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He shrugs, unimpressed. “Hair, nails, waxing, makeup, whatever you need. You’ll see. They are magicians.”
Grace and I exchange glances, already resigned to the commotion they will transform our living room into.
Let’s see how long Jack can hold on to that chastity vow.
* * *
I curl into Mom's antique armchair, the embroidered fabric soft and familiar against my skin. Our cozy living room mixes childhood mementos with sleek new furniture—a patchwork of the past and the present.
Last spring, Aunt Viv spent weeks helping us settle in, using her interior design talents to artfully arrange thrifted family treasures alongside Grace’s slick minimalist finds.
When it came time for Viv to return to Paris, she folded all three of us into a hug. Blinking back tears behind oversized Jackie O sunglasses, she made us swear to visit her next summer.
“I’m just a short flight away if my New York girls need Auntie Viv!” she called brightly before disappearing through airport security.
Knowing Mom’s sister is always there for us makes all the difference.
Grace comes in through the front door, balancing three Starbucks cups.
“Alright, ladies, I bear extra bubbly mango refreshers to set the mood!”
“Bless you.” I grin, taking an eager sip of the fizzy drink before my makeover magic begins. Aria bounces over, overflowing with excitement.
“I still can't believe my big sis landed an actual billionaire boyfriend!” she gushes. “Spill!” she urges, giving my hair a playful yank. “How exactly did you and this billionaire boss man meet?”
I meet Grace's warning look with a small head shake. We opted not to tell her about my arrangement with Jack. No need to burden her with it. She already has a lot to deal with next to grief, raging pubescent hormones, and a new school.
“We ran into each other last week when I went hiking. If you believe it, he rescued me from a black bear,” I explain. “And so, it started.”
Hopefully, she doesn't pick up on my nerves. I’m a terrible liar, if there ever was one. I give her a short version of my frightening run in with the bear, of him being a former Navy SEAL, and how he scared the bear away. With every additional piece of information, her eyes are growing larger and larger.
“You’ll meet the mountain man tonight,” I add, giggling like a school girl.
The half-truth tastes bitter, but if it means protecting her, I’m game.
Before Aria gets to probe further, the buzzer rings, announcing my glam squad. As promised, two women carrying big bags of who knows what stand in front of our door.
“Who’s our Cinderella tonight?” the blond one, who introduces herself as Mia, trills. “Go wash your hair while we set up,” she orders. “We don’t have a whole lot of time.”
Soon, I’m tucked into a chair, the faint scent of hair products and polish remover mingling. As Mia works frizz control magic, the other woman, Rory, is polishing my nails. I feel absolutely pampered. Is this what the life of a billionaire’s fiancé is like? Dress shopping and polishing the gem after close of business? I catch Grace's eyes in the mirror. “So. This gala thing. Any idea what exactly happens there?”
Grace shrugs. “Beats me. Big cocktail party with diamonds and couture, I’d think?”
I chew my lip nervously. A lot seems to ride on handling the spotlight right.
Mia reaches for the curling iron, weighing in. “These fancy corporate fundraiser soirees can be landmines of etiquette. Best look every attendee up and down through those long lashes while saying absolutely nothing. And take small mouthfuls at dinner— you can't risk a slip-up with all those judgmental eyes.”
“Sounds like so much fun,” I mouth sarcastically.
My anxiety must broadcast all over my face. “Just stay close to your date, darling. Let him guide the schmoozing. You’ll be fine.”
“Is it just me or is being glamorous extremely exhausting?” I huff as Mia teases yet another section of hair around the two-inch barrel iron. My scalp tingles from all the attention.
Aria looks up from her perch where she has been dutifully watching Rory paint my left hand's nails a soft blush pink. “I think it's glamorous torture!” She giggles. “But just look at you, Mads! You're shining brighter than Times Square.”
I peer critically at my reflection where my hair has only just begun coming together. The woman peering back reminds me of those potentially fake celebrity shots.
Grace senses my uncertainty. “You're stunning, Mads. This is like the princess playdates we had back in the day, remember?”
