The Liberation of Alice Love - Abby McDonald [5]
Alice smiled to herself. It was unlikely. For all their aesthetic appeal, toys like this were for people who preferred the accessories to real sex, the performance rather than the act. Alice had never been one to bind herself up in uncomfortable lingerie or fuss over dripping candles. No, she preferred a little more honesty in life. Tossing the package aside, she turned her attention back to her stack of paperwork.
And that, as far as she was concerned, was the end of it.
Chapter Two
After the trials at the office that week, Alice would have relished a weekend of relaxation; instead, she found herself hovering awkwardly in the corner of her stepsister’s vast walled garden in Hampstead, clutching a glass of Pimm’s and worrying about her lipstick smudging.
“Canapé?”
Alice blinked at a silver tray of elaborate appetizers, all colored a vivid shade of pink to match the rest of the party theme. “No, thank you.” She shook her head politely, watching as the waitress circulated among the crowd of guests who were scattered across the immaculate lawn. Although there had been no mention of dress code, there was obviously a memo Alice hadn’t received. Her blue silk sundress may have looked the perfect garden-party choice, but every other woman was draped in shades of palest cream and caramel: an array of blousy tops and layered gold jewelry that made her feel as stiff as a shop mannequin amongst the lounging, honey-hued guests.
“There you are!”
Alice turned toward the huge, stuccoed house as Flora, in a floating print dress, emerged out of the French doors onto the patio. She surveyed the garden with a beam of delight. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“Lovely,” Alice echoed faintly. And it was. From the white, canopied awnings to the spotless tables, overflowing with pink cupcakes and even pinker flower arrangements, the garden was beautiful, a testament to what a husband with a private equity fortune could achieve. The sky was even a cloudless blue, the sun warm on her bare shoulders. Alice took a slice of cucumber from her drink and nibbled. It, at least, wasn’t pink.
“Have you met everyone yet?” Flora linked her arm through Alice’s and happily led her onto the lawn. She had turned twenty-four just a few months before, but with her wispy, petite frame and expression of perpetual bemusement, she still looked exactly like the child who had always gazed absently at Alice across the table at Christmas and holidays for the past ten years. “I don’t even know half the people here,” she confided, waving at different groups as they passed. “But Stefan has all these clients, and their wives, and friends…”
“And accountants, and Porsche dealers…” Alice finished, smiling. Despite the joking, she found her brother-in-law a solid, sturdy relief from her family’s vague chaos. She’d had her reservations when they met, three years ago; Flora was toying with watercolors at art school when she literally tumbled into Stefan’s lap at Glyndebourne. At first, Alice had wondered what a laid-back, thirty-year-old Swedish financier could possibly want with her dreaming, childlike stepsister, but somehow it worked. Stefan adored Flora, Flora basked in his adoration, and within months, they were walking down the rose-petal-strewn aisle.
“Are Dad and Jasmine coming up?” She looked around for a familiar face but found none.
Flora shook her head, fine blond hair fluttering out in the breeze. “No, I called this morning, but Mum’s deep in a new sculpture and I don’t think Dad’s come out of his workshop in two days.” She smiled at Alice. “You can tell Mum’s not going anywhere—it took her five minutes just to remember where he was!”
Alice nodded, well used to their eccentricities.
“Here we are!