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The Elliotts: Secret Affairs
THE FORBIDDEN TWIN SUSAN CROSBY
MR AND MISTRESS HEIDI BETTS
HEIRESS BEWARE CHARLENE SANDS
THE FORBIDDEN TWIN
SUSAN CROSBY
About the Author
SUSAN CROSBY believes in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes. A longtime reader of romance novels, Susan earned a B.A. in English while raising her sons. She lives in the central valley of California, the land of wine grapes, asparagus and almonds. Her checkered past includes jobs as a synchronized swimming instructor, personnel interviewer at a toy factory and trucking company manager, but her current occupation as a writer is her all-time favorite.
Susan enjoys writing about people who take a chance on love, sometimes against all odds. She loves warm, strong heroes; good-hearted, self-reliant heroines … and happy endings.
Susan loves to hear from readers. You can visit her at her website, www.susancrosby.com.
For Mabel, a woman of grace and humour.
Mum knew best.
One
Early March
John Harlan clutched a two-carat, brilliant-cut diamond engagement ring in one hand and a Glenfiddich on the rocks in the other, his third in the past hour. Cold had settled in his bones, his heart, his soul. It probably didn’t help that he hadn’t turned on the heat or even a lamp since night fell hours ago. Only the lights of New York City through his huge picture window illuminated his living room, making a hazy silhouette of the bottle of scotch on the coffee table. What more did he need to see than that, anyway?
A few hours ago his fiancée—former fiancée—had gently placed the diamond ring in his palm. He hadn’t let go since.
John had thought he knew and understood Summer Elliott. She was goal-oriented and orderly, like him, and together they were dynamic, a power couple with great lineage and an amazing future. At twenty-nine, he was at a perfect age for marriage, and at a perfect point in his career at his advertising agency. Everything according to schedule.
She’d ended all possibility of a future together that afternoon.
He hadn’t seen it coming.
They’d dated for months, long enough to know the relationship worked. They’d gotten engaged less than three weeks ago, on Valentine’s Day, appropriately, romantically. And now, while he’d been in Chicago working with a new client this past week, she’d found herself another man—a rock star, of all people. Calm, sedate Summer Elliott, the woman whose personality matched his, had found herself a rock star.
John downed his scotch, relished the burn and was contemplating another when the doorbell rang. He didn’t move. The bell rang again. He picked up the bottle and poured, the ice from the previous drink almost melted. Knuckles rapped on the door, and a female voice called his name.
Summer? No. She wouldn’t come here.
Curious, however, he set the glass on the table and stood, taking a moment to shove his fingers through his hair and to find his balance. Although it was uncharacteristic of him to have more than a glass or two of wine in an evening, he wasn’t drunk. At least he didn’t think so, maybe just slightly off-kilter.
He opened his door and did a double take at the sight of Summer standing at the elevator ten feet away, her back to him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, squinting against the light and stepping into the hall just as the elevator pinged, indicating its arrival on the fifteenth floor, his floor.
She spun to face him but said nothing. He registered that she looked different in her short red dress, but couldn’t put his finger on exactly why. Her scintillating light auburn air caught the light, the soft, natural curl caressing her shoulders and drifting down her back. Her light green eyes were focused directly on him, her expression open and caring. Caring? Why should she care? She’d dumped him. Unceremoniously. Emotionlessly.
Which pretty much defined their relationship. Emotionless. Sexless. A partnership with a future based on a solid friendship and healthy respect for each other, if without passion. But he’d loved her and believed she’d loved him. He’d always figured the passion part would fall into place at some point, and had respected her wishes to save herself for the marriage bed.
Had she realized her mistake in breaking it off with him? Was that why she was here?
Why wasn’t she talking? She’d come to see him, after all.
“Are you here to apologize?” he asked. Did he want her to apologize?
“Made a mistake,” she said so low he could barely hear her. She walked toward him, her hand outstretched. “A big mistake.” Her fingertips grazed his chest, then she pulled back as if burned, curling her fingers into a fist that she pressed against her heart.
His gut tightened. Her touch had been light, but lethal to his equilibrium. Hope tried to shove hours of hurt out of the way. The hurt resisted giving way … until she reached out again and was suddenly kissing him—kissing the hell out of him. Caught off guard by her new, surreal level of passion, he kissed her back until she moaned, even as a cautionary voice in his head shouted at him not to forgive the woman who’d never slept with him, her fiancé, yet who’d given herself to a man she’d just met.
When she pressed her hips to his and moved against him, he was grateful he hadn’t had that fourth drink and could still think clearly enough to know what to do next. Resisting wasn’t an option, even though he’d spent months doing exactly that. Not this time, however. Not this time.
He scooped her into his arms, carried her to his bed and laid her on the comforter, deciding that the reason she looked different was that she’d come dressed to seduce him—something she’d never done before.
An unexpected warmth spread through him at the thought that she’d made that kind of effort for him.
“This is out of the blue,” he said, turning the words into a question, wanting to trust her motives, but afraid to. What did it say about him if he so easily forgave her?
“I never expected to make love with you.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Just that.”
It wasn’t an answer, but apparently it was all he was going to get. Had the bad-boy rock star already dumped her? Did it matter? Yes. But … but John wanted to show her what she’d been missing as he’d reined himself in all those months, honoring her self-imposed pledge of chastity. His ego even demanded it.
He turned on a bedside lamp, pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, his movements jerky. She wasn’t telling him to stop. She was really going through with it?
He shrugged off his shirt and tossed it aside, reached for his belt buckle and pulled his belt out of the loops, letting it drop to the floor, noticing her spiky red high heels there, as well, a vivid reminder of the strangeness of the evening. He’d never seen her wear heels that high, which put her equal in height to him.
Equal. Was that the point? To make them equals? She’d suddenly become aggressive, not merely assertive?
His jaw tightened painfully as he searched her face, seeking answers to questions he didn’t ask because he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers. Not only did she not tell him to stop, she didn’t even flinch and instead studied his every move, not a hint of virginal shyness in her eyes. He toed off his shoes, slipped his trousers down and off, along with his socks.
His briefs were black and tight, had gone tighter in the past few minutes. She made a leisurely inspection of him that was more exciting than any kiss or touch he could remember. She swallowed and lifted her eyes to meet his again. Her nipples pressed against her dress. His heart thundered; his fists clenched.
If he took off the briefs, would she run? She’d kept him at arm’s length for months and months, yet after she’d slept with another man, she wanted him now? What kind of sense did that make? Comparison? It was totally out of character for her.
And if he slept with her now, would it be in forgiveness … or out of revenge? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to find out, but an irrational force made him continue, even knowing he might be shot down or stopped. Or humiliated.
Except she’d said she’d made a mistake ….
He pushed off the briefs. She rose to her knees and reached out to touch him, her fingertips gliding down him like warm, silky water. He sucked in a breath, knelt on the bed and peeled her formfitting dress over her head, discovering a red lacy bra and matching thong underneath. He pushed the satin straps down her arms, the weight of her breasts taking the fabric temptingly lower, the lace hanging up on her nipples. Her lemony scent drifted up to him.
His mouth went dry. He’d imagined Summer as a white-bra-and-panties woman ….
He lifted his gaze to hers as he laid his palms on her breasts, feeling the smooth, warm firmness of her flesh, the heels of his hands grazing her hard nipples. She was so different from what he’d expected. So sexy. So willing. So …
So not Summer.
“Scarlet?” he managed to ask, taking his hands away, sure of her identity even as he asked the question. No wonder she was different. Not Summer, but her identical twin sister. Scarlet had a wild reputation, but he never would’ve guessed she would pretend to be her sister. What purpose did it serve? She’d always been standoffish with him, as if she didn’t like him.
She sat back, confusion in her eyes. “Have you ever seen Summer wear a dress like that?”
He could tell her he was three-quarters drunk, but it would seem like an insult. “I thought she’d come to seduce me.”
Scarlet’s lack of answer could mean anything. He wouldn’t try to second-guess her.
Mistaken identities aside, he was acutely aware that his arousal hadn’t suffered at the recognition of Summer’s twin. If anything, the shock of the revelation excited him even more, though he didn’t stop to determine why—didn’t want to determine why, except he’d endured a long abstinence.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, tired of waiting, frustrated by her actions and his own wayward thoughts.
She rose to her knees again and set her hands on his chest. For several endless seconds their gazes locked. “Does it matter?”
Not at the moment, but soon it would probably matter a lot. Her words about never expecting to make love with him echoed in his head. “You hadn’t intended to make love? Then what—”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be thinking so hard,” she said, drawing him closer.
Her touch erased all thoughts, banished all doubts, and he let go of his curiosity and kissed her instead. He forgot about Summer and opened himself up to Scarlet ….
Scarlet, who made incredibly sexy, needy sounds that vibrated from her throat, whose hands wandered over his body as he sought her in the same way. He flicked open her bra, tossed it aside, captured a nipple between his lips, then tongued the hard contours before drawing it into his mouth and savoring as she arched her back, her fingernails digging into him to keep her balance. He took as much care with her other breast, but need pounded him relentlessly, especially when she wrapped her hand around him as he throbbed and ached.
He jerked back, trying to slow down. This was probably the stupidest thing he’d done in his life, but he couldn’t stop— Yes, he could. He just didn’t want to.
He set his hands on her waist to help her stand, then he eased her thong down her legs. Grasping his head, she leaned over to kiss him, kissed him as he’d never been kissed before, with lips and teeth and tongue, until he couldn’t wait another second. He shoved her onto her back and moved her thighs apart. He watched as he entered her, clenched his teeth at the hot tightness that enveloped him, felt her contract, heard her long, low moan that quickly escalated in volume and tempo. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back, waiting for her, then he exploded inside her. Sensation bombarded him, starting deep and low then racing through his body, even into his mind, blocking everything but feeling, hot, overwhelming feeling. It was good. She was good. Incredible ….
He resisted the return of logic and sanity, which came regardless of his wishes. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. She lay silent beside him. Silent and still. He couldn’t even hear her breathe. Her perfume mingled with the earthy smell of sex. He wouldn’t soon forget it.
He would never forget it.
He turned toward her—
The mattress jiggled as she rolled away from him and off the bed. She gathered up her clothes and hurried to his bathroom, shutting the door.
Shutting him out.
Scarlet tried to let her mind go blank as she dressed inside John’s elegant bathroom. She focused on the black fixtures and brushed-nickel faucets. She avoided the mirror as long as she could, then she had to look.
Mascara smudges under her eyes made her skin look paler and her eyes darker than usual. She dampened a tissue and cleaned off the smudges, then finger-combed her hair, stalling, not wanting to face him again.
What had she done?
She’d only come to tell him she thought Summer had made a huge mistake in ending their engagement. Then somehow they were kissing. Scarlet had told him the truth. She’d never expected to kiss him—ever—much less make love with him. She may have cultivated a reputation for outrageousness in the past, but this was over the top, even for her.
The problem was, Scarlet had been in love with John forever, feelings she’d had to keep to herself when she realized he and Summer had discovered an affinity for each other—then they’d realized they were in love just about the time when Scarlet was going to tell Summer how she felt about John herself.
Scarlet had envied the way John had treated Summer, the way he looked into her eyes when she talked, the way he touched her whenever he was near, a sweep of a hand down her back or the surprisingly sexy brush of her curls with his fingers. But it was his consideration of Summer that had made Scarlet the most envious—how much time he spent with her. How they never seemed to run out of things to say, their discussions deep and long. How he always called to say good-night and good-morning.
Scarlet had never had a man treat her like that.
Well, consider the source.
She closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to dwell on her own shortcomings.
She’d ignored those tender feelings she’d had for John for a long time, had avoided ever having a private discussion with him, fearing he might see how she felt. She’d thought she had those feelings well under control, had made herself stop thinking about him in a romantic light when her sister had gotten serious with him, but seeing him tonight, seeing his pain, had made her realize she hadn’t stopped caring, that she’d only shoved everything aside because of Summer.
And now Scarlet needed to kill those feelings once and for all. She and John couldn’t have a relationship. Propriety would be reason enough, never mind that he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her beyond this night, since it would keep him in proximity with Summer, as well. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Over and done. Relegated to the memory book.
She brushed her hands down her dress then opened the bathroom door. He was still lying in bed, his hands tucked under his head, the sheet pulled up to his waist.
She hunted down her shoes, put them on, wobbling some because she was shaking.
He threw back the covers, climbed out of bed and set his hands on her shoulders. “Take it easy, okay? Nothing—”
“You could at least cover up,” she said, wincing at her snippy tone.
After a moment he grinned, revealing heart-tugging dimples. She stopped a sigh from escaping. He was one fine-looking man, with those intense dark brown eyes and sandy brown hair. Who would’ve guessed that hidden under his boring business suits was such a remarkable body, strong, muscular and toned. Tempting.
“You’re leaving, I guess,” he said.
“Of course I’m leaving. Do you think I’m an idiot?” She closed her eyes. “Scratch that question.” Her behavior already gave her idiocy away.
He looked at her curiously, then grabbed his briefs and donned them. “Why did this happen, Scarlet?”
She searched for a reason he would believe. The only thing that came to mind was what Summer had confided earlier that day when she’d told Scarlet that she was ending her engagement with John—that even though she’d loved him, there had been a complete lack of chemistry between them. For months she’d thought she was just sublimating her passion, so that she could avoid sleeping with him until their wedding night. One hour with rock star Zeke Woodlow had changed all that.
But Scarlet couldn’t believe that Summer had been talking about the same man who’d just made love to her. Lack of chemistry? Not a chance. The man Scarlet had just made love to took passion to a whole new level.
“Cat got your tongue?” John asked.
All she could do was give him a weak smile.
“Why did this happen?” he repeated.
“Because we got carried away?”
“I know why I would, but why would you?”
She couldn’t tell him she loved him, so what could she say? After a few seconds, she felt him touch her cheek. The tenderness of the gesture almost made her throw herself into his arms.
“I figure you know I never slept with your sister.”
She nodded. “She was wrong, though. You are a passionate man.”
His mouth quirked. “Maybe it’s just you. Maybe you brought that out in me.” He brushed her hair behind an ear, then rubbed her earlobe. “How about helping me hone my skills? I never want to disappoint another woman.”
“This is no time to joke. You don’t need lessons, and we have no future together. What happened shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Sorry? For what?”
“I know you must be hurt and angry, and you probably even want revenge, but please, please, don’t tell anyone what happened,” she said, then walked away before he could say or do anything to stop her. She was confused, not sure why she had done what she’d done, or what she could do about it now. She needed to get away and think. She grabbed her purse off the living-room floor and raced out the door, then hurried down a flight of stairs just to get away fast. She picked up the elevator on the next floor.
The doorman called good-night as she left the building. She stepped into the cold, damp evening and realized she’d forgotten her coat. She couldn’t go back for it.
She couldn’t go home, either, to her grandparents’ town house where she and Summer shared the top floor. Summer probably wasn’t even home, might even be with Zeke, but Scarlet didn’t want to take the chance. She would get a hotel room for the night, order a bottle of wine, take a hot bath and figure out where she’d gone wrong.
Except that it hadn’t felt wrong—not when she was in John’s arms. It had felt so … right. He wasn’t her sister’s fiancé anymore. She hadn’t violated any codes of ethics, sibling or otherwise. She and Summer had made a pact when they were eight years old that they would never pretend to be the other, and while she’d gone to John’s apartment as herself, she knew fairly soon that he’d thought she was her sister and she hadn’t corrected his mistake until it was almost past the point of no return. If he hadn’t realized it on his own, she would’ve told him, though—wouldn’t she?
Yes, of course. Probably.
So … a bath, some wine and some reflection. She would put John Harlan out of her mind once and for all.
And by morning she would be fine.
Just fine.
Two
Early April
Scarlet glared at her watch. A quarter past noon. She checked her cell phone, making sure it was turned on. It was. No missed calls. No voice-mail messages. Irritation whipped through her. It was unlike Summer to keep her waiting, especially for fifteen minutes. But then, Summer had lost her predictability. She’d even gotten herself engaged to Zeke Woodlow less than a month after ending her engagement to—
Scarlet went no further with the thought. At least there was a sparkle in Summer’s eyes and a lightness in her step that hadn’t been there before. A totally different kind of aura surrounded her, and for that Scarlet thanked Zeke.
He’d just better not ever hurt her ….
Pasting on a smile, Scarlet returned a wave to a fellow employee then stabbed a piece of avocado in her Cobb salad. Seated in the company cafeteria, she was grateful she’d been able to grab a booth. She hated eating alone in public—Summer knew that. And it was especially bad here where noise bounced off the walls and the steel tabletops, the modern decor not helping to absorb sound, not letting a person think clearly. Plus, the entire twenty-five-story Park Avenue building was owned by EPH—Elliott Publication Holdings, her family’s business. Or rather, businesses, their many magazines, so that a lot of people could pick her out of a crowd. Plus she was an Elliott, one who’d already caused enough talk.
She should’ve told Summer to meet her at the deli down the block.
“Who are you waiting for?”
Scarlet looked up to find Finola Elliott, editor in chief of Charisma magazine and Scarlet’s boss for the past two years—and for twenty-five years, her aunt Finny.
“Summer. She’s late.”
“That’s unlike her.”
“I know.”
Fin lowered her voice. “Are you okay?”
Surprised, Scarlet focused on her aunt instead of the cafeteria entrance. “Sure. Why?”
“You’ve seemed tense lately.”
“I’m fine,” she said, resisting the temptation to make a similar comment to Fin, who was under a great deal of stress since her father, Scarlet’s grandfather, had issued a challenge regarding who was to fill his shoes when he retired at the end of the year—a challenge which had only added to the long-standing tension existing between Fin and her parents. The fact that Fin was eating in the company cafeteria instead of the executive dining room indicated her discomfort, as well.
“I’d ask you to join us, Fin, but Summer called this meeting. Here she is now.”
“No problem,” Fin said as Summer hugged her then slipped into the booth. “I’m meeting Bridget. See you later.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Summer said, her eyes shimmering. “Cute outfit. Can I borrow it?”
Scarlet smiled. Even though Summer had made sweeping changes recently, her wardrobe still wouldn’t include anything like the purple-and-red minidress that Scarlet had designed and made this past week. “My closet is your closet,” Scarlet said.
Summer laughed.
Scarlet could usually anticipate what her sister would say, but not this time. Not for the past few weeks, actually. She only knew that Summer was revved about something. “What’s up?”
She linked her fingers together and set her hands on the table. “I’m taking a leave of absence from The Buzz.”
Shock heated Scarlet from the inside out. “Why?”
“I want to go with Zeke on his international tour.”
“For how long?”
“A month.”
Scarlet could barely find words. “We’ve never been apart for more than a week.”
“Life is changing, Scar. We’re changing.”
“Separating.” I used to be able to read your mind. We used to finish each other’s sentences.
“It was bound to happen someday.” Understanding and determination rang in Summer’s voice.
“I can’t believe you’re giving up your dream job, and an imminent promotion, for a … man.”
“Not just any man, but Zeke. The man I love.” Her calm voice was offset by a stubborn glint in her eye. “The man I’m going to marry.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?” Scarlet felt more vulnerable than ever. Her link to life as she knew it was breaking. It had been hard enough this past month not to confide in Summer about her night with John Harlan, especially when Summer had asked her where she’d been all night.
“Don’t be jealous,” Summer said, laying her hand on Scarlet’s.
“Jealous? I—” She stopped. Maybe she was, a little. She’d been wanting to try her hand at fashion design but hadn’t had the nerve to quit her job as assistant fashion editor for Charisma. “Granddad will accuse you of being ungrateful,” she said to her sister instead, reminding herself of that fact, as well—the main reason why she hadn’t quit her job herself.
“That’s what I’m afraid of. But Zeke has tried to convince me otherwise. Loyalty matters more than anything to Granddad, but I need to do this. I want to do this. I’m going to do this.”
And everyone thought Summer was the meek twin. “Have you told him?”
“I’m telling you first. I’ll tell Shane after lunch. Then Gram and Granddad.”
Shane—Uncle Shane—was Fin’s twin and the editor in chief of The Buzz, EPH’s showbiz magazine, where Summer worked as a copy editor, and was about to be promoted to reporter. Scarlet didn’t envy Summer telling Shane or, worse, Granddad.
“I’m going to miss you like crazy,” Scarlet said, nearly crushing Summer’s hand.
“Me, too,” she whispered, her eyes instantly bright. “I’ll call lots. I promise. Maybe you could meet us somewhere on the tour for a weekend.”
“Three’s a crowd.” Scarlet made an effort to keep things as normal as possible. She dug into her salad again. “Want some?”
“Butterflies,” Summer said, patting her stomach.
Scarlet nodded. “What I said about my closet being your closet is true, you know. If you’d like to take some of my stuff on the tour, you can.”
“Zeke likes me as I am.”
So had John, Scarlet thought. Summer was so much easier to be with—not anywhere near as demanding of equality or independence as Scarlet. At least, not openly.
“There you go again,” Summer said, tapping the table next to Scarlet’s salad bowl.
“What?”
“You’ve been zoning out for, I don’t know, about a month now.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. Right after you spent the night away from home and wouldn’t tell me where you’d been. Seems to me you’ve been keeping a secret, and that’s a first for us, too.”
Scarlet wanted so much to talk to Summer about John, about that night, but that was impossible. There was no one she could talk to, except the man himself, maybe, but he hadn’t contacted her at all, and she both resented and appreciated his self-control. Except for having her coat delivered to her office the next day, without a note, they hadn’t existed for each other.
Except that her body hungered in a way it never had.
“Can we spend the evening together?” Scarlet asked, changing the subject altogether, then noting the hurt in her sister’s eyes. But Scarlet couldn’t confide. Nothing would ever change that. Some secrets would be taken to the grave.
“You’ll help me pack?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t know what time I’ll be home. I’m taking the helicopter to The Tides to tell the Grands.”
“I’ll wait up. We’ll have margaritas. You’ll need one.” Scarlet added teasingly, “Better you than me this time.”
Summer grinned. “I know. The shoe’s finally on the other foot. For years you’ve made it your goal to irritate Granddad with your men of choice, and I’ve always tried to get you to stop doing that. The Grands have taken their role as guardians seriously since Mom and Dad died. I guess after fifteen years in that role it’s hard to change. And of course, Granddad still cares about image.”
“He cares too much about image.” And Scarlet thought, they hadn’t really been her “men of choice,” but men she’d chosen specifically to irritate her overbearing grandfather. Men came and went. Very few had been lovers. Most were just friends.
Then there was John. She missed him. How had that happened? But she couldn’t reach out to him—she, who’d never been known for her patience, had controlled her impulse to contact him, made easier by the fact that he’d left town, or so the rumor went. In mourning for losing Summer?
“I need to get going,” Summer said. “I’ll call you when I’m headed home, as long as Granddad lets me take the copter back. If not, it’s a long ride from the Hamptons.”
“I’ll go up the elevator with you,” Scarlet said, not wanting to stay in the booth alone.
They waited at the doors. Scarlet would get off at the seventeenth floor, Summer one higher.
Scarlet swept her into a big hug as the elevator rose with silent speed. “Promise you won’t change.”
“Can’t.”
Scarlet pulled back and brushed her sister’s hair from her face. “Is it wonderful, being in love?”
“Zeke is an amazing man.”
The simple statement, layered with tenderness, almost made Scarlet cry. She wanted that for herself—a partner, an amazing partner. One who cared for her more than anyone, who thought she was amazing. Someone who was hers, and hers alone, as she would be his alone.
“I love you,” Scarlet said as the elevator door opened.
“Me, too, you.”
Scarlet stepped out of the elevator and headed for her cubicle, past the dazzling sign with the company slogan—Charisma, Fashion for the Body. The bright turquoise color scheme and edgy, bold patterns seemed to shout at her. Everything was topsy-turvy. She needed a little peace.
She would find none in her cubicle, which was filled with photos and swatches and drawings—colorful and eye-catching, not soothing. She grabbed her sketch pad and flipped to a blank page. She drew almost without thought—a wedding gown for Summer, with a long veil and train, something fairy-tale princesslike, a fantasy dress, layered with organza, scattered with a few pearls and crystals, but nothing flashy, just enough to catch the light. Elegant, like Summer.
Scarlet turned the page and sketched another wedding dress—strapless, formfitting, no train, no veil, just a few flowers threaded in the bride’s long, light auburn hair—hers.
