boyfriend, sheâd reasoned. When heâd finally called her sheâd eagerly agreed to meet him and had fallen into his arms when sheâd seen him.
Heather blushed scarlet at the memory of her wimpiness. She had behaved like such a doormat â even now she cringed, thinking of it. It hadnât made any difference anyway, it turned out that the two-faced little ferret had been two-timing her all along and heâd ditched her unceremoniously one wet Friday night when sheâd refused yet again to have sex with him, and called her a frigid cow.
Now, it was a huge relief to her that she hadnât slept with Colin. At least she hadnât let him walk all over her in that regard. She might be a wimp and a doormat but she wasnât a notch on Colin Breenâs bedpost and that was a small crumb of comfort in what had been a total and absolutely disastrous relationship which had wiped out every scrap of confidence she had.
Heather studied her reflection in the big bevelled mirror over the hallstand. Chestnut hair with glints of auburn fell around her face in a smooth silky curtain. Heather wore her hair short, whereas Ruth wore hers wild and wavy, tumbling down her back. Heather wasnât really the wild and wavy sort, she thought ruefully. The reflection of solemn hazel eyes fringed with thick dark lashes stared back at her. Her eyes were OK, she supposed. Her nose was too wide, lips normal enough, and now, because she hadnât been dieting, her cheekbones were gone and her face wasnât the slightest bit thin and interesting. At least she had a tan, she comforted herself. Tans always made you look better. She decided to dab a bit more blusher on her cheeks to try to give the impression of cheekbones. She was wearing a plum bustier over black trousers, and a silky black jacket. The bustier gave her a good cinched-in waist and a flattering hint of cleavage but she wouldnât dare take the jacket off no matter how warm it got, her ass was far too big to be put on public display. Heather sighed deeply. Lorna no doubt was dressed to the nines, and not the slightest bit worried about her ass. Her cousin had a perfect figure.
She heard another car coming down the street and peered out of the window anxiously, her palms curling. A green car whizzed past. That was it! Sheâd had enough. If Neil wasnât here in five minutesâ time she was going to go to the wedding on her own and to hell with him. She was just sick, sick, sick of being treated like a doormat. Tears glittered in her eyes. Was it her, or were all men selfish shits? Angry, hurt, disappointed, she blinked rapidly to dispel the tears. A thought struck her: it was Neil that had been invited to the wedding, she was going as his guest. She couldnât go on her own whether she wanted to or not.
Well, she just would go, Heather decided resentfully. Whoâd notice? She was damned if she was going to take off all her make-up and finery after going to such trouble. She picked up her evening bag, a glittery purse affair, pulled out her lipstick and re-did her lips with âSensual Plumâ. Sheâd have to stop biting her lips, they were in shreds, she noted forlornly. She tried to fit her phone in the bag, but it wouldnât fasten and bulged in an unsightly manner. Heather hated small bags with a vengeance. She liked bags that she could carry her bits and pieces in, they made her feel secure. She wished she had her twinâs confidence, or even Lornaâs. She wished she was more like them in every way. They could carry off small, smart evening bags, they could reveal their asses to the world without a care. They had men falling at their feet, men who were on time, even early for dates and they didnât take crap. She, at this precise moment, felt an utter and absolute failure.
She heard a familiar diesel engine thrumming outside and once again she flew to the window, feeling a huge wave of relief wash over her
Heather blushed scarlet at the memory of her wimpiness. She had behaved like such a doormat â even now she cringed, thinking of it. It hadnât made any difference anyway, it turned out that the two-faced little ferret had been two-timing her all along and heâd ditched her unceremoniously one wet Friday night when sheâd refused yet again to have sex with him, and called her a frigid cow.
Now, it was a huge relief to her that she hadnât slept with Colin. At least she hadnât let him walk all over her in that regard. She might be a wimp and a doormat but she wasnât a notch on Colin Breenâs bedpost and that was a small crumb of comfort in what had been a total and absolutely disastrous relationship which had wiped out every scrap of confidence she had.
Heather studied her reflection in the big bevelled mirror over the hallstand. Chestnut hair with glints of auburn fell around her face in a smooth silky curtain. Heather wore her hair short, whereas Ruth wore hers wild and wavy, tumbling down her back. Heather wasnât really the wild and wavy sort, she thought ruefully. The reflection of solemn hazel eyes fringed with thick dark lashes stared back at her. Her eyes were OK, she supposed. Her nose was too wide, lips normal enough, and now, because she hadnât been dieting, her cheekbones were gone and her face wasnât the slightest bit thin and interesting. At least she had a tan, she comforted herself. Tans always made you look better. She decided to dab a bit more blusher on her cheeks to try to give the impression of cheekbones. She was wearing a plum bustier over black trousers, and a silky black jacket. The bustier gave her a good cinched-in waist and a flattering hint of cleavage but she wouldnât dare take the jacket off no matter how warm it got, her ass was far too big to be put on public display. Heather sighed deeply. Lorna no doubt was dressed to the nines, and not the slightest bit worried about her ass. Her cousin had a perfect figure.
She heard another car coming down the street and peered out of the window anxiously, her palms curling. A green car whizzed past. That was it! Sheâd had enough. If Neil wasnât here in five minutesâ time she was going to go to the wedding on her own and to hell with him. She was just sick, sick, sick of being treated like a doormat. Tears glittered in her eyes. Was it her, or were all men selfish shits? Angry, hurt, disappointed, she blinked rapidly to dispel the tears. A thought struck her: it was Neil that had been invited to the wedding, she was going as his guest. She couldnât go on her own whether she wanted to or not.
Well, she just would go, Heather decided resentfully. Whoâd notice? She was damned if she was going to take off all her make-up and finery after going to such trouble. She picked up her evening bag, a glittery purse affair, pulled out her lipstick and re-did her lips with âSensual Plumâ. Sheâd have to stop biting her lips, they were in shreds, she noted forlornly. She tried to fit her phone in the bag, but it wouldnât fasten and bulged in an unsightly manner. Heather hated small bags with a vengeance. She liked bags that she could carry her bits and pieces in, they made her feel secure. She wished she had her twinâs confidence, or even Lornaâs. She wished she was more like them in every way. They could carry off small, smart evening bags, they could reveal their asses to the world without a care. They had men falling at their feet, men who were on time, even early for dates and they didnât take crap. She, at this precise moment, felt an utter and absolute failure.
She heard a familiar diesel engine thrumming outside and once again she flew to the window, feeling a huge wave of relief wash over her
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