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“I see.” He passes it back to me. “I like it very much. You’ve a good eye.”
Is that a slight accent I hear in his voice? I take a deep breath, relieved that the heaviness is gone from my lungs. If I’m not mistaken, I can smell him. It’s a lovely, woodsy scent that’s light and masculine and, well…sexy.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He shrugs a shoulder and glances around the room. “Remembering, I suppose.”
Before I can ask him what he means by that, a woman comes rushing into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.
“Kane, we need you in the storeroom. Now, when you see what happened, don’t kill anyone.”
“If a piece is broken, I can’t guarantee that I won’t commit murder.” He glances back at me. “I guess our pleasant visit is over, then.”
“Wait. Are you Kane O’Callaghan?”
“One and the same.” He stands and holds out his hand to shake mine. “And you are?”
“Embarrassed,” I mutter as I slide my hand into his. “I won’t tell you I love your work. I guess that’s clear enough.”
“But an artist never tires of hearing it,” he replies with a wink before nodding at the frazzled woman. “Have a good time. And take all the time you need.”
With that, he hurries away, and I’m left in the amazing room, flustered.
I just met Kane O’Callaghan. I showed him my sketch. He was a bit gruff, borderline rude, and I managed to call him an asshole.
“Good one, Anastasia.”* * *“This is fun,” I mutter while Amelia tickles my cheekbone with a fluffy brush. “We don’t do this often enough anymore.”
“I know. And I get to do this for a living. You should be in one of my videos.” Her blue eyes widen in excitement. “Seriously, I could do your makeup in the video and show different techniques for working on someone else. It’s so different from applying my own makeup. It would be fun.”
“Maybe one day.”
Where Amelia is gorgeous with amazing cheekbones and a slender body, I’m different. We share the same blond hair and signature Montgomery blue eyes, but I’m curvier than she is, with wider hips and boobs.
I’m not exactly the kind of girl who models on fashion vlogs.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with how I look. I like my curves. And when I’m done up, well, I look pretty fly, but I’m no fashion model.
“We’ll do it next month when the new eyeshadow palette releases,” she says as if it’s all settled. I just stay quiet. I’ll do it for her. It seems I’ll do just about anything for my siblings.
“Have you talked to Archer lately?” I ask her. Archer is the eldest, and our only brother.
“Yeah, I tried to get him to come with us tonight, but getting our brother in a suit is like talking a fish out of the water.”
I laugh at the thought. “It’s too bad because he’s handsome when he’s all dressed up.”
“I’m just happy that I managed to get him in a suit for our wedding,” Lia replies and stands back to check out her handiwork. “I think you’re ready. Next up is the dress.”
“Let me see.”
“Not until you’re dressed.” She leads me through her massive master bedroom to the equally enormous closet. “I’ve chosen three that will look so amazing on you.”
“I’ll never fit into them,” I remind her.
“They’re A-line, and they’ll show off your incredible legs,” she says, waving me off. “Try the red one first.”
I slip out of the silky robe she insisted I put on so I didn’t have to pull a shirt over my head after my makeup was done, and pull the dress up my legs. It gets stuck on my thighs.
“Told you.”
“Okay, this one.” She passes me a black dress with sparkly fake diamonds scattered across the bodice. Once I wrangle it up over my hips, and she zips up the back, it fits me like a glove. I stare in the mirror, my hands smoothing down the light material. Amelia did a hell of a job on my makeup. But then again, she always does.
“My boobs look fantastic in this,” I mutter, admiring the ample cleavage the dress shows off without making me look like I’m a stuffed sausage. The hemline ends just below my knees, and the material floats around my legs like a cloud. “Oh, and it’s light and comfy.”
“Perfect,” Lia says with a bright smile. “It looks ah-mazing on you. You can totally keep it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s Versace.”
“I’m totally keeping it.”
Lia laughs and steps into her own pink dress that slips off her shoulders, making her look like a faerie princess. Once dressed, she stands next to me, and we admire ourselves in the mirror.
“We’re hot, sweet sister of mine,” she says. She leans in to kiss my cheek, but I pull away. Lia’s always trying to cuddle me, kiss me, or hug me.
