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He laughs. “Is that an ego I’m hearing?” He winks, and I flush all over again.
“That’s not what I meant,” I protest, but he waves me quiet.
“No, no. It’s good to know what your talents are. And you, my dear, have a gift for this. Now, eyes shut.”
I close my eyes and relax a little as he dusts the powder over my face, then works on my eyes next. There’s something relaxing about letting someone else take charge. I’m so used to doing everything myself. It’s nice to feel pampered for once.
I’m almost—almost—able to relax. Until I hear it. His voice, from the hallway.
“—looking for Cassidy Marks’s room?”
My pulse picks up, and every muscle in my body, which had bordered on finally unclenching a second ago, tightens back up.
Marcel must notice, because he leans back, the brush leaving my skin, and I open my eyes to find him watching me with an all too knowing expression. “Uh oh. I recognize that look. You’re in even more trouble than I thought.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, but my voice catches and gives me away. I grimace.
“Please. We all saw the two of you at my studio. You couldn’t keep your hands off one another.” Marcel gives me a long, lingering once-over. “You’re in deep, girl.” Then he arches an eyebrow and adds the words that send me tumbling straight through a fresh new maze of confusion. “But don’t worry. So is Lark, believe me.”
Just then, a rap sounds on the other side of the door. “Cass?” His voice sounds tense. On the edge of broken. It tears at me.
It’s too soon. I’m not ready to see him, barely even ready to go on camera, let alone deal with the emotions I’ve been repressing for a solid week. It feels like all the blood in my body rushes to my head at once, and I cling to the sides of my chair, feeling dizzy.
Marcel takes one look at my expression and has pity. “No boys allowed!” he calls at the door.
On the other side, Lark laughs. “You’re a boy,” he points out.
“No straight boys allowed,” Marcel amends, and then, in case Lark missed the point, “Go away. I’ll bring her out when she’s ready. And don’t worry, we’ll be on time. Go have a coffee or something.”
There’s a long pause from the other side of the door. My heart pounds in my ears, my temples. Part of me wishes Lark will ignore Marcel. Storm through that door anyway and demand a minute alone with me.
But another part, the sensible part, I tell myself, is relieved when he lets out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but you’d better bring her out early for the screen tests. I’ll meet you in twenty.”
My eyes jump to the clock above the doorway. It suddenly feels a lot more intimidating now. A countdown to the minute when I’ll have to come face to face with all the feelings I’ve tried so hard to run away from.
“Eyes shut again,” Marcel orders. “We’re on a tighter schedule than I thought.”
I close my eyes and let him work, but there’s no relaxing this time. All I can think about is Lark’s voice calling my name. Cass. There was a hollow note to it, and I can’t help wondering if he’s missed me anywhere near as much as I’ve missed him.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Marcel says as he moves on to my lips next, making me open them into a round circle and then purse them alternately while he works, “that boy has been an absolute wreck all week too.”
“Really?” I peer up at Marcel, who flashes me a smirk.
“Not that he’d talk about it, of course. He’s got walls higher than Fort Knox. But I’ve known him long enough to tell when he’s upset, and I haven’t seen him this bad since, well…” Marcel glances at the closed door. “Since him and Sheryl’s first big falling out.”
“What happened between them?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t, but a part of me wants to know. Maybe if I do, that will make it easier to let go of my stupid fixation on Lark. To walk away from this mess once and for all.
“Not my story to tell,” Marcel replies with a sigh. “But you ask me, they weren’t well suited to begin with.”
“And now…?”
“Now?” Marcel takes a step back, and gives me an approving once-over, before he twirls my chair. “Now, it’s time for Lark to leave his past behind, and win over his future.” In the reflection, he winks. “That being you, in my opinion.”
My eyebrows shoot up. My perfectly outlined eyebrows, that is. Between that and my long lashes, and a peachy pink color on my lips, I look like a completely different woman. I turn my face this way and that, admiring Marcel’s work. Every makeup artist has a slightly different style, a different flare to their designs. Normally I like to do my own makeup, because I know what I want to enhance.
