The Relatives Read Free Page B

are new, of course, and we have different sizes. Please take off your heels before you do any more damage.”
    She looked down the half story into the living room. “This is such a beautiful house!”
    “Thank you.” Cousin Mario looked at her feet. “When I was a young man in Italy, I worked in leather and shoes. I would say you wear a size nine.”
    “A size eight. I have small feet for my height!”
    Landon, that loser, said, “I thought you wore a size nine, too.”
    She shot him a glare. “You know how it is. Sizes vary. There’s no quality control anymore.” She smiled at Mario. “Eight and a half.”
    He opened the coat closet, rummaged around, pulled out a box, and brought out a pair of white scuffs.
    She frowned. “Those look like something an old lady would wear.”
    “We also have soft-soled flip-flops, but those would bare your toes.” Mario’s eyes were big, soft, and brown. “I would hate for your toenails to turn blue.”
    Was he teasing her? She would make him pay. “I’ll take the flip-flops.” She sighed when she saw them; they had a bow. But at least this way Mario could admire her pedicure. Leaning against the handrail, she said, “My back. I can’t bend over. Cousin Mario, would you do it for me?”
    “Of course.” He knelt at her feet. He rather brusquely removed her heels and slid her feet into the flip-flops.
    She spread her legs.
    He got to see that she wore a thong; she knew it by the way he flushed and scrambled to his feet. Taking her stiletto heels down to the first floor, he placed them in a basket by the door.
    She made her way into the kitchen, trying not to shuffle in those appalling slippers, and halted in dismay.
    My God. Cousin Gwen not only couldn’t dress with a lick of fashion, she was also a card-carrying member of the Absurdly Gaudy Decorative Tile Association. Her backsplash was matte gray subway tiles interspersed with mosaics of bright blue shiny ocean scenes. Why not fling in tiny pictures of the Little Mermaid, Prince Eric, and Ursula while she was at it?
    Cecily managed to sound breathless and admiring. “Cousin Gwen, did you have a decorator to help with this? Because I can’t imagine how you would do this on your own.”
    Gwen put the lid on the large, simmering pot. “Thank you! I confess, I did it all. It was a labor of love.”
    Cecily turned to face the living room. “That chandelier! I can’t find the words!”
    “I designed the whole house around that chandelier.” Cousin Gwen came to stand at the railing beside Cecily, and she had this smug cast to her mouth. “Gesvold created it.”
    Cecily got the feeling only an idiot wouldn’t know who this guy was, so she nodded as if she was impressed.
    “I was lucky. He has a studio in Virtue Falls. I liked his work, so I commissioned him to create a dramatic lighting event. He was an unknown then, right on the cusp of fame. He fashioned the glass to look like dozens of balloons blown up and released at the same time.”
    Or sperm swimming upstream. “So that was on purpose ?”
    “We both agreed it added an element of playfulness to the dramatic scenery. Then to create the space where the chandelier could float, we had the contractor level the walls between the two small ground-floor living areas and raise the ceiling. Our bedroom is above.” Gwen pointed. “The kitchen, the pantry, and the half bath are on this level, and down the hallway is—” She stopped suddenly.
    “The guest bedroom?” It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation.
    Firmly Gwen said, “A very small guest room with a tiny attached bath over the garage.” At once she went on to say, “Of course Gesvold created the matching sconces on the wall.” That smug smile was back. “Our house was featured in Sunset magazine, and within a year Gesvold was famous. I keep a copy of that Sunset if you’d like to look at it.” Cousin Gwen pulled it out of a drawer and shoved it into Cecily’s hand. “Page