be afraid of telling your father, but maybe she isn’t.”
“She wouldn’t dare,” Stephanie gasped. Trudi didn’t really know Marcus Hammond.
“She’s worldly, Steph, and she doesn’t let things get to her the way you do.”
“She only pretends she doesn’t,” Stephanie said knowingly.
Trudi tried another approach.
“What if Sharisse refuses to marry Joel? She doesn’t seem to love him.”
Stephanie smiled wryly. “Nobody dares defy my father, certainly not Rissy or I.”
“Honestly, Stephanie Hammond, you’re determined to not even try, aren’t you?” Trudi said angrily. “You wouldn’t catch me giving up without a fight. I would do anything possible to get what I wanted.”
Stephanie just shrugged.
“All you have to do is tell your sister the truth. It’s not as if she loves him or would really be giving up anything. You said that she doesn’t care, that she’s been treating her own wedding as if it were just another party to attend this summer. I’ve seen her with Joel myself. She treats him like a brother. If she loves him, she hides it very well.”
“No, she doesn’t love him. I’m sure of that.”
“Then why shouldn’t she help you?”
“Trudi, stop it. There’s nothing she can do.”
“Maybe. But what if there is? What if she manages to call off the wedding and you end up with Joel? If worse comes to worst, let her be the one to run away. At least then the wedding won’t take place.”
“That’s crazy, Trudi,” Stephanie said angrily, but it was anger at herself because she wished it were Sharisse who was going away. Lucas Holt was probably ugly and old, and she really would be miserable with him. She had made such a mess of things. She felt tears begin.
“Well, I suppose I could at least tell Rissy how I feel,” Stephanie said hesitantly.
“Now that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day.” Trudi smiled at her, a little bit relieved.
“Good night, Rissy.”
“Good night, Joel.”
Sharisse closed her eyes and waited for the usual perfunctory kiss, hoping desperately she would feel something this time. She didn’t. There was no strength in the hands that gripped her shoulders, no enthusiasm in the lips that brushed against hers. He had never held her close to him, and she realized she didn’t know what it was like to be swept into a man’s embrace. Antoine Gautier had never held her passionately, either. He had made love to her hands, in the Frenchman’s style. Even so, the brush of Antoine’s lips against her palm had done more to stir her passions than anything Joel had done.
She couldn’t blame Joel. After being humiliated by Antoine, she had sworn never to love again—and her heart had taken her seriously. It was just as well. She could never be hurt that way again. So she told herself to stop hoping for something more than tepid affection.
Sighing, she stood by the front door and watched Joel skip down the stairs and get into his carriage. He was so handsome. His complexion was nearly as creamy white as her own. His little mustache was always neatly trimmed. His slim physique wasn’t at all intimidating, like her father’s well-muscled form. There was no arrogance in him, either, which was important to her. Her father had supplied all the overbearing arrogance she needed for one lifetime. Joel was good-natured, with a devil-may-care charm. What more could she ask for?
Who was she kidding? It wasn’t at all flattering when a man couldn’t even pretend he found you desirable. At least Antoine had pretended. No, she wouldn’t compare them. Joel wasn’t at all like the deceitful Antoine. She was just wanting, was all. Her height put most men off, and her slim, boyish figure deterred the rest. She just wasn’t feminine, and she didn’t have what it took to stir men’s passions.
Oh, some men looked at her with unconcealed lust, but she was wise to them. They were like Antoine, men who were merely titillated by the thought