I stare, biting my lip then stopping when I see that’s not helping. My makeover is so pretty I don’t really want to destroy it, so I dab at my eyebrow with a tissue, wiping away the smear at the edge and trying to push the pencilled outline back in the right direction.
Not too shabby but my mouth is a different story. The topcoats designed to make the colour stay for the entire evening crumbled under his lips. My mouth looks like it was coloured in by an enthusiastic but clumsy child, completely unable to stay within the lines.
I dab, dot, smear, lick, push, and return to dabbing with no noticeable improvement. Finally, I do as the maid suggested and wipe all the lipstick away, then muddle around with the edges, trying to make my natural skin match the foundation and God-knows-what-else used to disguise my blemishes.
“Are you really here as Lachlan’s date?” the maid asks as I finish.
She blushes, eyes cutting away when I meet the reflection of her gaze in the mirror.
“That’s right.”
“You’ve… Have you been out with him before?”
I shake my head, remembering his instructions. “I know him from school and just filled in tonight when his date cancelled.”
She chews on her bottom lip and glances away, fumbling inthe apron that I thought was purely decorative but turns out to contain a handy pocket. “Here,” she says, passing me a small plastic wrapper. Inside are two white pills. “They’re like Xanax but quicker. If you take them a few minutes…before… then they’ll help.”
I stare at the tiny pills, my anxiety increasing by leaps and bounds at the coded message. I tuck them into my bra, my voice squeaking as I ask, “Help how?”
But the woman disengages, moving to the door and holding it ajar with a mask of politeness in place. “You’re finished?”
I’m so nervous now that I shake my head, not because I need to use the facilities but because anything that postpones me going back to people that I apparently need drugs to ‘help’ with, is a win.
She clicks her tongue, but lets the door swing closed again, standing next to it like a sentry, eyes cast down in a picture of demure civility.
Even trying to make things last longer, I’m soon done. I wash my hands so thoroughly with their fancy soap that it’ll probably go down in germ legend as a battle to end all battles, every soldier killed in a devastating defeat.
But there’s only so many times I can lather and rinse and with the maid’s frown deepening with each passing second, staying becomes as nerve-wracking as leaving.
As I exit the room, my eyes immediately scour the surroundings for Lachlan. He’s standing with another man of the same height but a slimmer build, and I head towards the pair despite the maid’s bizarre warning pinching my stomach into a tiny, squirmy ball.
At least if he kisses me again, he won’t damage my lipstick.
He wasn’t kissing you, idiot. He was sending a fuck you to his father.
All true. The father who still lurks nearby, glowering at everyone in attendance. Lovely host. I must remember to never stop by again.
I close my eyes, wishing I could teleport to the end of this evening and curl up at home, alone, in bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
LOCK
I’m standing,staring into my drink and trying to ignore the vocal barbs from my cousin Patrick, ten years my senior, when George reappears at my elbow. Half her makeup appears to be missing, but it’s not disastrous. Her complexion is so smooth and clear, she doesn’t need it, but I miss the smeared lipstick.
On the other hand, it made her look so fuckable it might have proved too great a temptation to sweep her upstairs and introduce her to my bedroom, and there are hours of torture to go before I can get away with doing that.
As I push the thought away, I sling an arm around her shoulder, position my head next to hers, and take a selfie.
Her phone might have been confiscated at the door, but I’ve still got mine. She’s here tonight to remind Kari that there are options in the world, even if our parents seem hellbent on denying them.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Patrick asks, eyessweeping her from head to toe, licking his lips like she’s about to be served as the feast.
“No.”
“Don’t worry,” Patrick says, taking George’s hand and kissing it while his gaze rests on me, checking to see how annoyed I get. I try to shield any emotion but the amount I’ve had to drink works against me as I scowl.
A scowl that grows as he teases her about the fumble with her name. “Mypreferred name is Montgomery Archibald Wallace the third, but Menzies insists everyone call me Patrick.”
