Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“No one is asking you to.”
“I know.” My voice was harsh. “That’s the problem. I have an issue with owing favors, Ms. Fuller. In my experience, when it’s time to collect, the cost is always more than I can give. And I don’t mean money.”
Fuller softened—I think she did. Her placid mask slammed into place so fast, I may have imagined it.
“This is not a favor. It is a gift—freely given, without the expectation of something in return. Afterward, you and your sister are free to leave. You have my word.”
One of the women turned on the water and bubbles.
“Okay. Thank you.” I surrendered to Ms. Fuller’s ministrations.
I never regretted an act so swiftly or deeply.
“Ow! Those are attached.”
“Stop squirming,” Fuller replied. “You’re like a squalling infant refusing a diaper change.”
“I don’t need to be waxed,” I forced out. She had a firm hold on my jaw, keeping me still as she plucked my eyebrows. “They’re not checking beavers at the door.”
My cohort giggled. No less than six women were on me, buffing, polishing, waxing, measuring, and hair-spraying me. Sienna and I were set up in armchairs in a decadent guest room. Sienna sipped iced tea from a lady’s hand as hers were occupied by the manicurists. She was looking plenty happy with life right now.
“You have a beautiful aura,” she told the woman painting her toes. “It’s a soft, lilac-y purple. Prosperity is in your future. It’s going to knock into you like a golf ball to the head on your morning jog.”
“Ooh, is that golf ball attached to the wealthy, handsome man I’m going to sue?”
“I can dress myself.” I was reduced to pleading. “I’ll do my own hair, nails, and makeup.”
“I’m sure you can dress yourself,” said the woman painting my nails. “But we’ll dress you right.”
“Holding me down and waxing me against my will is listed under torture methods. This is some kind of thank-you.”
They all laughed at me and called two women off Sienna to hold my legs apart.
My complaints poured out of my mouth, hit their ears, and bounced off. Slowly but surely, the dirt disappeared from beneath my fingernails. My bushman eyebrows reduced to pencil-thin perfection. My legs were made hairless. My mane washed, trimmed, and styled. Then, they brought in the dress.
My lips parted.
Royal-blue, floor-length evening gown. The sleeveless, off-the-shoulder beauty was the softest velvet, and from across the room, I knew it would sinfully cling to my every inch and curve, transforming me from bony waif to shapely woman.
I didn’t have to ask if it was a Caddell. The intricate beadwork on the hip depicted a lotus. That was his signature. I also didn’t have to ask if the dress retailed at three thousand dollars.
“I can’t wear that,” I whispered.
“Can’t?” Debra, my hairstylist, repeated. “Honey, you look like you’re about to leap out of this chair and rip it out of her hands.”
I pressed my lips together. Politeness demanded I refuse the extravagant gift at least once. I did it once. That was all politeness was going to get.
I vibrated as the ladies helped me up, careful of my drying fingers and toes, they helped me step inside. Inch after inch, my ankles, legs, hips, stomach, and new bra were swallowed by the designer gown. I moved to the mirror where Sienna danced in a flowy, knee-length, red chiffon dress. Spotting me, her smile melted away and she moved to the side.
We all stopped—saying nothing, doing nothing as I gazed at myself in the mirror.
“Kenzie,” Sienna said softly. “It’s...”
“Me.”
The reflection touched her cheek, as if checking to see if she was real. Waves of silver teased my dark locks, spreading from the root and growing deeper and bright as they reached my tips.
It’s like they bathed my hair in the color of Sunny’s eyes.
The thought went through my mind too fast for me to stop it and left my cheeks flaming. Sunny Bellisario crashed into my mind that morning and he wasn’t leaving.
Following my kohl-lined eyes down, I traveled over my dark espresso lipstick and expertly layered makeup, hiding months of gaping pores and blackheads. The lady in the mirror admired the way the gown hid her dramatic weight loss, leaving behind the girl I knew. Or the one I used to be.
“It’s me,” I whispered.
“You’re beautiful, Miss Blaine,” Fuller said. “Both of you.”
She squeezed our hands. “You’re welcome.”
I stood in front of that mirror long after my nails dried and makeup crew left. Long after Sienna kissed my cheek and went off in search of trouble to get into. Long enough that no one was around to see me cry.
This was both the kindest and cruelest thing anyone had done to me. Sunny gave me myself back, only for me to return to the streets and lose Mackenzie Blaine all over again.