Page 73 of The Truth of Us

My chest tightened immediately.

His voice softened. "The dress. The hair."

His eyes found the glitter across my nose. "What is that?"

I groaned.

"What?" he asked.

"I knew it looked ridiculous."

His laugh echoed through the room."No. I just had absolutely no idea what it was."

"They're glitter freckles." I defended.

He blinked. "That's a thing?"

I felt my cheeks turn pink, as he studied me another moment before saying quietly, "I think your mother would have loved them."

And somehow that nearly undid me, because I could picture her. Absolutely covered in glitter, insisting it was fashion, and convincing half the room to join her.

My father offered me his arm. "Ready?"

I slipped my hand through his. "As I'll ever be."

The party was already underway when we made it downstairs. Music drifted through the house, and laughter. The smell of rich food, and the familiar comfort of people who belonged here. The moment we entered the drawing room, a woman gasped.

"Oh, my God."

I barely had time to brace myself before Margot Hastings swept toward me. She wrapped me in a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and childhood memories.

When she finally released me, her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Look at you."

I smiled. "Hello, Margot."

She cupped my face immediately. "No." Her voice cracked. "No, absolutely not."

I blinked. "What?"

"I have seen photographs." She shook her head. "But they don't do you justice."

Heat crept into my cheeks. "Margot…"

"You are Sophie all over again."

My throat tightened as she smiled through tears.

"The same eyes." Then she laughed. "And thank God you got your father's height because Sophie spent too much time standing on chairs."

My father rolled his eyes. "Her height was perfectly average."

"She was five foot two." Margot rebutted, then she looked over my shoulder and smiled.

I turned and forgot how to breathe. Oliver Hastings stood across the room. The last time I'd seen him, we were barely adults. The memory I carried was all long limbs, easy smiles, and trouble. This version looked different. Broad shoulders, dark hair, tattoo ink disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, and a black suit worn without a tie. Like somebody had tried to dress him up, and he'd only cooperated halfway. But it wasn't the tattoos or the suit that caught me. It was his smile. So warm and honest.

Oliver's grin widened. "Holy shit."

His gaze moved over me as his mother chided him for language. "Damn, Harper."