Chapter 3
three
WREN
One time, when I was in sixth grade, I was a bridesmaid at my cousin Jenna’s wedding.
The girls in the wedding party sat in big chairs while an extremely hip man carefully did our hair and our makeup.
At twelve, I was deeply excited to wear a fancy dress and a little bit of colored lip gloss.
I ended up getting food poisoning and vomiting on myself during the reception, but that’s beside the point.
That’s the only experience I can really compare being Cinderella’d to. Except I didn’t ask to be Cinderella this time. I didn’t ask for the fairy godmother or the glitter. I just wanted a job. A purpose. Not a mirror filled with someone I barely recognize.
Elena sits me down in a big, comfortable chair facing a mirror. There’s a massive spread of cosmetics laid out in front of me, glittering under the lights like treasure.
A gorgeous, perfectly made-up blonde woman pokes her head into the room. “Hey, do you need something?” she asks.
Elena smiles and pats my arm encouragingly. “This is Wren. She’s going to be one of the contestants on this season of The Last Kiss . Wren, this is Jennifer.”
“Oh! We’ll be spending lots of time together, then.” Jennifer gives me a wide, warm smile. “You look nervous, hon.”
“I don’t think I have what it takes to be a bachelorette on the show,” I admit, already feeling the nerves twist in my stomach. My laugh comes out too loud, too sharp. “I mean, look at me. And don’t even get me started on the fact that I get sweaty and awkward on camera.”
Elena and Jennifer exchange a look. Jennifer shrugs. “I’m sure we can handle the first one, at least.”
“What kind of makeover are we talking about here?” I start to say I just want something minimal—maybe a haircut and a little blush—but Elena cuts in.
“Push yourself, Wren. Go outside your comfort zone. Do you want to go full glam? Or maybe something cute and perky? We could play up your youth to make you stand out. Most of the other bachelorettes are in their late twenties and early thirties.”
I frown. “I don’t know, Elena. I was thinking we’d just change my top and throw on a little lipstick, maybe.”
Elena gives me a long, assessing look. “Carina, you have the chance to do whatever you want here. I think you should try something completely new. It doesn’t have to be your identity after the show wraps in two months, but who knows? You might like it.”
My eye twitches. I press my fingers to the spot, trying to rub away my irritation.
Jennifer approaches with a thick binder full of clothing and hairstyles. The style name is printed on each glossy sheet and surrounded by cut and pasted models wearing clothes that match the aesthetic. Princess. Glam. Cottagecore. Androgynous. Bohemian. Goth.
This binder is a little like an old school version of Pinterest. Each style is more impressive than the last. They’re all bold, dramatic, and attention-grabbing. So, the antithesis of my wallflower style.
“These styles are nice, but they’re very dramatic. I can’t imagine myself in any of these.”
All I wanted was to get through this gig quietly. A little lipstick. A sensible ponytail. Something safe. Something invisible. I didn’t want to be seen. That was the whole point of how I dress. Now they want to turn me into a headline waiting to happen. A new girl in a borrowed face.
I turn the page to peer at Sporty and Retro. Yeah, there’s no way anyone is getting me into a 1950s style A-line dress.
“These are just for inspiration,” Jennifer says. She’s flitting around me, laying out hair spray, a couple of expensive bras, and a set of fake eyelashes on the table in front of me. “Just look through them all first before you reject the entire project.”
I don’t even wear bras like these. I don’t let anyone see me undressed, period. The idea of being a sexualized version of myself makes me want to crawl under the vanity and disappear.
So I’m a project now? I sink low in my chair and keep my eyes down so Jennifer won’t see how much I hate this entire process.
“Oh. Sure. I mean, yeah. I trust you. Totally.” I force a smile that feels too wide. “Please transform me into a human Bratz doll. God.”
After a few minutes flipping through it, I point to a look that feels just on the edge of ridiculous. It’s bratty and punk, but still kind of sexy. Pink and black dominate the color palette. There’s something in it that appeals to me.
“Maybe this one?” I say, voice unsure.
Jennifer blinks, then grins. “Oh. I didn’t expect you to pick that, but I think it’ll look amazing on you. How do you feel about changing your hair color?”
I shrug. “I guess… we can talk about it?” It comes out sounding more like a question than I’d like.
Elena folds her hands and looks pleased. “I’ll be back later to see what you two come up with.”
Three hours later, the transformation is complete.
I step out of the dressing room and glance down at my damp palms. I want to wipe them off, but I’m wearing a borrowed dress, so I just squeeze my hands into tight fists.
Jennifer rushes over, eyes raking over me with satisfaction. “Wait until you see yourself in the mirror.”
She leads me over to a three-way mirror, and when I look up, I stop breathing.
The woman staring back at me is fierce. Sexy, even. What kind of magical makeup and mystical bra tape did she use on me to get me looking this good?
I’m rocking a custom baby doll dress made from gauzy blue material. The hem hits just below my crotch. My legs look long and lean in white tights. A black silk tie highlights my narrow waist. It matches with the patent leather high-heeled Mary Janes and black silk choker around my neck.
Holy shit. Wearing this outfit, I’m a babe. I have no idea where the attractive woman peering back at me came from.
She’s hot. Whoever she is. I’m not sure she’s me. But if I take this off… what happens then? Do I disappear again? What if this is the only version of me people care about?
Jay would probably have a coronary if he saw me in this. He’s always been the overprotective big brother type, and this outfit? Yeah. This would push every single one of his panic buttons.
I’m glad to say, Jennifer decided my fiery copper tresses were too beautiful to dye.
Instead, she left my hair long, bluntly cut, and styled in a way that makes me seem rebellious.
I’m wearing heavy eyeliner and bold red lipstick.
My cheeks are brushed with a light pink blush that somehow makes me look younger and more alluring all at once.
I don’t even know what to say.
“Well?” Jennifer asks, eyes shining. “What do you think? Isn’t it amazing? You look incredible.”
I stare at myself for a beat too long. “I feel like I’m going to walk out of this room and immediately flash my butt at a stranger.”
She laughs. “You’re gonna be fine. Honestly, I think you picked the perfect look. You might just win the whole competition based on this style alone.”
My cheeks, already pink from blush, turn bright red.
I back away from the mirror and shake my head. “I’m not trying to win based on looks. I just want to compete, like Elena said… and hopefully get voted off early.”
Jennifer winks.
I start to head back into the dressing room, but she stops me.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to change,” I say, motioning to the tiny dress. “I’m not walking out of here in this.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“I’m part of the crew. I don’t want everyone judging me… and walking around dressed like this? People will definitely notice.”
Jennifer taps a perfectly painted nail against her lips. “I get it. You want to keep this under wraps while you’re working. But I’ve spent all afternoon getting you gussied up. You can’t let the makeover go to waste already.”
I gesture to the dress. “I can’t leave like this.”
She holds up a finger. “Hang on.”
She darts into the wardrobe room and comes back with a coat. It’s a dark trench that hits just at my knees.
“Here. Put this on. That way you can leave without anyone knowing what kind of magic is going on underneath. Later, you can go out and look hot. Trust me.”
She shoves the coat into my arms. I put it on—mostly to appease her.
But she’s right. As soon as I button it up and belt it, I look like a perfectly modest, respectable young woman. No one would guess what’s underneath.
Jennifer nods approvingly. “I’ll go get Elena.”
“Let’s both go.” Cinching the coat tightly at my waist, I follow her. “I’m ready to get out of here and go back to my real life. It’s much less exciting and sparkly, but it’s where I’m comfortable.”
“You never know. You might get used to your new look.” She smiles as we head toward the production office.
I hear a deep male voice down the hallway. “Hey, y’all are paying me to be here. I’ll do whatever and go wherever you need me to.”
No. Hearing that voice in my workplace feels as though someone suddenly splashed me with a bucketful of ice water. It can’t be.
My steps slow as Jennifer and I walk around the corner. And there he is. Six foot five, broad shoulders, dark hair, and that stupid haughty look he always has on his fucking face. The kind of blue eyes that make you believe in clichés. His abs have abs.
Ryan is here. And he’s… shirtless. He’s wearing tight black jeans and black boots. His shoulders and chest gleam, his abs ripple, his arms flex. As we move closer, I can see the freckles that cover his body from head to toe standing out on his shoulders.
And then he turns. Ryan fucking Haart. Shirtless. Muscled. Smirking. And looking right at me. I want to die. I want to disappear. I want him to say something awful so I can be angry instead of whatever the hell this feeling is.
I stifle my automatic reaction.
Jennifer moves forward, gently waving to Elena. When Elena shifts her attention, Ryan looks over his shoulder. Then he does a double take. His eyes widen and his nostrils flare.
We stare at each other for what feels like an hour but is probably only ten seconds. Jennifer looks between us, squinting.