Page 52 of Lease to Love

I covered every single freckle with the precision of a crime scene investigator, then I leaned toward the mirror.

"Okay. If he says you look beautiful, we say thank you."

I nodded, as if I wasn’t having a conversation with myself.

"If he says nothing? Good. We love silence."

I paused.

"If he looks at you weird, you ask him what the hell he's looking at."

I nodded.

"Excellent."

I picked up my lipstick, telling myself I’d covered the only three reactions he could have… But the unknowns kept bouncing around in my head like background noise.

What if he says he likes your makeup? That's nice.

What if he says he likes your hair? That's also nice.

What if he says he likes your freckles?

I froze. I stared at myself.

"Then we call Maya," I said aloud, pointing at my reflection, "Immediately. Because that's suspicious."

I finished my makeup, took one last look in the mirror, and finally put the dress on.

It fit. It fit like hell.

The damn thing slid over my body like it had been made for me, settling against every curve without pinching or pulling. The silk skimmed my waist, hugged my hips, and fell beautifully around my legs. I felt almost naked in it, not because it showed too much, but because I wasn't used to being this aware of my own body.

I stood in front of the mirror and turned slowly.

I was always the one telling women they looked beautiful.

Always the one adjusting straps, pinning hems, pulling fabric over hips, smoothing wrinkles, stepping back and saying, "There. That's the one."

I'd been styling women since high school. I'd watched their shoulders straighten when they saw themselves in something that fit exactly right. I'd watched them smile at their reflections. I'd watched women who walked into my shop apologizing for their bodies leave looking like they finally understood they had never needed to apologize in the first place.

I had just never known what it felt like to be on the other side of that transformation.

To look in the mirror and see a version of yourself that felt almost unfamiliar. A version that made you pause.

My Mama E had taught me a long time ago that clothes could start a whole conversation before you ever opened your mouth.

Looking at myself in this dress? Apparently Roman Sterling had been having a completely different conversation with me in his mind.

I didn't have time to figure out what that meant because my phone buzzed on the dresser, making me jump.

I grabbed it.

Lucifer: car is outside.

I slipped into the shoes he'd picked.

They fit perfectly too. Of course they did.