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I grabbed a robe the woman in the closet held out to me, and at a nod from the hairdresser, I escaped behind a locked door. This was a lot. It was almost too much. Aside from last night, I’d never spent more time in a salon than it took to trim a couple of inches off the bottom of my hair, and even those visits were irregular.
When I walked back into the bedroom, the robe wrapped tightly around me, the hair stylist beckoned to me. “Hair first,” she said. “Are we doing loose with big curls or up?”
I sat in her chair, and she played with my hair, forming it into a twist and lifting it into a pseudo updo before her gaze drifted to my neck.
“You know what? I think those big loose curls might work nicely, after all.” She quickly positioned some rollers and turned on the hairdryer, removing the need for conversation as she teased my hair and positioned it just how she wanted it.
“You must be such a temptation,” she murmured as she worked. “I wonder what the family will say when they meet you?”
“She was certainly the talk of the casino guys.” The makeup artist giggled.
“Yes, well, they know the rules. Nothing too challenging.” The hair stylist shot her an odd, warning look and the makeup artist glanced away, suddenly busy examining the label on a small pot of moisturizer.
I studied my fingers as I twisted them in my lap, hiding my expression from the women in the room. What rules? It felt like everything that was said around me was spoken in some sort of code. What was Nicolas involved in? For the second time of the day, I pictured the west wing doors. The only place I wasn’t allowed to go. Those were my rules apparently, the ones I had to follow.
But perhaps I could choose not to. Next time I was left alone, maybe I could ditch Jason if I needed to and find my way in. It wasn’t like the guy followed me to the bathroom.
The hair stylist proclaimed me done soon enough, although she couldn’t resist a last teasing touchup of a few of the curls before passing me to the makeup artist. For the second time in as many days, I looked flawless. That had probably never been true in my life before.
And when the stylist emerged from the closet, practically humming a fanfare as she walked toward me, an incredible dress in her arms, I didn’t know what to say.
“Holy shit, that can’t be for me.” Yeah. I really didn’t know what to say, so I just blurted out words.
The women with me laughed. “Nic has really good taste, right?” The stylist lifted an eyebrow, but I remained silent.
“He chose you, you know, so your answer should always be yes.” The makeup artist put her lotions and potions away as she spoke, and I pulled a face she didn’t see.
If calling in a debt was choosing, then yeah.
But I didn’t say anything. I simply watched as the stylist laid the dress on my bed and then produced another fancy lingerie set, this time including thigh-high stockings. Holy fuck, I was going to look like a porn star under my dress. Thank God high-rolling casino owners and their families didn’t come equipped with X-ray vision.
Self-consciously, I lowered my robe, my hands shaking a little as I revealed my body to three women I didn’t know before stepping into the new panties and allowing the stylist to fasten and position the bra just right for under the dress. Then I drew the stockings on before she could even attempt to help with those.
She picked up the dress and held it out for me to see, and I swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. It was a beautiful shade of emerald green, with a structured bodice, nipped-in waist, and tiny black crystals that had been stitched in a floral pattern and glittered as they caught the light.
“I think I’ll look like a queen,” I blurted.
“Nic’s queen.” The makeup artist sighed dreamily as she leaned on the vanity, her hand cupping her chin as she watched me step into the dress.
The bodice was surprisingly modest, only just revealing the swell of my breasts, but it was backless, and the stylist reached into her bag.
“Just one last thing.” She produced a necklace studded with what looked like tiny rubies and which had a huge ruby-colored pendant dripping from the center of it. She motioned me closer and fasted the clasp at the front of my neck so the pendant hung between my shoulder blades and the smaller gems glittered all the way down the base of my neck, looking for all the world like tiny droplets of blood.
“Stunning,” she whispered as she motioned her finger for me to do a twirl.
I glanced over my shoulder to a floor-length mirror. Wearing a necklace backward wouldn’t have been something I would have thought to do, but the unexpected effect of it against my skin was incredible.
“You’re ready, Cinderella.” The makeup artist choked on a giggle, and the hair stylist shushed her and sent her yet another warning glare.
“We hope you have a lovely evening, Miss Boucher,” the hair stylist said, her voice so reverent I almost expected her to curtsy.
I made my way to the top of the stairs, pausing with a hand on the bannister as I glimpsed Nicolas below, staring upward expectantly. When he saw me, his lips parted and his eyes widened. As I walked slowly toward him, his gaze seemed to wander all over me, practically searing through the dress, and heat flashed over my skin as electricity sizzled between us.
When I reached the hallway, he stepped toward me, his gray eyes molten with desire, although his face held the tension of a predator. It wasn’t a look I’d inspired in men before.
My chest tightened as I tried to inhale, but I was caught in some kind of spell. Nicolas’s spell.
“Like the dress?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice cracked, and my chuckle became sharp as he leaned toward me, his breath warm against my ear.
