her sister a comb. “Can you at least admit that he’s hot?”
“I admit that there are some women who might find him attractive.” Bianca said, digging the comb into her hair and dragging the teeth through the tangles. “I am not one of them.”
“He’s never come on to you? Said something? Maybe kissed you?”
Color swept into Bianca’s face. Alessandra raised a fist in triumph.
“I knew it. I knew it! Tanner said I was crazy, but I said—”
“You and Tanner discussed this? You discussed me?”
“Don’t get upset. We talked about it. Just a little. I mean, husbands and wives talk, Bianca. It’s part of a relationship.”
“I agree,” Bianca said, in her best psychologist-as-clinician voice. “Talking is part of a relationship. Hurling insults back and forth is not.”
Alessandra looked at her. “Insults?” She sighed. “Okay. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re not interested in Chay. Maybe he’s not interested in you. But you have to admit, he’s gorgeous.”
Bianca shrugged her shoulders. “If you like the type.”
“I’d bet most women he meets like his type just fine.”
“Perhaps. But I am not most women.”
Alessandra gazed at her beautiful, brilliant, all-in-control-all-the-time sister and sighed again.
“No. You’re not.” She made a tsk-tsk sound, snatched the comb away and began smoothing it through Bianca’s hair. “The bald look is out this year, B. Definitely out.”
Bianca softened at the old childhood nickname.
“Thank you for that amazing information, A. I surely wouldn’t have known it otherwise.”
They smiled at each other in the mirror.