61. Addy
Chapter sixty-one
Addy
T he hum of the air conditioner mingles with the subtle scent of hairspray and foundation as I sit, half-draped in a salon cape, in the plush makeup chair. Gen is buzzing around the room, a whirlwind of energy as she orchestrates this transformation. She's the mastermind behind the glamour that will soon cloak my usually understated appearance.
"Keep your eyes closed for just a sec," the makeup artist instructs, her voice as soft as the brushes she uses to dust powder across my cheeks. I obey, feeling the tickle of bristles along my skin and the cool touch of eyeshadow on my lids.
"Rhett, seriously, you need to chill," Gen's assertive voice cuts through the calm like a knife. She paces back and forth, phone pressed against her ear, her tone brokering no argument. "Addy's fine. We're going to be down on time. You don't need to send any of your watchdogs up here."
A smile curls on my lips despite my closed eyes. Saint's overprotectiveness is as endearing as it is suffocating at times. But Gen won't let anyone, not even him, disrupt our preparations.
"Listen," Gen continues, her voice laced with a playful threat now, "if one of your boys so much as steps foot on these stairs before we're ready, I swear, Rhett, limbs will be removed. And I am not joking."
I can almost picture Saint on the other end of the line —his dark curly hair falling into his eyes, that permanent furrow between his brows deepening. He'd be standing there, phone to his ear, surrounded by his loyal friends, all of them itching to see the final result of Gen's grand plan. I can't wait to show them.
I catch a ripple of laughter escaping my lips, the sound almost foreign in its lightness. It's Gen's witty quip, a razor-sharp retort to Saint's overprotective antics, that slices through the tension I didn't realize I was holding. My shoulders relax, and a smile plays at the corners of my mouth.
"Okay, open," the makeup artist prompts, and I lift my lashes, granting myself permission to peek at the world again. She studies my face intently, searching for any imperfections to correct, but after a moment, she steps back, satisfied. "You're all set."
"Finally!" Gen exclaims, ending her call with a decisive tap on her smartphone screen. She turns to me, her gaze sweeping over my face, seeking approval. "You look amazing, Addy."
"Thanks to you," I reply, meaning every word. Tonight, she's given me a different kind of armor—one made of elegance and beauty, a guise under which I can navigate the treacherous waters of high society.
"Time for the grand reveal," Gen announces, her hands fluttering towards the garment bag that holds my dress—a symbol of newfound autonomy.
The makeup artist gives me a nod, and I rise from the chair with a sense of ceremony. There's something thrilling about slipping into a dress that's entirely my choice, a quiet rebellion against Cheryl's heavy-handed elegance.
"Help me?" I ask, turning my back to Gen as I hold out the dress. It's a simple request, but it feels like so much more than that. Tonight, I'm not just dressing up for my engagement party; I'm stepping into myself, unapologetically.
"Of course," she replies, her fingers deftly moving along the zipper.
I step into the black chiffon, the fabric whispering promises against my skin as it falls into place. The straps rest lightly on my shoulders, each split delicately to form a 'v' that mirrors my own vulnerability and strength. The neckline offers a daring plunge, yet retains a grace that speaks to understated beauty—a balance I've strived to find within myself.
Turning to face the mirror, I hardly recognize the girl staring back. The braids on either side of my head give way to an elegant bun, a crown of sorts, befitting the new chapter I'm about to enter. My pale skin is a stark canvas to the dark dress, each element accentuating the other in perfect harmony.
"Wow," Gen breathes out, standing beside me. Her reflection shows pride and something fiercer—protection, maybe, or solidarity.
"Wow indeed," I echo, allowing myself a rare moment of indulgence. The lacy back with its keyhole cutout exposes more skin than I'm used to, yet it feels right —like a secret between the dress and myself. It's simpler than anything Cheryl would have chosen for me, lacking the usual ostentation, but it's embellished with enough detail to remind me that I am, in fact, beautiful.
"My cousin and his boys won't know what hit them," Gen chuckles, and I can't help but join in. The laughter feels good; it feels like freedom.
"Let's not ruin their surprise," I say, meeting her eyes in the mirror. We share a conspiratorial grin, a silent pact sealed between reflections.
"Ready to take on the night?" Gen asks, offering me her arm.
"More than ready," I reply, a surge of anticipation coursing through me. With one last glance at our mirrored selves, we turn towards the door, leaving behind the sanctuary of preparation for the promise of the evening ahead.
The stairs creak under our feet, the sound a gentle prelude to the moment I've been both dreading and dreaming of. The scent of Gen's floral perfume mingles with the subtle fragrance of my own, creating an invisible shroud of anticipation as we descend. Hushed voices and the clinking of glass from below rise to greet us.
"Boys, turn around," Gen commands with a playful sternness that has them obediently spinning on their heels. "No peeking until I say so." Her voice is a velvet threat laced with amusement.
"Gen, you're—this is too far," comes a muffled protest, but it's cut short by another's laughter.
"Trust me, it'll be worth it," she replies, her hand gripping the railing as she tosses a mischievous glance over her shoulder to make sure they're complying.
I stifle a giggle, feeling the fluttering in my stomach intensify. With each step, the fabric of my dress whispers over my skin, a constant reminder of my transformation tonight.
"Okay..." Gen draws out the suspense, pausing for effect as we reach the final step. "Turn."
There's a collective intake of breath, a symphony of gasps that fills the air. My heart thuds against my ribs, seeking escape, as green eyes meet a trio of stares—each pair more intense than the last.
"Snowflake..."
"Wow, Addy, you look—"
"Unbelievable."
Their words overlap, stumble over one another, a cacophony of awe and something deeper, more profound. It's the look in their eyes that says everything—admiration, desire, and a fierce protectiveness that wraps around me like a shield.
"Easy, boys," Gen teases, stepping forward to intercept any potential chaos. "She's still got to make it to the party in one piece."
"Wouldn't dream of ruining this masterpiece," one of them quips, gesturing at me with a reverence that makes heat creep up my neck.
"Let's get going then," I say, my voice steady despite the emotional whirlwind inside me. "We wouldn't want to keep everyone waiting."
"Definitely not," Gen agrees, linking her arm with mine. "Tonight's all about you, Addy."
"About time," I murmur, smiling at the truth of it. As we move toward the door, the sense of belonging washes over me, potent and real. Tonight, I'm not just Adelaide Winthrop; I'm part of something greater, something chosen—not imposed. And I can hardly wait to see where the night takes us.
The last step taken, the cool marble of the foyer meets the soles of my heels, and the boys are upon me like moths to a flame. Their eyes drink in every detail, from the braided crown atop my head to the hem of my dress whispering against the floor.
"Princess, you are absolutely stunning," Saint breathes out, his gaze lingering with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine.
"Seriously, how are we supposed to keep our hands to ourselves tonight?" Chess adds, a smirk playing on his lips, but his eyes betraying the same reverence I see in Saint's.
Dre's voice wraps around me, warm and sincere, as he speaks. “You shine so bright against the darkness, Snowflake."
"Boys," Gen's voice cuts through the thick atmosphere, her playful scold drawing a chorus of chuckles. "Let's not smudge the art before it's even been showcased."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Saint says, though his hand hovers near mine, as if he's fighting the impulse.
"Trust me, I've got enough hairspray in this to withstand a hurricane," I quip, trying to ease the tension coiling within me—excitement, nerves, all mingled together.
"Alright, lovebirds, let's get moving." Gen claps her hands once, directing traffic like a seasoned conductor. "Mason's waiting for me in the G Wagon, but your chariot awaits." She gestures toward the open front door where the sleek stretch of the limo glints under the porch lights.
"Wait, we're taking a limo?" My eyebrows lift as I look between them, a laugh escaping me. "Seriously?"
"Only the best for our girl," Saint says, offering his arm to escort me out.
"Tonight is about making you feel as special as you are to us, Addy," Chess chimes in, opening the limo door with a flourish.
"Thank you," I say, the words too small to hold the enormity of my gratitude. They smile, their eyes saying what words cannot—that this is just the beginning.
We slide into the limo, and as the vehicle purrs to life, pulling us away from the house and toward the unknown, I lean back against the plush seat. Surrounded by these boys—who have become my protectors, my friends, my something more—I allow myself to savor the feeling of being cherished. It's new, it's overwhelming, and it's mine.
The limo slows, tires crunching on the gravel drive of the venue they've chosen for this event—I know Mason was adamantly against holding it at the Winthrop estate. I can see the lights from here, a constellation of luxury and expectation. My palms are damp, and I press them against the cool silk of my dress, willing the nerves to smooth out like the fabric beneath my fingers.
"Hey," Saint says softly, his hand finding mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're going to be amazing, Princess."
"Remember, it's just a bunch of people with more money than sense," Chess adds, winking at me in the rearview mirror. His casual irreverence is a lifeline in a sea of my own trepidation.
"Besides," Dre murmurs, leaning closer so that his breath tickles my ear, "you've got us. No one's going to mess with you. Not tonight, not ever."
"Thanks, guys." The words come out as a whisper, a testament to the tightrope walk my emotions are performing. I am grateful for them, these boys who have become my unexpected guardians, tethering me to a world I'm still learning to navigate.
The car comes to a stop, and there's a moment—just one—where everything is still. Then the door opens, letting in the sound of distant music and laughter. It's the cue for the rest of my life to start.
"Ready?" Gen asks from outside, her voice bright and confident.
"Ready," I echo back, a mantra to bolster my courage. I step out of the limo, the cool night air caressing my skin where the dress leaves it bare. Ahead, the grand entrance beckons, its doors thrown wide open in welcome—or challenge.
I lift my chin, let the smile play on my lips, and with a glance back at my companions, our connection silent but steadfast, I move forward.
"Here goes nothing," I murmur under my breath.
"Everything," Saint corrects gently, and they fall into step beside me. Together, we cross the threshold into a night that promises change, into my new life.