Page 4 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

My smile fades. Personally, I think it would do her a world of good to have a fling with an old friend she obviously likes a lot. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t been with anyone since her assault at eighteen.

We met at university and got on immediately, even though we’re quite different people. She’s quiet, studious, and serious. I’m… well, not exactly loud, but louder than she is, flirty, and more inclined to take risks.

I once read that most people think they’re in control of eighty or ninety percent of their lives, when in fact the reality is more like five or ten percent max. It really hit home to think we don’t have control over our thoughts, feelings, or other people. It sounds scary, but I found it liberating, and I was happy to accept the control I do have and work on that and leave everything else up to the universe.

‘Life’s too short’ became my motto, and I do my best to say yes whenever an opportunity comes my way. Sometimes it’s been a mistake, but most times it’s led to a positive outcome, and I wish I could pass on that state of mind to Elora.

I bring my wine back and change the subject, talking about our theses, as we’re both taking a master’s degree at the moment in heritage management, concentrating on the indigenous archaeology and heritage of New Zealand and the Pacific Islands. Elora is focusing on osteology—specifically the bones ofextinct birds, whereas I’m more interested in conservation, but we’re taking some of the same papers.

It’s only another five minutes before there’s a knock at the door, and Hallie comes in carrying a dress wrapped in plastic over her arm.

“Here you go,” she says, letting it drop. She removes the plastic cover and hooks the hanger onto the doorframe, and the dress unfurls.

It’s long, made from satin, and very simple, with spaghetti straps and a crossover skirt that reveals the left leg almost to the hip.

“The color’s called rust,” she says. “But I think it’s more chestnut.”

She’s right—it’s more brown than red, a glorious rich color that could also be called cinnamon or gingerbread. I get up and go over to it, and run my fingers over the silk skirt. “It’s beautiful.”

“Try it on,” Elora prompts.

I unhook it and take it into my bedroom.

As I remove my jeans and top, I’m convinced it’s not going to fit. Or that even if it does, it’s going to look weird. I can’t honestly remember the last time I wore a skirt. They irritate me—if they’re long they get in the way, and if they’re short I feel as if I’m trying to show off my legs, which aren’t bad, but it makes me feel as if I’m asking for attention, and I don’t particularly want men I don’t know looking at my legs or breasts. So I usually wear trousers and loose-ish tops, and I rarely go to events where I need anything dressier than that. I haven’t been to a wedding in years. I did go to the formal reopening of the museum last year, but I wore a black pantsuit and had my dark hair cut very short. Joel said I looked like Liza Minelli in Cabaret—I never did work out whether that was a compliment. My hair is longer now, and it’s in a chin-length bob, which I know Joel likes.

Jesus, what does it matter what Joel thinks? Irritated with myself, I take the dress off the hanger and lower it over my head. Ooh. It slips sensually over my skin, and I wriggle until it falls into place. I am a tad slimmer than Hallie, but the bodice hugs my breasts and waist, and the skirt parts to reveal my thigh, making me look taller than my five-feet-six. I could wear my cream sandals with it… I retrieve them from the wardrobe and slip them on; they’re strappy and not super high, but very elegant, and look good with the dress.

Unsure, I go out into the living room. “What do you think?”

Hallie and Elora stare at me, their faces lighting up.

“Oh my God,” Hallie says. “It looks so much better on you than it did on me.”

“Hardly,” I reply, embarrassed, smoothing down the skirt. “You have a much better figure than me.”

“Zoe,” Elora scolds, “you’re gorgeous, stop putting yourself down. The dress looks amazing on you—you should totally wear it.” She gets up and takes a plate we missed out to the kitchen.

Hallie gives me a mischievous smile. “You’ll knock his socks off.”

I meet her eyes. “I don’t know who you’re referring to.”

She chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’re not going up to the Bay to discover what Joel’s hiding in his wetsuit.”

I lift my eyebrows. “And don’t tell me you weren’t sitting there flirting with Fraser during dinner.” We’re both speaking quietly, as they’re Elora’s brothers.

Hallie immediately turns scarlet. “I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.”

I let my lips curve up, and eventually her smile matches mine. “He was very… attentive,” she admits.

“He fancies the pants off you,” I inform her. “Don’t you find him a bit… formal?”

She shrugs. “He’s old-fashioned. I quite like that.”

“He seems… strait-laced. Do you think he’ll be like that in bed?”

Her flush deepens. “I have no idea. As we both know, I’m hardly dynamic in the bedroom anyway.” Her tone holds a touch of sarcasm. When she arrived at the flat tonight, she announced that she’d broken up with her boyfriend, Ian, and revealed he’d accused her of being dull in bed.

I drop onto the sofa next to her and take her hand. “I’m so sorry about that. It was a really unfair thing to say. You mustn’t take any notice of him.”

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