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“I think the dress is pretty. It will be beautiful when you’re in it,” he says, pulling away from me.
“Should I try it on?” I ask.
Jost hesitates for moment, his eyes growing serious.
“We’re alone here and we have hours to get dressed.”
He sinks onto the bed and watches me with serious, widening eyes. For a moment, I feel shy, my bravado failing me, but my fingers grip the sash of my robe, and I hope he doesn’t see how they tremble as I begin to pull it open. His hand reaches up to grip mine, stopping the shaking, but also stopping me from opening the robe. For a second I expect he’s going to pull it open himself and I wonder what his hands will feel like there. Somewhere my mother’s voice calls to me, but it can’t compete with the roar of blood that floods through my body, igniting every inch of my skin.
“You don’t have to do this, Ad,” he whispers instead. His hand pulls mine away from the belt and we stare at each other for a long moment, and then I listen to my body and sink against him, my legs straddling his lap, my arms wrapping around his neck. His breath is hot against my collarbone and as he slides his fingers through my loose hair a shiver runs down my spine. He’s bringing his lips to mine when another knock interrupts us.
“What is it, annual knock-on-Adelice’s-door day?” I grumble.
Jost’s hands fall from me and he grins shyly and then casually pulls me up to my feet.
“Come on, Kincaid is probably inviting us to another wild party.”
“Can we be so lucky?” I ask.
But it’s not a valet waiting outside the door. It’s Valery. Her cosmetics are perfectly applied, less drastic than the first night we saw her here, but she still looks exotic with her wide, dark eyes and midnight hair. She’s wrapped in the same robe she wore last night, but it’s clear that she’s done up for this afternoon’s event.
“I thought I could get you ready,” she offers. Her eyes flash to Jost, who’s standing awkwardly by my bed.
Like old times, I think. I want to send her away. She might feel the need to hide under a painted mask when she’s with Kincaid, but I’ve got more important things to do than getting primped for a charade of civility.
“That sounds nice,” Jost answers for me, grabbing his tuxedo box. “I should get dressed. Check in on Erik.”
Check in on Erik? Erik is the last person he’d want to see. He’s trying to avoid where we were going a few moments ago. “Sure,” I say. “Help him tie his bow tie. Curl each other’s hair.”
I don’t try to hide the annoyance in my voice.
Jost smiles and shakes his head slightly as if to remind me to watch myself. “I’ll see you later.” He kisses my forehead at the door, then looks to Valery and back to me. “You two have fun.”
Fun is probably the last thing we’ll be having, but I give him a small smile.
Valery wastes no time once he’s gone.
She rushes to my bed and lifts the silk dress from the heap I’ve left it in. Smoothing it out, she crosses to my closet and hangs it carefully on the closet door.
“Lovely,” she says, surveying the gown. “You should wear your hair down. We’ll put some waves in it.”
I open my mouth to ask her why she’s doing this, but then I shut it again. It’s the friendliest Valery has been since we discovered her here. Perhaps she feels badly about what happened with Deniel. I can’t exactly blame her for being cold to me after Enora’s suicide.
But I can wonder what she’s up to.
“It’s good I came now. They don’t have the kind of tools I had at the Coventry. This will take some time,” she says.
I follow her into the bathroom and she urges me toward the sink. There’s no fancy chair for me t
o sit in while she dampens my hair, so I bend awkwardly and she presses my head down under the flowing water. It’s freezing and my body tenses.
“Sorry,” she says absently, and I feel the water grow warmer. A moment later, her long fingers run through my hair, massaging shampoo into my scalp. It feels good for a moment but then her fingers grow more frenzied in their actions until she’s practically scraping me with her fingernails. I wince, and she repeats her apology. She lets the water rinse out the soap and it slides into my eyes. I squeeze them shut but feel the sting of the shampoo. She lifts my head and wraps a thick towel around me, offering me a washcloth to wipe my eyes.
When we return to my room, I sit at the vanity and she pulls the towel from my head. Water drips down my back, and my robe sticks to my skin from the moisture.
I feel a comb running through my hair and water gushes to my shoulders as she pulls it into a straight line.
“You should cut this,” she says. “Less work.”
