Kitabı oku: «The Sweetest Temptation», sayfa 3
“Some I’ll store in the freezer in my shop, and the others in the freezer of a friend’s restaurant.”
She’d called a friend who owned and operated a restaurant before she signed the book contract to ask if she could rent space in one of her walk-in freezers to store the cakes.
Peter’s dark eyebrows lifted with this revelation. “It looks as if you’ve done your homework.”
“Would you have agreed to collaborate with me if I hadn’t done my research?”
“No, Faith. I’m too busy, and to be honest I don’t need the money. I agreed to collaborate with you because I’ve never done anything like this, and I owe your cousin Tessa for contracting me to photograph the Fyles-Cooper wedding, which by the way will be in the next InStyle Wedding book.”
If Peter owed Tessa, then Faith owed Tessa—big-time—for getting him to agree to photograph her cake designs. Tessa and Simone Whitfield were the sisters she’d never had, but somehow she got along better with Tessa than Simone.
“Where are you going to photograph them?”
Resting his elbows on the table, Peter leaned closer and lifted his bushy eyebrows. “I’ll make arrangements to shoot them in a photography studio in Tribeca.”
“Do want to take any outdoor shots?”
“No. The studio is filled with stock art and set decorations that we can use for interior and exterior shots.”
Raising her flute, Faith touched it to Peter’s. “Cheers!”
He raised his glass, grinning broadly. “Il saluto!” he countered in Italian.
They lingered at the restaurant for another half an hour, then Peter settled the bill and suggested they share a taxi. He got out in Tribeca while Faith continued on to the West Village.
It was exactly four when Faith walked into her apartment, ideas as to what cake designs she wanted Peter to photograph crowding her mind. She’d tried imagining what the book would look like on bookstore shelves or on coffee tables, and until she decorated the first cake the notions remained that—just a notion.
She’d grown up a dreamer—a weaver of fairy tales. Her parents thought she was going to be a writer because of the number of notebooks she’d filled up with childlish stories. The day she celebrated her sixteenth birthday she wrote down three wishes in her diary: become a chef, write a cookbook and marry a prince before she turned twenty-five. Long ago she’d accepted the truth that not all dreams come true as scheduled, but she was satisfied knowing that two of the three had manifested.
Faith changed out of her pantsuit and into a pair of well-washed faded jeans, a long-sleeved tee and a pair of thick cotton socks. She checked her home phone for messages. Nothing. Then she remembered the missed call on her cell phone. Retrieving it, she tapped in her password and folded her body down onto the cushioned window seat.
She listened to the recorded message: “Faith, this is WJ. I was told that you helped Kurt in the kitchen last night. I wanted to speak to you but you were gone. I’m sending someone over to your place this afternoon to deliver a little something to show my gratitude for all you’ve done to make my daughter’s engagement party so spectacular. The person should be at your place at four-thirty. If this is not a good time for you, then call me…”
The sound of the doorbell eclipsed the voice coming through the earpiece. Faith took a quick glance at the clock radio. It was 4:33. Whoever WJ was talking about was standing on the other side of her door.
She crossed the room and peered through the security eye. William Raymond’s someone was no other than Ethan McMillan.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Ethan McMillan.”
Faith unlocked the door, coming face-to-face with the man with the sexy smile and seductive voice. He was dressed down in a pair of faded jeans, pullover sweater, lined bomber jacket and brown suede oxfords. Her pulse quickened. The man should’ve been arrested for exuding that much masculinity.
Her smile was slow in coming. “Hello, Ethan.”
Ethan returned her smile, dimples winking at her. “Hello, Faith. Did WJ tell you I was coming?”
“No. He said someone was coming.”
Ethan angled his head. “Well, I’m that someone.”
“Do tell,” she teased.
“I would’ve rung your intercom to let you know I was downstairs, but one of your neighbors let me in.”
Faith opened the door wider. “Please come in.”
Wiping his feet on the straw mat outside the door, he walked into warmth. Ethan glanced around the apartment. “This is really nice.”
Closing and locking the door, she turned to stare at Ethan surveying her apartment. “Thank you. It’s a little small, but I like it.” Why, she chided herself, was she apologizing to him about the size of her studio?
Ethan shook his head. “It really isn’t that small. There are plenty of New York City studio apartments half this size.”
He turned to stare at Faith. It was if he were truly seeing her—all of her for the first time. Her jeans hugged her body like a second skin, outlining the sensual curves of her hips. She was slender, but not a raw-boned slender. With her height, face and body she probably was mistaken for a model.
Faith met Ethan’s stare with one of her own. There was something about him that intrigued her, and she wanted to know more about him: his age, what he did for a living, other than being related to William Raymond, what was his association with the record mogul?
She blinked as if coming out of a trance. “You lied to me, Ethan McMillan.”
His expression mirrored confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Folding her arms under her breasts, Faith gave him a saucy smile. “You told me you were hired help when in reality you’re WJ’s cousin.”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Ethan’s mouth. “I didn’t lie to you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you and WJ were related?”
“You didn’t ask,” he countered.
Faith refused to relent. “And if I had asked would you have told me?”
“Why not? I may deny a few things, but never family.”
“Lie or deny?”
“Deny, Faith.” A slight frown distorted his handsome face. “It seems as if we’re back to the topic of you not trusting men.”
“This is not about me, Ethan,” she retorted.
“Then exactly who is it about? It certainly can’t be about me,” Ethan said, answering his own question. “I was raised to tell the truth, and rather than lie I just won’t say anything.” He gestured to her. “Come on, Faith, ask me something.”
“What do you do for WJ?”
“I’m his driver.” He angled his head. “Now, may I ask you to do something for me?”
Something told her not to ask, but she did anyway. “That all depends what it is.”
Ethan pointed to the coffeemaker on the kitchen’s countertop. “Would you mind brewing me a cup of coffee? I’ve been on the road for the past twelve hours and I need a double shot of caffeine to keep my eyes open before I drive to New Jersey.” He’d been awake for thirty hours, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that sleep deprived.
He’d talked to Billy about attending college in Pennsylvania, and much to the elder Raymond’s shock, he’d agreed. It was only after Savanna’s guests retreated to the rooftop solarium that Ethan and an armed bodyguard escorted Billy down the stairwell to the underground garage and into the Town Car.
Ethan had called his parents en route to let them know that their grandnephew would be staying with them until he completed his education or whoever had threatened his life was apprehended. He made it to Cresson, Pennsylvania, in record time, stayed long enough to see Billy settled in, then got back into the car for the return drive to New York.
He’d returned to his cousin’s penthouse, shaved, showered and packed his clothes. Once he informed WJ that he was returning to his Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, town house condo, his cousin asked that he deliver a letter to Faith Whitfield.
Faith saw a trace of fatigue etched on his face for the first time. His eyelids were drooping and his speech was slower. “Of course I don’t mind. Let me hang up your jacket.” He shrugged out of the leather jacket, handing it to her. He swayed before righting himself. Instinctively she reached out to steady him, but drew her hand back. “Why don’t you lie down on the bed before you end up on the floor, and there’s no way I’ll be able to lift you.”
A tired smile pulled one corner of Ethan’s mouth upward. “Thanks.”
He headed for the large bed in the alcove covered with a white comforter, shams, throw pillows and dust ruffle trimmed in lace. If he hadn’t been so tired he would’ve turned his nose up at the frilly bed linens, but now it was like an oasis to a thirsty traveler.
He sat on the side of the bed, removed his shoes, then lay on the unabashedly feminine bed and exhaled a sigh of relief. Englewood Cliffs was right across the river from New York but as he lay staring up at an eave above the bed he doubted whether he would’ve been able to make the drive without being a danger to himself or other motorists.
Ethan closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in a deep, even rhythm. “Would your boyfriend mind if I took you dancing?”
Faith was barely able to control her gasp of shock. She stopped pouring coffee beans into the grinder. Within seconds she recovered enough to say, “No.”
“No, what? You don’t have a boyfriend, or you don’t want to go out with me?” His voice seemed to come from a long way off.
Her cheeks warmed with heat. “No to both.”
Her answer pleased Ethan. He was more interested in knowing if Faith Whitfield had a boyfriend than taking her out, because if she was involved with someone, then that meant he’d have to retreat honorably.
“Thank you.” The two words came out slurred.
Shifting, Faith stared at the tall man reclining on her bed. To say he was an enigma was putting it mildly. He’d asked her to go dancing with him, then acted as if she’d given him a reprieve when she turned him down.
“Thank you for what?”
“For your honesty and…”
“And what, Ethan?” There was no answer. “Ethan?” She called his name again and was greeted by soft snores.
Resting her hands on her hips, she glared at the figure lying sprawled across her bed, unable to believe he’d come to her apartment to sleep. If he was that tired, then she would’ve given him the address to several hotels in the area. He could’ve checked into the Washington Square Hotel for about one-fifty a night, or if he wanted luxury then there was the Marriott Financial Center at three to four hundred a night.
Faith smothered a curse under her breath as she pressed a button on the grinder. The tantalizing smell of fresh coffee filled the air. She’d come home to relax, but that was thwarted because Ethan McMillan had commandeered her bed. She programmed the coffeemaker to begin brewing in three hours. That was all the time she was going to give the man sleeping in her bed before she’d wake him to send him on his way.
Chapter 4
Faith opened the window shutters, sat down on the window seat and stretched her legs along its length. The width of the seat was one of many reasons why she’d decided to rent the apartment. It provided additional seating, and the windows overlooked an alley wide enough to park at least half a dozen cars. During the warmer weather she opened them and sat out on the fire escape. It wasn’t a traditional balcony or terrace, but served the same function.
Resting her back against an overstuffed pillow, she closed her eyes. What was it with the men who came to the homes of Whitfield women for the first time and ended up sharing their bed? She opened her eyes, staring at the falling snow piling up on the fire escape. Ethan was in her bed, even if she wasn’t sharing it with him.
Tessa admitted that she’d shared her bed with Micah Sanborn the night he’d come to her home because of a blackout, and within a week knew that the Brooklyn A.D.A. was her prince.
Reaching for a book, Faith opened it to the last page she’d read. She chanced a quick glance at Ethan McMillan and shook her head. He wasn’t a prince, but then he wasn’t exactly a frog, either. He was more like a bad penny that kept turning up when she least expected. Focusing on the book, she forgot about the man in her bed and lost herself in the lives of the novel’s characters.
The smell of brewing coffee wafted in Ethan’s nostrils as he opened his eyes to semidarkness. The only light in the room came from a floor lamp near the windows. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his gaze widening when he saw Faith on the window seat with her head at an odd angle.
His feet were silent on the floor as he neared her. A book lay open in her lap. It was apparent she’d fallen asleep while reading. Guilt assailed him when he realized he’d put her out of her bed. Checking his watch, he realized it was almost eight o’clock. When he’d asked Faith if he could lie down to wait for coffee, he hadn’t thought he would end up sleeping for hours.
Ethan stood over Faith, staring openly at her and seeing up close what he hadn’t noticed the day before. Her hands were delicately formed, the fingers long with tapered nails. There was a tiny beauty mark on her temple near her left eye. The yellow glow from the lamp highlighted the gold undertones in her flawless dark skin, which reminded him of minute particles of gold dust mixed with smooth dark milk chocolate.
His gaze moved lower to the rise and fall of her breasts under the T-shirt, and within seconds he felt like a pervert spying on an unsuspecting woman. The sound of the coffee brewing was unusually loud in the quietness of the apartment. A gurgling noise indicated the brewing cycle had ended. Turning away from Faith, Ethan made his way to the kitchen to fortify himself with a cup of the brew that was certain to keep him alert long enough to make it home.
He found a large mug in an overhead cabinet, filling it to the brim. Resting a hip against the countertop, he sipped the steaming-hot coffee, the heat burning his throat and settling in his chest and belly like a soothing blanket.
Ethan hadn’t lied to Faith when he’d told her that he liked her apartment. The pale colors and her choice of furnishings gave the space a lived-in look, unlike his that had been decorated by an interior-design firm. Once he’d closed on the luxury two-bedroom condominium, he hadn’t had the time nor the patience to visit stores or shops looking for tables, lamps, beds or the other accessories that determined a room’s personality. He told the decorator what he didn’t like, and she took it from there. There were times when he felt as if he were walking into a furniture showroom, but for all of the time he spent there it was more than adequate.
He felt rather than saw Faith move, and he straightened from his lounging position. Smiling, he watched her come awake with the grace of a cat. He knew he’d frightened her when a small cry escaped her parted lips.
Blinking, Faith stared at the man standing in the shadows. “You woke up.”
“So did you.” Ethan gestured to the coffee in the carafe. “Would you like a cup?”
Faith couldn’t believe his audacity. He was offering her her coffee in her own home! “You’re really ballsy, aren’t you?” When Ethan glanced down at the front of his jeans she wanted to disappear on the spot. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Ethan didn’t move. “How do you want me to interpret ballsy?”
“What I meant is cheeky, audacious and—”
“I get your meaning, Faith,” he said, putting up a hand and cutting her off. “Now what have I done for you to get your back up?”
Swinging her legs off the window seat, Faith walked over and stood less than a foot from Ethan. His warmth and the lingering scent of his cologne had become an aphrodisiac, pulling her to him when the opposite was what she wanted. She wanted Ethan McMillan out of her home because everything about him was a sensual assault.
“I do the serving in my home.”
“Now, that’s a very selfish approach, Faith,” he chastised in a soft tone. “If you were in my home I’d permit you to do whatever you wanted.”
“That’s where we’re different, Ethan.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Wrong, Faith. We’re more alike than dissimilar.”
“Why would you say that? You don’t know anything about me, or vice versa.”
“What I do know and what I see I like.”
This time Faith had no comeback. Clamping her jaw tightly, she refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting the same. Despite all of her protests, she also liked what she saw and what he’d shown her—arrogance notwithstanding.
“WJ said he gave you something to give me,” she said instead, deftly changing the topic of conversation.
Ethan set his mug on the counter and went over to get the envelope from his jacket hanging on the coat tree. Retrieving it, he handed it to Faith. “Thank you for the use of your bed and the coffee.” He winked at her as he walked over to the bed to get his shoes. “I believe I can make it home okay now.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he stared at her. “Are you inviting me to spend the night?”
“No. It’s just that it’s snowing and…”
His eyebrows lifted when she didn’t finish her statement. “I’m touched that you’re concerned about my well-being, but I can assure you that I’m able to maneuver in snow.”
Faith gave him a facetious grin. “Of course. After all, you are a chauffeur.”
“Right,” he said after a lengthy pause. Driving wasn’t his livelihood or career, but that wasn’t something he would disclose to her. Bending over, he tied his shoes. Rising from the bed, he closed the distance between them. “You still owe me a dance,” he whispered close to her ear.
Faith’s eyes narrowed. He was like a dog with a bone. “What if I put on some music and we dance here?”
“No, Faith. You should’ve danced with me last night, but you cut and run like a candy-ass.”
Her delicate jaw dropped before she recovered. “Now, that sounds like military jargon. Were you in the military?”
“I’ll tell you, but under one condition.”
Faith registered the teasing quality in his voice. “What’s that?”
“Because you forfeited the chance to dance with me last night, now it will have to be someplace else.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Ethan?”
“Let me know when you’re available to go out.”
She stared wordlessly as a shock flew through her. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“No, Faith. It’s not going to be a date.”
“If my going out with you is not a date, then pray tell what is it?”
“You making good on your promise for one little itty-bitty dance, and in turn I’ll tell you about my military experience.”
Faith saw the beginnings of a smile crease the skin around his eyes. She didn’t know whether he was teasing or serious about taking her out. Now she had another adjective to add to his personality—persistent.
“What are you trying to do? Wear me down?”
“Nope,” Ethan countered. “All you have to do is say yes.”
“But what if I say no.”
“Then I’ll be forced to wear you down.”
She shook her head. “Please don’t. Not only am I worn down but also worn-out.”
“What say you, Faith Whitfield?”
She couldn’t stop the smile softening her mouth. “I say yes, Ethan McMillan.”
Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll call you.”
“But you don’t have my number,” she said to his back when he walked over to get his jacket.
Slipping his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, Ethan turned and looked at Faith. “I’ll get it from WJ.” He gave her a snappy salute, turned and opened the door. It closed and locked automatically behind him.
Faith stared at the door, unable to believe what she’d just committed to. Ethan wanted to take her out for “one little itty-bitty dance,” and to her that translated into a date. Glancing at the envelope in her hand, she returned to the window seat, sat down and opened it. WJ had enclosed a business card. She flipped it over, smiling. He’d scrawled the word thanks, his signature and drawn a smiley face. Her smile faded when she peered into the envelope to find a stack of crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. She removed them from the envelope and began counting. She stopped at eight hundred. William Raymond’s little something added up to more than a thousand dollars.
Tucking the flap into the envelope, she stood up, crossed the room and opened the doors to the armoire and secreted the money in a sachet-scented lined drawer cradling her lingerie. The Raymonds hadn’t blinked when she quoted a figure for the dessert menu for Savanna’s party, a figure that was near the top of her price list because of the amount of chocolate she’d ordered from a renowned confectioner who imported raw cocoa beans from South America, Java, Grenada, Mexico and Gabon.
Faith knew any attempt to return the cash would be construed as an insult by WJ, so she had to devise another plan to thank him for his extraordinary generosity or pass his gratitude along to her employees in the form of a bonus when they put in long hours to accommodate the customers who crowded into Let Them Eat Cake for the specially prepared candies, tortes and cookies for Valentine’s Day.
Blowing snow and an accident slowed traffic to a crawl. Ethan was less than three miles from his home, but it could’ve been three hundred because of the “lookie-loos” craning their necks to stare at the two men waving their arms and yelling at each other because of a fender-bender. Someone blew a horn, prompting a cacophony of horn blasts until the congestion eased and he maneuvered past the scene of the accident and drove to an industrial area where he would park the Town Car and pick up his own car.
The windows to MAC Elite Car Services, Inc., were dark, which meant his office manager had followed his directive to close because of the weather. Kenneth Mobley would’ve remained in the office until his shift ended, taking calls and instructing drivers to pick up clients who were partial to door-to-door car service. He’d also instructed Kenny to call the drivers to tell them to come back to the garage after their last drop-off, because the lives and safety of his employees were more important than the bottom line.
Punching in a series of numbers on the remote device attached to the limousine’s visor, Ethan waited until the door to the bay opened where he’d left his car. Within minutes he’d backed out a late-model Mercedes-Benz coupe, maneuvered the Town Car into the space and driven the short distance to the gated community and his town house condominium.
He parked in an attached garage, unlocked the door leading directly into the kitchen. Not bothering to check the stack of mail the cleaning woman had left on a side table in the living room, he climbed the staircase to his second-floor bedroom. The large numbers on the clock on a bedside table glowed eerily in the darkened space. Not bothering to turn on a lamp, Ethan undressed, leaving his clothes on a leather-covered bench at the foot of the king-size bed. All of his actions were mechanical as he pulled back the comforter and sheet, got into bed and let out a sigh of relief.
It was the first time since he’d moved into the house that he truly appreciated his bed. The last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him was Faith Whitfield’s face with a pair of dark eyes, pert nose and incredibly sexy mouth, a mouth he wanted to sample, to discover if it tasted as delicious as it looked.
Faith woke late Monday morning, feeling more rested than she had in weeks. Let Them Eat Cake, closed on Sundays and Mondays, didn’t require her going into the shop, so the only thing on her agenda was cleaning her apartment and preparing dinner for her bimonthly get-together with her cousins.
Looking through her freezer, she took out several bags of shrimp: medium Gulf white for stir-fry with snow peas, jumbo for shrimp cocktail and Maine shrimp for shrimp chowder. She had most of the ingredients on hand for her seafood menu with the exception of the snow peas, scallions, garlic, potatoes, leeks and chives, and that meant she would have to make a trip to Balducci’s, her favorite gourmet grocery at 14th Street and Eighth Avenue.
Fortified with a cup of coffee, she turned on the radio to a station featuring the latest R & B, pop and hip-hop, singing along and dancing to a few of her favorite artists. Snow accumulations measured three inches, not enough to close schools, but enough to make walking hazardous for pedestrians trying to jump over mounds of snow created by sanitation department plows.
Faith emptied the laundry hamper, stripped her bed and changed the towels in the bathroom, putting everything in two bags. Although there was a self-serve Laundromat on the avenue around the corner, she was loath to spend hours in the place, waiting for a washer or dryer, then having to fold up clothes and carry the bags up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. The owner of the laundry offered pickup and drop-off. She willingly paid for the additional service.
She called the laundry for a pickup, cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, dusted all the furniture and changed her bed. She hadn’t thought of Ethan again until she recognized the lingering scent of his aftershave on one of the pillows.
Faith wasn’t certain what it was about the man who’d appeared to have more than his share of ego, a trait she didn’t particularly like in a man, yet she didn’t find it repulsive. She’d dated men who were so aggressive that their behavior bordered on bullying. One had insisted because he wanted her that she would eventually surrender to his will. What he failed to realize was that Faith Vinna Whitfield surrendered to no one—especially a man. She might not have known what she wanted, but she knew without a doubt what she did not want, and that included men who took rejection as a personal affront and those who were so full of themselves that they were unable to fathom that a woman might not want to have anything to do with them.
They were nothing more than insufferable, egotistical, nauseating frogs! She would go out with Ethan McMillan, but if he exhibited even the slightest indication that he was like the rest of her past dates, then he would also be relegated to frog status.
The downstairs bell chimed, and Faith glanced around the apartment before going over to the intercom. Depressing a button, she spoke into the tiny speaker next to the door. “Who is it?”
“We’re here,” the sisters said in unison.
Tessa had called to let Faith know that she and Simone were meeting at the West 4th Street Washington Square subway stop. Both had decided to leave their cars in Brooklyn Heights and White Plains respectively, and take the subway and railroad.
Smiling, Faith pressed the button that would release the lock on the outer door. She was ready for her Monday-night get-together. It’d been several months since her cousins had come to Manhattan for their bimonthly dinner because she hadn’t been available. Unlocking the door, she opened it slightly before walking over to the refrigerator to remove a bowl of salad. She’d even included her shrimp theme in the salad.
“Something smells good,” Simone announced, sticking her head through the slight opening in the door. At the same time she removed her boots, leaving them on the thick straw mat.
Faith smiled at Simone. “I made one of your favorites.” She knew how finicky her cousin was when it came to food.
Petite, hazel-eyed, with a profusion of red and gold-streaked curly hair falling down her back, Simone Whitfield had been blessed with a natural seductiveness that was startling and breathtaking at the same time. The talented, divorced, thirty-three-year-old floral decorator always shocked men when she revealed her age because she looked as if she were barely out of her teens. While most women would’ve given anything to look years younger without help from a plastic surgeon, Simone complained that she was still carded when ordering a drink.
Simone walked into Faith’s apartment, set a shopping bag on the floor, removed her coat and hung it up. Her eyes widened when she saw a quartet of shrimp perched around the rim of crystal cocktail glasses filled with cocktail sauce at each place setting.
“Thank you, Faith,” she crooned, moving over and hugging her cousin.
Faith returned the hug. “You’re welcome.” She didn’t get along with Simone as well as she did Tessa because of Simone’s occasional dark moods. Simone blamed her mercurial disposition on seasonal affective disorder, but Faith attributed most of it to her on-again, off-again relationship with her shiftless, trifling ex-husband.
“Everything looks nice,” Tessa said, walking in and closing the door. She slipped out of her coat, draping it over a hook on the coat tree.
There was no mistaking Tessa and Simone for sisters, although Tessa’s hair, eyes and complexion were darker than Simone’s. Thirty-one-year-old Tessa had become a preeminent wedding and event planner in the four years since starting up Signature Bridals and Event Planners, Inc. with her sister and first cousin. Tessa owned sixty percent of the company, while Simone and Faith shared equally in the remaining forty. The company had afforded the thirty-something Whitfields a very comfortable lifestyle.
“Thanks. I love your haircut, Tessa,” Faith said, smiling. She was surprised to see that Tessa had cut her hair. For years she’d affected a flyaway hairdo that was a modified throwback to the Afro of the seventies. The shorter style was a combination of punk and chic.
“Enough chitchat,” she said, extending her hand to Tessa. “Let me see it.” Tessa held out her left hand. Prisms of light sparkled from a magnificent cushion-cut diamond with round and baguette diamonds set in platinum. Faith turned her hand over. There were pavé diamonds on the band. “It is exquisite, Tessa.” There was no mistaking the awe in Faith’s voice. She placed her arms around her cousin’s neck and kissed her cheek. “You deserve all of the good things coming to you.”
