Finally. A moment alone. Even though we’d been out for hours, her hair was still hanging in perfect curls around her bare shoulders, her make-up still in place.
“I like sugar,” I replied, with a shrug. “Would you like a cup?”
She shook her head. “No thank you. I just wanted to say goodnight. We didn’t get much chance to talk tonight.”
“No. It was a fun night, though. Willow’s a blast.”
Willow may have appeared mellow and hippy-like, but her enthusiasm rivalled Hunter’s and they made an excellent comedy duo for the evening.
“Yeah, she is,” Isabelle said. “She’s a good friend.”
An awkward silence echoed around us, and Isabelle sighed.
“So,” I began, “What’s up?”
Surprise crossed her face.
Crap. Wrong thing to say. Take it back, take it back!
For a second, I thought she might walk away because I’d embarrassed her. Who the hell did I think I was? I barely knew her, maybe she was always quieter when she was out with a big group of people.
“Why did you think something might be wrong?” she asked, softly.
So desperate not to say the wrong thing, I paused to choose my words more carefully.
“I … I thought you seemed … I don’t know, forget it.”
I picked up my cup of tea, and sat down at the breakfast bar, hoping she would let me get away with that lame excuse for a conversation. I stared straight ahead, waiting for her footsteps to pad out across the hall carpet, but instead, her heels clicked across the wooden kitchen floor.
“I didn’t dress myself like this,” she said.
As I turned my head, she looked as startled at what she’d said as I was.
“What?”
This time, it was Isabelle who tried to back out of the conversation, and she mumbled a few words that sounded like, “Nothing, sorry, goodnight,” before turning away.
“Wait,” I said, standing up.
She stopped but didn’t turn around.
This is it. Time to make this trip miserable for myself. I could have let it go, let her go to bed, but if there’s one thing I know about girls, it’s that you can’t start a conversation like this and leave it unfinished. Not without driving them crazy, anyway.
“I think you look amazing,” I said.
I waited as the words found their way to her ears and into her brain, where I was sure she instantly rejected them. But whether she liked me or not, someone needed to tell her how beautiful she was.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I really don’t. This dress is … it’s lovely, but it’s not me.”
“So why did you wear it?”
“Because Georgia wanted to give me a makeover, and I was tired of dressing so … boring.. But then Leon was leering at me, and I … I suppose it was my fault for dressing like this, but -”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “First of all, Leon doesn’t have an ounce of class. Most guys would have appreciated how good you look without staring at you the way he did.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Boys don’t usually … never mind.”
She started to walk away, and I said, “What? You think you need to wear short dresses to get guys to notice you? That’s crap, Isabelle. The reason I thought something might be wrong tonight is because you seemed so uncomfortable. You’re… you’re … beautiful, no matter what you wear. Tonight you just don’t look like ... you.”