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Aimee regains some clarity in her eyes, and I take that as a sign that she’s finished processing. She stands, taking my hands in hers, and looks firmly at my face.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes,” I reply instantly. Unwaveringly.
“You know you’re not obligated to marry him just because of that stupid alliance.”
“I know.”
“You’re aware he’s been a pain in my ass from the moment he got here?”
“He has that effect on people.”
Aimee bites her lip before letting out a sigh.
“Fine. Let’s fucking do this then.”
I squeal in excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“On one condition.”
“What?”
“We recruit some help.”
***
“You’ve outdone yourself this time, Kate,” Aimee mutters as the three of us stare at the mirror.
With a little magic from Kate’s beautician and a short white dress from her wardrobe, I look like an entirely different person.
My hair, which usually falls haphazardly around my shoulders, has been blown out and curled in a lavish, tumbledown style. My eyes sparkle with glitter in muted tones, and my lips are colored a perfect, kissable rouge. Every aspect of my makeup brings out a subtle beauty that I never realized I possessed.
“If Arnie doesn’t drop dead at the sight of you,” Kate smirks back, “you should back out immediately.”
I twist from side to side, admiring the dress from every angle. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked this…”
“Stunning?”
“Breathtaking?”
“Fabulous, darling,” Craig adds from where he’s packing up his beauty supplies.
The three of us share a bemused look.
The beautician had been nothing but complimentary about the way I had “sat” for him. With nothing to scold me about—even off-Broadway productions grant some practice in sitting still for makeup—he’d resorted to loudly complaining about Aimee’s fidgeting whenever she was in earshot.
“The dress is from Paris Fashion Week,” Kate explains. “I had to fight Nina Dobrev for it, so I’d rather like it back.”
As ridiculous as it sounds, I can see why. The soft silk gown looks as if it was made for a goddess. It drapes across my chest like a second skin, with the off-shoulder straps exposing my collar bones perfectly. Finally, it cascades down to my thighs and fades out into the faintest sparkle of glitter.
“Something borrowed,” Aimee points out. “What else?”
“New hair?” I suggest, and they both nod in approval. But then I hit a problem. “Blue’s not really my color.”
It’s Kate who smiles first. “I have the perfect thing.”
I share a look with my sister as Kate sets off out of the room. She’s back a moment later, carrying an impressive-looking box.
