"That's not a bit surprising, based on what you just told me about her," Sloan tried to joke.

"Yes, but Father heard her and he never contradicted her."

Sloan wasn't prepared for that comment, but inspiration struck and she seized on a perfect explanation. "By then, he was older and wiser, and he was probably secretly ashamed of what he did—or what he let her convince him to do. He obviously dotes on you, so he wouldn't have wanted to look like a villain in your eyes."

After allowing Paris a minute to let that sink in, Sloan picked up her water glass and thought of another good point to make. "I don't think it's unusual for divorced parents to make nasty remarks about each other to their children."

"You're right! What sort of bad things did our mother say about him?"

Sloan stared at her, a helpless smile forming on her lips, the water glass forgotten in her hand. "Our mother," she explained, "had her purse snatched by a teenager a few years ago. On the day of the trial, she testified for the defendant and pleaded with the judge for leniency." With a giggle, Sloan added, "She was so determined to get him off that she was absolutely eloquent!"

Paris broke into a smile. "Did she get him off?"

Sloan nodded. "The judge said he would feel like he was punishing her if he sent the boy to jail."

"What a nice story!"

"Not really. He stole her car a week later. He thought she was a very soft touch, and she is."

Sloan knew for certain she'd succeeded in resolving Paris's dilemma, because from that point on, Paris plied her with questions about Kimberly and kept on doing so during their bout of sightseeing and shopping.

31

The discussion about their mother had enabled Sloan to think about something besides Noah that afternoon, but her wristwatch seemed to be moving in reverse until it was finally time to get dressed for the evening. She was so anxious to see him that she hurried when there was no need for haste, and long before it was time to leave, she had nothing left to do except decide which dress to put on.

Paris strolled into her room then to help her make the choice. After inspecting Sloan's clothes and admiring what she'd brought, Paris shook her head and announced that this particular evening called for a long dress. "Not too fancy," she stipulated, "but something that floats a little when you move." Having ascertained that Sloan had nothing like that with her, Paris put her hand against Sloan's back and gently propelled her down the hall to her own room.

Paris's closet, Sloan noted with some amusement, was larger and had more clothes rods in it than Lydia's shop in Bell Harbor, and it connected to another large room filled with unfinished clothing that Paris was in the process of designing.

Sloan watched while her sister paused to pull out gown after gorgeous gown and reject each for reasons that were mostly obscure to Sloan.

"This is it!" Paris declared triumphantly, extracting a strapless white sheath from an entire rod of long gowns. "What do you think?"

Sloan thought it looked pretty much like Sara's red linen sheath, except for the color and length—until Paris zipped her into it and turned her toward the mirror.

The top of the bodice was straight and fitted like a glove to Sloan's waist; then it flared slightly over her hips and fell in a straight line to the floor. Clusters of embroidered white flowers with shining gold leaves and stems adorned the bodice and were scattered at the hem.

"Oh," Sloan whispered, "this is so beautiful."

"You haven't seen the rest of it," Paris announced as she whisked a gossamer stole patterned in white and gold leaves off a hanger and draped it over Sloan's arms. "Now we need the right jewelry," she declared, pulling open drawers that were built into the wall.

"What about my hair?" Sloan asked over her shoulder. "Should I change it and wear it down?" Instead of parting her hair on the side and letting it swing freely as she usually wore it, she'd pulled it off her face and twisted it into a loose chignon at the back of her head.

Paris was holding up two gold filigree chokers and studying them, but she looked round to give an opinion. "Your hair is perfect and so is your makeup, but you need earrings. And I"—she held up a pair that looked like long, gleaming gold raindrops—"have just the right ones!"

Sloan put on the earrings and fastened the wide gold filigree choker at her throat; then she studied herself in the mirror, marveling at the difference Paris could make in her appearance. She turned to tell Paris that, but Paris wasn't finished. She'd vanished, returning a minute later with three fresh white rosebuds in her hand. "I stole these from one of last night's centerpieces," she explained while she reached up and pinned them into Sloan's chignon.

"Does anyone have any idea where we're going?" Paul asked as a uniformed chauffeur held open the back door of Noah's Rolls-Royce for him.

"I don't," Sloan told him, as she followed him into the car, "but wherever it is, you're going to knock the ladies dead!"

Sloan's excitement and enthusiasm were so contagious that even Paul was in a lighthearted mood. "They're out of luck," he joked. "I'm already with the two most beautiful women in Florida. Paris, do you have any idea where we're going?"

She settled into the car beside Sloan, looking like a bird of paradise in a long, brightly colored silk sarong. "I do," she teased smugly, "but I am not at liberty to divulge all the information." She looked at Sloan and relented a little. "I suppose I could give you a hint: You're going to dine at the most exclusive restaurant in Palm Beach."

"Which is?" Paul prodded, grinning at her playful mood.

"It's called Apparition."

An odd expression crossed his face, and Sloan had the feeling he recognized the name. "Have you eaten there before?"

He looked truly confused by her assumption. "No. Never heard of it."

"It must be an incredibly fancy place if we need to dress like this," Sloan remarked.

A short while later, the car turned into a private marina with large yachts tucked into spacious slips along the piers. "I should have guessed—" Sloan said delightedly, turning to Paris. "Apparition is a boat."

Paris didn't answer. She was leaning forward, frowning as the Rolls glided past the last pier and stopped just inside a remote parking area where a small white helicopter was already waiting, its rotor whipping the air. "Oh, no…" she said as the chauffeur got out and opened her door.