Chapter 20
T he following Friday couldn’t come fast enough.
Although I spent every single night with Sinclair, I’d been afraid to ask about the ballet.
I didn’t want to come off as an ignorant yokel, and I also didn’t want to seem overly eager.
The few times he mentioned it, he made it sound much like a business transaction.
Soon, it became clear to me that it was .
This ballet was an obligation and I would be there because he was expected to have a date.
Still, I refused to let that knowledge disappoint me because I would be doing something I’d never done before.
With a man I loved, whether he knew it or not.
And I didn’t know all the details, but I knew I’d be meeting his family—which I assumed were his father, stepmother, and brothers.
I got the feeling he wasn’t close to any of them, so it was possible I would also be serving as silent moral support.
As Edna had promised, we had a bit of a girls’ day.
Sinclair even told us to “have fun” on his way out of the kitchen that morning, and Edna confessed that she’d done all her Friday work the day before.
Marco had returned on Wednesday with the dress and, as he’d promised, it fit like it had been made for me.
I felt beautiful and even a little sexy in it, and I hung it in my closet with the garment cover over it as if it could get dusty in two days.
He’d also provided three-inch red heels, close-toed, and a light white shawl, but I didn’t think I’d need it.
Even though we were a week into autumn, the weather still felt warm, even in the evening.
On our way to the nail salon in the Honda, Edna asked, “Have you thought about what color you’ll want your nail polish?”
“No.” I was just excited about the experience.
I’d never had a mani-pedi.
The closest I’d ever come was when a middle school friend and I had painted each other’s fingernails.
“Do you have any suggestions?”
“Maybe we can ask the nail tech. We’ll tell her what you’ll be wearing, and she might have a few ideas.”
Almost twenty minutes later, we arrived at a salon.
As we got out of the car, Edna said, “There are lots of places closer to the mansion, but I know the people here—and I never have to worry about finding a parking place.”
“True.” In the few times I’d been around Denver with either Edna or Sinclair, I’d noticed that parking was at a bit of premium—and many streets were narrow and packed, with cars crammed along with road with barely an inch between bumpers.
“Aurora’s a bit more spread out.”
“Aurora? We’re in Aurora?”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t even notice when it changed.”
As she closed the door to the car, Edna grinned.
“You like to look all over—and I don’t blame you one bit. But there was a green street sign just past the light at one of the major intersections that you missed. I can’t remember which. It’s just a city limit sign.”
We started walking toward the building.
“I’ll look for it on the way back.”
“For some strange reason, there’s not one announcing we’re returning to Denver. I couldn’t tell you why.”
One thing I definitely noticed, just like Edna said, was that the traffic and buildings here were less like sardines packed in a can.
It was still far bigger and more overwhelming than Winchester, but it felt like there was a little more room to breathe.
Edna’s tech was a girl who looked to be about my age, whereas my tech was a black man who I would have guessed was closer to Sinclair’s.
Both were fun and funny, joking with each other and us while pampering us by making us look a little more beautiful.
When we left, our nails were dry—and mine a little longer due to the acrylic tips he’d added.
My tech had told me a French manicure would add a touch of sophistication to my look and Edna agreed—so I didn’t have to worry about what color would go with my gown.
We had far more fun with my toenails—but again we didn’t go with what I would have considered a traditional color.
Instead, the polish was silver, and my tech said it would go with anything.
The tips on my fingernails weren’t terribly long and I was glad for that, considering I’d be back working downstairs on Monday.
For now, though, I let myself revel in the feeling of being a princess, sought and loved by my handsome prince.
Instead of making lunch, Edna took us to a nearby a sandwich shop, also on Sinclair’s dime.
Close to two that afternoon, I was beginning to feel antsy.
I’d hopped in the shower and combed out my hair, letting it air dry, not knowing exactly what the makeup/hair person would need.
I considered staying in a robe and decided I should probably be dressed when she arrived—but not in my gown for the evening.
I didn’t want to get anything on it, especially not makeup.
So I got in a t-shirt, sweats, and sneakers and waited.
While I did, I checked my email.
Still no word from DU.
I texted my dad, just asking how he was doing.
I still hadn’t told him about the ballet tonight and wasn’t sure how.
It seemed to be a big giveaway—and, yet, we’d managed to fool Edna.
Or maybe Sinclair had fooled me .
Maybe I was being stupid…
still serving my remaining sentence: just over nine years and ten months.
Despite realizing my feelings for Sinclair were growing minute by minute, I had no assurance he felt the same way—and that was due to our pasts.
Fortunately, the makeup artist showed up to pull me out of my thoughts.
Edna knocked on my door and, when I answered, she stood next to a woman my height but at least ten years older.
She was absolutely gorgeous, as if her made-up face and wavy blonde hair were her billboard.
“Hi, I’m Emma,” she said, her bright white teeth nearly glittering like a model for a toothpaste commercial.
Edna said, “I’ll leave you girls to it.” After she offered us drinks which we both declined, Edna waved the other woman the rest of the way in.
“Have fun tonight, Lise.”
“Thanks.”
Emma rolled in a case the size of luggage as Edna walked down the hall, ready to begin her weekend.
“Where do we want to do this?”
I grimaced.
Having Marco in the great room when we tried on dresses had made sense—but for what she’d be doing, we’d need a different space.
“This probably won’t work here.”
“Well, you have a bathroom. There’s a mirror and a counter, and you could sit on the toilet seat. Would you be comfortable there?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Want my vote?” When I nodded, she said, “Of course, you wouldn’t be able to relax. Let’s go somewhere where there’s a table and lots of natural light. I have a mirror in my case we can use, so we don’t have to have one in whatever room you choose.”
I thought of the kitchen and dining room.
They would be okay…but then I remembered the first place Sinclair had kissed me—and, somehow, it seemed perfect.
“I know just the spot.”
“First, why don’t you show me what you’ll be wearing? That way I can make sure whatever I do with your face and hair works with it.”
I agreed, stepping into my closet and pulling out the dress.
After I removed the garment bag, I held the gown up to my body and stepped into the room, hoping she’d get a good idea of how I would look in it.
“Wow. You’re gonna be a knockout.”
After thanking her and trying not to blush, I led her down the hallway toward the stairs she’d already ascended, feeling bad that she’d brought the case up for nothing.
“Can I help you carry that down?”
“Believe it or not, this baby isn’t too heavy and I work out on the regular. It’s taken me years to perfect it, but I’ve got it down to an art. I have clients all over the U.S.—and it costs less to transport and takes way less time when I can carry my bag on the plane instead of checking it.”
As we descended the stairs, I asked, “You’re not based in Denver?”
She laughed.
“Nope. Not that there’s anything wrong with Denver, but I live in Manhattan.”
“Oh.” I was pretty sure that was part of New York City, but I didn’t want her to know just how unworldly and na?ve I was.
Once we were in the main hallway heading west, I said, “So you flew all the way here just to do my makeup?”
“Sure did. Mr. Whittier is friends with one of my clients—and he paid plenty to entice me to rearrange my schedule.”
Although that didn’t completely surprise me, it also comforted me.
Obviously having me look the part of a well-put-together sophisticate was worth a lot of money to Sinclair.
“Is there a certain time you have to leave?”
“My flight is booked for seven—so you’ll have me as long as you need me. But it shouldn’t take long. Your skin is flawless. I don’t have much work to do.”
Even when I blushed?
“Thanks.”
“Yeah—I feel like I’m gonna owe Mr. Whittier a refund.”
Near the end of the hallway, we entered the library.
Just as she’d requested, we had access to several tables and chairs—and plenty of natural lighting.
As the sun lowered itself in the sky, we’d have direct sunlight shining through the west windows as well.
It wasn’t long before she’d taken her case apart.
It was actually several smaller cases that snapped together, and she set the two top ones on the table.
There were tons of products and makeup tucked inside them, along with an assortment of brushes.
“Is there a trashcan around here?”
“Maybe.” While I looked around, she unhooked the other cases from the whole, setting the other two a bit farther away on the table while leaving the biggest one on wheels on the floor.
Meanwhile, I found a waste basket tucked just under the small desk up against the wall.
Little did I know, she’d be using it a lot to throw away disposable sponges, Q-tips, and tissues.
Before she got started, she plugged a curling iron into a socket on the west wall, resting it near the edge of the table, and then she had me sit.
Before she did anything else, she covered my clothes with a black plastic cape.
As she began applying a foundation to my face, I asked, “You said you fly all over the United States?”
“I go wherever I’m needed,” she said, dabbing at my cheek with a sponge.
“So you have clients who need makeup for special events?”
“Yep. That’s a great way to put it. I do makeup for weddings, proms, television appearances, fashion shows, you name it. It’s pretty fun because I get to go all over the place and I make great money. If I’m in a new place, I might stay overnight and check it out, but that doesn’t happen as much now as it used to. Another perk of the job is I get to meet people I never would have met before. And the more I do it, the more well known I become—so I get to charge more money as time goes by.”
“Makes sense.” I didn’t feel comfortable talking much because I didn’t know if it would make her job harder.
It wasn’t like being at the dentist’s office, but I still wasn’t sure if the movement of my mouth was disrupting her work.
Instead, as she worked on my face, she kept talking—and she didn’t seem to need any prompts from me.
As she applied blush, she told me I had beautiful cheekbones.
Before I could even ask what she meant, she told me they were high, giving me a bit of an exotic look.
At that point, I thought she was simply flattering me to pass the time and make me feel better about myself.
“Okay,” she said, stepping back for a bit.
“How do I want to do the eyes? Mr. Whittier said I needed to keep it conservative—but that’s pretty hard when you’re wearing red. You’ve got the perfect hair and skin tone for red lipstick, so we’ll do that and keep everything else subtle.”
I gave a quick nod, acting like I agreed—or maybe like I fully understood what she was talking about.
She worked rapidly, far faster than I could have done my own makeup, underscoring her expertise.
I closed my eyes and felt the liquid eyeliner being applied to my upper lid along the lash line.
Barely a minute later, she was applying shadow and talking again.
“I’m using golds and browns here because they’ll look subtle and make the green of your eyes the star. Next to the red lipstick, of course.”
I’d never worn red lipstick before, never had a reason to even try, so I wondered how I would look—but that would have to wait.
After much blending, she asked me to open my eyes.
When I did, she said, “That’s fantastic.” But she wasn’t done.
She added tiny lashes to make mine appear longer before adding mascara and moving on to my brows.
“Last but not least,” she said, pulling out a tube of red lipstick that she applied with a tiny brush.
“By the way, this gives you twenty-four hour coverage, so you won’t have to reapply it all night long. You’ll look as fresh and beautiful five hours from now as you do right now.”
“Wow.”
“Yep. I use waterproof mascara too, because you never know.” After she seemed happy with my makeup, she said, “Let’s work on your hair.” Closing my eyes, I enjoyed feeling her brush move through the strands down my back before she began manipulating it as one big mass, making it conform to a shape against the back of my head.
As she did so, she said, “I wish Mr. Whittier hadn’t said conservative . With your eyes, I would have loved having you wear red shadow and taupe lipstick. You’ve got the right face for it.”
“I’d say let’s go for it, except for the—”
“Twenty-four hour lips. Yeah, that pretty much sealed the deal, cupcake.” I nearly laughed but the way she twisted my hair brought me back to the present.
“Sorry about that.” Part of me thought she might have been a fun friend if I’d been born in a different place and different time.
I’d never had the pleasure of keeping friends, because when you’re at the bottom, people are content to leave you there—especially if you can be a stepping stone.
It dawned on me then…
whether I liked it or not, Denver was for me a clean slate—exactly what I’d hoped to get when I left Winchester someday.
Sinclair, my sworn enemy, had rescued me from that awful place—and when my ten years was up, I wasn’t going to look back.
By then, I would have a degree and, I hoped, a line on a good job.
And, if he continued to be a stand-up guy, I might even leave with a good reference or maybe even a shoe in somewhere, considering his family’s connections.
And I’d take my dad away from there and we could live in Denver—or anywhere in the world, so long as we shook the dust of Winchester off our shoes.
That damn town didn’t deserve a man the likes of my father.
After sliding several bobby pins in place, whatever she’d done was making my hair stay put.
But she wasn’t done yet.
She’d left two long locks at the front of my face, hanging down past my cheeks, and those she took the curling iron to.
Its heat radiated against my cheek as Emma worked her magic.
Seconds later, she said, “All done!” Then, after pulling the cape off my shoulders, she shook it over the trashcan before whisking over to her big case still on wheels and pulling out a hand mirror.
Holding it up to my face, she asked, “What do you think?”
I stared…
and stared and stared.
I could barely recognize the strikingly beautiful woman looking back at me through the glass.
All I could manage was “You’re a miracle worker.”
Would Sinclair even recognize me?
Emma laughed, removing the mirror.
“I’ve had to perform miracles before, but not today. Your skin and bone structure made it easy.”
I smiled, feeling a little uncomfortable.
When Emma began putting everything back in the cases, I asked, “Can I help with anything?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got a system. If you want, you could wipe the evidence off the table.” When I looked, I noticed a few flecks of various powdered colors on its surface—something the cleaning ladies might not appreciate wiping up on Monday.
But Emma had me pegged correctly: I still didn’t feel comfortable asking others to clean up after me.
I’d barely gotten comfortable leaving dishes overnight for Edna to deal with the next day, regardless of how many times she told me she liked having something to do.
Quickly, I made my way to the nearest bathroom and rolled off several squares of toilet paper so I could simply brush off the powder on the table in the library into the trashcan.
Before I left, though, I caught another look at my face—and it dawned on me.
Tonight, I really would be like Cinderella all dressed up for the ball, ready to enamor the prince.
Unfortunately, deep down I knew that glass slipper would never fit my foot.