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And so she dried off and took for ever trying to sort out her hair. Flo had said to wear it down, but it was too wild for that and too freshly washed to wear up.
In the end, she smoothed it as best she could and settled for down.
It had been for ever since she had bothered with make-up but, given that it was Dion’s she was trying to get into, Maggie gave it a good go.
She put on an ivory foundation that made her look as if she should be heading out to haunt houses instead of meeting a prince in a cocktail bar, but a dash of rouge took care of that. She put on a neutral eye shadow but added eyeliner and lashings of mascara.
It was actually fun to dress up.
In fact, it had been too long since she had.
A year of backpacking had put paid to stilettos, and even before that Maggie had never really been one for painting the town red.
She painted her lips red tonight, though.
Flo wouldn’t recognise her, Maggie thought, let alone Hazin.
Her one little black dress wasn’t really designed for a pregnant woman, but she squeezed herself into it and arranged her rather spectacular cleavage. There wasn’t loads but she had started with so little that it was certainly a change. Then Maggie topped the look off with stilettos and teetered to the mirror.
There was something missing...
Maggie wasn’t sure what it was because she tried a necklace but that was too much, and she tried a little wrap to cover her very white arms, but that just looked stupid.
And there were no stockings in her drawer.
She would just have to do.
Maggie was reciting her rehearsed lines as she checked her purse.
‘Hi, Hazin.’ She did her best breezy voice. ‘We met a few months ago...’
Or, ‘Hi Hazin, it’s Maggie, the girl in the green bikini...’
No!
‘Hi, Hazin,’ she said in a serious voice. ‘Could you tell Ilyas that I need to speak with him...?’
All her opening lines were terrible, Maggie knew, and she was consoling herself that she would never get past the doorman to even try them.
She locked up her little room and then headed down the hall and opened the front door... And there he was.
Thesomethingthat was missing.
The very thing that had been missing since the morning they had said goodbye, the man she had been telling her heart to get over, all the while knowing that she never, ever would.
‘Maggie.’
Ilyas sounded so formal, yet just a little unsure.
He was wearing a suit and tie—and wearing it terribly well—but it messed with her fantasies, because she saw him at all times in a robe, or naked, or in those black harem pants he had worn.
Yet here he was immaculate in deep navy with a crisp white shirt and tie, and his jaw was clean shaven.
His voice was a touch uncertain, for, far from missing him, Maggie was clearly on her way out.
‘You were supposed to answer the door in pyjamas with red eyes and a bucket of ice cream,’ Ilyas told her.
‘That was last night.’ Maggie smiled. ‘And how dare you come to my door looking so different from how I remember you?’
