Killian? Flirty? Fun?
The words feel foreign as I imagine myself as a doll being dressed up by a woman I hardly know. Chantal means well, though, and it’s hard to push back against her eagerness. She’s genuinely trying to help. A gesture to include me.
Turning her down would be rude.
“Uh… okay,” I say hesitantly.
Her face lights up even more. “Jhene, I’m about to have you giving new meaning to Hot Girl Summer!”
An awkward smile crawls onto my face to match the bright one on hers. I have no clue what she means by Hot Girl Summer, but I have a feeling I’m going to regret this…
As it turns out, Chantal wasn’t kidding about her closet.
When she said she had plenty of stuff for me to wear, I pictured a standard walk-in closet. I didnotpicture a closet that’s twice the size of Killian’s studio and lined with racks upon racks of clothes and shelves of any kind of shoe you could want.
I’ve never seen so many in my life.
“This… is a lot,” I murmur, standing frozen in the doorway.
Chantal shrugs at my side. “It’s not that much. A lot of it is seasonal. I rotate things out every few months.”
I’m so startled by that prospect I don’t even know what to say in response.
Chantal’s apartment is on the Upper East Side, an upgraded brownstone that’s so glamorous I feel distinctly out of place.
She explains she’s kept the apartment for the times she and Lochlan are in the city. Otherwise, they’re at their mansion upstate.
Multiplehomes—another thing I can’t wrap my head around.
But to her credit, she does her best to help me feel at home.
After an hour of trying on more dresses than I can count, Chantal and Monique finally settle on a mint-green piece with thin straps and tiny flowers scattered across the fabric. It’s simple but feminine and pretty. They say the shade complements my honey-brown skin tone and fits the summer vibe.
“It looks amazing on you,” Chantal says.
Monique nods in agreement. “This is the one. It’s a keeper.”
Considering I know nothing about fashion, I have no room to argue.
The party is only a couple days later. I find myself in one of the guest bathrooms at Callahan House while Chantal does my hair and makeup and Monique supervises from her perch on the bathtub’s edge.
A glance in the mirror leaves me stunned. I barely recognize my reflection. My eyes look huge with the eyeliner and mascara, and there’s a sheen on my cheeks that catches the light.
“That’s the highlight,” Chantal explains. “Gives you that camera-ready dewy glow.”
Monique tilts her head to the side, studying me. “Have you considered contacts? Or skipping the glasses altogether? Your bone structure is incredible, and the frames kind of hide it.”
She reaches for my glasses on the bathroom counter, presumably to put them back in the case.
I snap into action before thinking about it. My hand grabs at hers before she can, maybe a little more forceful than I should be.
“I need those!” I say. “They’re my eyes. I can’t see without them.”
Both women stare, startled by the sudden intensity.
“Okay,” Monique says slowly, holding up her hands. “Glasses stay on. Got it.”
I draw a breath, trying to calm the irrational panic. It’s not just about seeing, though that’s part of it. The glasses are familiar.Comfortable.
