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I looked at Denise, who was just standing there with her head down while her mother lectured her about something.

“I thought I might have dinner with Denise, but . . .”

“Did you tell her so?”

“No.”

“Then you’re not busy,” he said. “Meet me here.” He slipped a business card into my hand.

Denise turned toward us, and I quickly put the card away. We left the shop and continued on a slow walk following the river.

“Isn’t your mother feeling well?” I asked her.

“No. She never feels well these days.”

“Does she see a doctor?”

“She doesn’t want to see anyone. So what did you think of my cousin?” she asked, anxious to change the subject as we walked farther away from the shop.

“He’s very nice, and you’re right, he’s very intelligent, well read. I hope he does get to pursue his education.”

“And good-looking.”

“Oh. Yes, very. What a busy pastry shop, too. Everything looked delicious.”

“I didn’t know he was going to New York. I should go along. I should see New York, right?”

“D’accord. You should see New York, but he might want to go alone or maybe . . . with someone else.”

“You think so?”

“It’s possible. You shouldn’t feel bad if so.”

She didn’t reply. “You probably have had lots of boyfriends,” she said after a while.

“No, not really. No one serious, if that’s what you mean?”

“Yes. I haven’t had a serious boyfriend, either. I don’t even think about it anymore.”

“You should. Look, Denise, you could be a very attractive woman,” I said. We paused. “You have to think about yourself a lot more. You should lose weight,” I said finally, and firmly. “People do, and they’re happier and healthier.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try harder. I’ll help you. We’ll figure out a diet for you, and whenever you’re not working, we’ll exercise, take long walks. I’ll be like your trainer. My sister taught me a great deal about makeup and hair, too. We’ll work on all that. Then when you want, we’ll go out together and flirt. But you have to get yourself ready for it . . . like a prizefight or a big game or something. You have beautiful eyes, and your hair could be very attractive, too.”

“Do you think so?” she asked, obviously encouraged by my enthusiasm.

“Absolument. C’mon,” I said, hooking my arm into hers. “Let’s begin. We’ll walk faster, and when you have dinner tonight, avoid fattening foods. I’ll work up a daily menu for you from what I remember my sister ate and taught me about food.”

“Your sister sounds like a wonderful person.”

“She knows who she is now,” I said.

“What does that mean? Don’t we all know who we are?”

“No. We know who others think we are, and more times than not, it’s not who we are. You’re not who others think you are. You’ll see.”

“Even my mother?”


Tags: V.C. Andrews The Forbidden Horror