"I think a nice pastel blue would look lovely on you," I say, squeezing her hand. "It would bring out the color of your eyes and give you an ethereal vibe. Plus, it would match that cute little sundress you bought the other day."
"Ooh, getting all nostalgic on us, are you?" Emily chimes in. "Why don't you go for something a little more daring? Like, I don't know, blood red? Really embrace that whole 'angel dating a vampire' aesthetic."
Seraphina's face lights up like a Christmas tree, and she nods enthusiastically. "Blood red it is, then! Thank you, Emily. And I like your color a lot, Dani."
I shrug, trying to play it cool even as a warm feeling blooms in my chest. "What can I say? I'm a regular fashion guru. Just call me the supernatural version of Tim Gunn."
Emily snorts, rolling her eyes. "Please. The only thing you're a guru of is sarcasm and bad puns. But I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day."
"Hey, I resent that!" I say, giving her a playful smack. "My puns are top-notch, thank you very much. You're just jealous of my wit and charm."
"Yeah, that's definitely it," Emily deadpans. "I'm just green with envy over here. If only I could be as clever and witty as the great Dani Pierce."
Sable, who has been quietly enjoying her own pedicure, pipes up with a grin. "I don't know, Emily. I think Dani's onto something. Her puns are prettypun-derful, if you ask me."
I let out a bark of laughter. "See? Sable gets it. She understands the art of the pun."
Emily shakes her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You two are impossible. I don't know how I put up with you."
Watching our exchange with amused confusion, Seraphina chimes in with a knowing smile. "I think it's because, deep down, you love them. Even if they do drive you a little crazy sometimes."
Emily sputters, her cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. "I... well... I mean... oh, shut up. You're one to talk, Miss 'I'm dating the walking, talking embodiment of sarcasm and bad jokes.'"
Seraphina shrugs, a serene smile on her face. "What can I say? I have a thing for charming rogues with hearts of gold."
I can't help but laugh at the look of outrage on Emily's face. "Face it, Em. We're all a bunch of lovable weirdos. And you wouldn't have it any other way."
Emily sighs, a reluctant smile spreading across her face. "Yeah, yeah. I guess you're right. But if any of you tell Lucian I said that, I'll deny it until my dying day."
We all laugh, the sound echoing through the spa like a symphony of joy and friendship. And in this moment, surrounded by the people I love most, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.
After a much-needed Brazilian wax (because who the hell has time for landscaping when you're trying to save the world?) and a massage that made me feel like I was floating on a cloud of pure bliss, we finally returned to the mansion. I feel like a million fucking bucks—and considering the price tag on some of these spa treatments, I probably should.
I park Lucian's ridiculously expensive, blacked-out Bentley Continental GT (which he so graciously let me borrow) and can't help but marvel at the sheer beauty of this beast. It felt good to get behind the wheel again, even if it was to chauffeur our little girl gang around town.
As we enter the mansion, I make a beeline for our room. Seraphina immediately starts searching for Lucian. Emily and Sable, on the other hand, make themselves at home in the living room, ready to binge-watch whatever trashy reality show they can find.
I grin as I watch them go their separate ways. It's funny how we still find time for the little things even amid all this supernatural chaos. Brazilian waxes, fancy cars, and trashy TV—it's the stuff that keeps us sane.
Well, as sane as a group of supernaturally-charged women can be, anyway.
I am mentally picking out which expensive ass outfit I will wear for my date night with Rhyland. Maybe that little black dress that hugs my curves in all the right places? Or the red one that makes me look like a goddamn femme fatale?
Decisions, decisions.
I fling open the door, and my jaw nearly hits the floor. There, sitting on the bed with a sexy-as-sin grin on his face, is Rhyland, looking like he just stepped out of a goddamn GQ photoshoot. Next to him is a huge black box with a pink ribbon, and I swear, if my ovaries could talk, they'd scream, "YES, PLEASE!"
He's rocking a dark blue tuxedo that fits him like a second skin, hugging every delicious curve of his muscular frame. His beard is trimmed to perfection, framing his chiseled jawline like a work of art. And don't even get me started on his hair—freshly cut and shaved on the sides, it's like he's channeling some sexy, brooding vampire James Bond.
Unable to resist the allure of this man any longer, I launch myself at him, tackling him onto the bed in a flurry of limbs and giggles. He laughs, the sound rich and warm as he brushes my freshly washed and blown-out hair out of my face. "Hi, Angel. Did you have a good time?"
I can't stop smiling, my cheeks hurting from the sheer force of my grin. "Yes, so needed. Girls' day, the spa... it was pure bliss."
"Good. I got you something," he says with a sexy smirk, motioning to the box.
I practically squeal with delight, kissing his lips before I can stop myself. I mean, can you blame me? The man is a walking, talking temptation, and I am but a weak, weak woman.
Finally, I tear myself away long enough to grab the box, my hands practically shaking with excitement. It's been so long since I got a present, and I almost forgot what it feels like to be spoiled like this.
