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After I take a shower—where I carefully shaved everything because you just never know—I lather on the expensive lotion Iris’s mom gave me last Christmas, then slip on a pair of lacy white panties before I pull on the dress. It’s a struggle to get the top over my boobs, but I make it work without Iris’s assistance. The only issue I have is being able to reach to pull up the zipper that rests on my lower spine. I call her in for help and she zips it up with ease, our gazes meeting in the mirror.
“He’s going to die.”
“I hope so,” is my response, making us smile.
I still feel guilty about last night, and that we never got a chance to talk so far today. Maybe after the party? I have no idea what Summer wants us to do, but I’m sure she’ll keep us busy for hours.
I blow dry and style my hair while Iris is in the shower, and once she’s out, she slicks her hair back into a sleek bun, adding thin gold hoop earrings to complement the look. “I’m keeping things simple,” she tells me after she’s slipped into a body-hugging black knit dress that’s similar to the cream-colored one she wore this morning. “Less is more.”
I think of how she piled on the makeup just last night for the game, but I keep those thoughts to myself.
We head downstairs after we’re done, and Summer puts us right to work. Despite all of the servants bustling around and the event planner’s staff, we don’t mind helping out. She puts us in charge of answering the door to the parents dropping off their children to the party, and we greet the other guests as well. Some of our family members show up, including Charlotte and Perry, who have their own daughter close to Pru and Paris’s age, though Juliette just turned twelve.
It’s fun, greeting everyone, especially the older relatives. My grandma eventually shows up, accompanied by her much younger “companion” as she calls him, Geoffrey. My grandfather died when I was little, and I’ve heard enough stories over the years to know he doesn’t sound like a very nice man. Once he passed though, my grandmother became much kinder, according to Mom.
“My darling girl, look at you,” my grandma says when she sees me. She stops in front of me, grabbing both of my hands and stretching my arms out wide as she turns to look at Geoffrey. “Isn’t she a delight?”
“It’s nice to see you, Willow,” Geoffrey says, inclining his head toward me. He’s in his fifties with a full head of hair and his gaze is always admiring when he stares at my grandmother.
“Grandma, you’re making me self-conscious.” I pull her in for a hug and her gentle hands pat at my bare back, exposed thanks to the dress. “But thank you.”
“Is your father here?” The amusement on her face is obvious. “Has he seen you in this dress yet?”
“No and no. He’s unable to make it,” I tell her with a mock sad face.
“Lucky for you,” she murmurs as she goes to embrace Iris.
Once everyone has arrived, Iris and I make our way outside where the festivities are being held. Pru and Paris are truly the spotlight, their friends surrounding them as they move about the terrace like a swarm of bees, buzzing and talking and laughing. I spot the boys sitting at a nearby table. Row and Callahan both look like they’d rather be anywhere but here, while Beau and Vaughn sit on the edge of their seats, watching the girls with stars in their eyes.
It’s kind of amusing.
I don’t see the older boys yet, which only makes me nervous. Iris is fidgety too, her head whipping this way and that as she scans the area, trying to play it cool while I know she’s in search of Brooks.
“Girls, come have your fortune told.” Summer appears in front of us, holding her arm out toward where the lip print reader has set up her little booth. “The younger girls are scared to do it. They want you to go first.”
“No problem.” Iris shrugs and we both head over to the area where the woman has set up. The three tables are set up in a Ushape, and they’re covered in vivid red, gauzy tablecloths. On one of the tables is a stack of white card stock accompanied by a display full of various shades of lipsticks.
“Welcome,” the woman says, a friendly smile on her face. Her lips are full and slicked with red. “Care to have your lips read?”
“Yes,” Iris says, stepping forward. I already told her she should go first. “What shall we do? I’m wearing clear gloss.”
The woman plucks a tissue from the box on her table and hands it to Iris. “Wipe your lips clean and choose a lipstick shade. Whichever one you want. Please hand it to me when you’re done and grab a blank card. I’ll need you to kiss it twice.”
Iris does as she’s instructed, choosing the darkest red she could find and smearing it on her lips in an extra thick coat. I choose my shade as well, going for a soft but obvious pink, studying myself in one of the mirrors that sits on the table as I carefully apply it. I grab a piece of card stock and kiss it twice, taking my time while Iris is already seated in front of the woman, who introduces herself as Linda, eager to hear what she has to say.
“Do you mind if your friend listens in?” Linda asks Iris, referring to me.
“She’s my best friend and my cousin. We have no secrets,” Iris tells her.
Hmm, not so sure about that, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Very well, then.” Linda takes the kiss-covered card from Iris and sets it in front of her, dropping her head to examine it carefully. She even pulls out a small magnifying glass, squinting into it as she scans it over the first lipstick print, then the second one. “Hmm.”
Iris and I share a look, Iris appearing like she might burst out laughing, and I send her a quick headshake. I don’t want her disrespecting the poor woman who seems to take her job very seriously.
“See how close your lips are?” Linda taps the thin slide of open space between the kiss print. “You tend to be closed off—mysterious.”
“Accurate,” Iris says with a laugh.
