Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Three hours,” Alex said.
“Have her ready in two. The seamstress should be here any minute to fit her. I don’t want any delays.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
Vinemont turned his wrathful gaze back to me. “Fine. Be ready in two hours. If you disappointment me, there will be a high price to pay and you will pay it.”
He turned on his heel and left, fury in his steps.
“That. Was. Intense.” Alex leaned on the massage table. “I kind of want to make you late just so you get some sort of naughty punishment. Sweet Jesus, do I want some BDSM lovin’ right about now.”
Juliet sagged with relief. “Both of those hotties want to get with you. You know that, right?”
“That first one does not deserve to even look at you, much less enjoy your kiska.” Dmitri’s face darkened anew with anger.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “my kiska is mine alone, if I take your meaning. By the way, what did Lucius say to you in Russian?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Dmitri’s glower deepened. “He is, how you say, confident your kiska will be his.”
“Well.” Alex took my hand. “I may not have a taste for kiska, but if we only have two hours, you’re mine, sugar.”
Dmitri grumbled about not finishing the massage, and promised he would be back to take care of me.
Alex plopped me into his chair and got to work. He was a madman with scissors and chemicals that smelled like a mix of turpentine and overripe fruit. He foiled, heated, rinsed, and cut, turning my scalp into a beauty battleground. My hair was still the same red, but with highlights and lowlights to set off the color. He put it up in big hot rollers and sprayed it down with an obscene amount of hairspray.
He then set about to do my makeup. I was a bit worried, given the peacock colors above his eyes and his bright lips. He made it worse by not letting me look into the mirror until he was done. After what felt like over an hour of brushing, shadowing, highlighting, contouring, and coloring, I finally got a chance to see the finished product.
“Voila!” He whirled me around and held the swivel chair steady before the mirror.
I’d never thought of myself as a ten. I was self-aware enough to know I was pretty by most standards, but nothing about me said movie star or model. When I looked at what Alex had done, there was more than just a tinge of amazement in my stare. He’d highlighted my high cheekbones and plump lips. He’d given me dramatic eyebrows with a killer arch. Most of all, he’d brought out the deep green color of my eyes. They’d never looked so bright.
“Wow,” was all I could muster.
“Wow is right, honey. That right there is the money shot. That face, that hair. One in a million, trust me.” He smiled back at me from the mirror.
Renee walked in and clasped her hands in front of her. “This is… You are… I’ve never…” It ended in no words but a high pitched gleeful sound.
The reserved maid looked positively girlish. “You are absolute perfection.”
“Why, thank you.” Alex gave a small bow.
I laughed. I was beginning to enjoy my ragtag band of beauty assistants. I tried not to think about how I may never see them again after today. It was hard to think of a reason why Vinemont would send for them again. I couldn’t imagine going to too many balls. In fact, I had a suspicion that this “ball” was quite a bit more than it seemed.
It didn’t matter what it was. I would go. I would do what I had to so that my father would remain free and alive. There was no going back, only forward. And forward meant I had to get through the ball and the 363 days thereafter.
“The seamstress is outside.” Renee calmed herself and motioned for me to rejoin the others in the main room.
The seamstress was an economical woman in a pantsuit and flats, chalk in her fingers and a pencil behind her ears. What she’d brought me to wear wasn’t practical in the least. It was perched on a model form. I had never seen anything like it short of the pages in fashion magazines. It was a deep green gown with a plunging neckline, lace straps, and a ball gown skirt made entirely of black peacock feathers.
Alex gasped and ran to the gown. “Oh my god, oh my god. I have never seen anything as fabulous in all my years and, trust me, I’ve seen more than my fair share of fabulous things. Who’s the designer and when can I have one?”
“I designed it and, I assure you, it’s a one of a kind.” The seamstress eyed me. I got the distinct feeling she was somehow taking my measurements through my towel. She quirked up a corner of her lip, as if pleased. “I think it should be an almost perfect fit with a few tucks here and there.”