Tess would buy Marisol five bottles if she could get Henry to settle. Some things didn’t have a price tag. “Of course I don’t mind. Very clever.” Once again, the young woman surprised her. First, by the mere fact that she took the job. She’d had a few offers to model but turned them down to continue her graduate degree because as she put it, Real beauty was about the soul. The other two sitters had done nothing but gripe about their difficult ward and quit within the first six days. This was day eight for Marisol: a very good sign.

“That red dress of yours is hot.” She laughed when she saw Tess’s expression. “No, I didn’t snoop. Henry’s ball rolled in the closet, and it wasn’t too hard to find a red dress in a mountain of black.”

“I like black. It’s my favorite color.” What was wrong with black?

Marisol glanced at her own multicolored skirt. “Black is for funerals and streamlining.” She pointed to Tess. “I know you’re not going to funerals every day and with a body like that, you do not need to streamline.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“It’s a compliment. I never say anything I don’t mean, though most of society relies on a lie now and again.”

“Are you saying you never lie?” Everyone lied in one form or another, even if it was just to protect another person.

Marisol shook her curly head. “Never. Even when it gets me into big trouble. I won’t do it. I mean, once you start, where does it stop? You tell the mailman you don’t mind if he delivers your mail three hours late and then the next day, he’s seven hours behind. Your best friend asks if the red dress makes her butt look big and you say no, so she buys three of them. And then what?” Her blue eyes sparkled. “You lose a friend, you get indigestion, and you lied.”

“I think there are different levels of lying.” Some hurt, others protected, and then there were those that demolished. Tess had committed all of them.

“You’re the Ph.D.; that’s your bag.”

“I teach it and I can tell you what the books say, but subscribing to it as a lifestyle? Well, I’ve had my own issues in that area.” And one huge disaster eight years ago.

“Well, Neal doesn’t seem to mind. He loves straight blonde hair, eyes the color of moss, legs that start in Ohio and end in Virginia. What else?” She studied Tess. “Healthy skin, breasts that fit in a man’s hand, and an elegant neck. There you have it. The man’s in love with you in case you didn’t know that, Doc.”

Yes, she knew. Neal West was a great guy, one of the truly wonderful people walking this earth. He taught Economics at the same university where she taught Psychology, and he was writing a book geared toward high school students and money management. They’d been together two years and from the first time he told her he loved her, he knew the odds of her returning the sentiment with equal fervor were a long shot. She’d been honest when she told him she didn’t know if she could ever love again, but he’d merely stroked her cheek and vowed to wait as long as it took.