Roslyn glared at both of us. “Can we get this finished?”
Isabella ignored her. “I suggest you think about what you’re going to do when Caelan makes a move tonight.”
My cheeks burned. I hadn’t thought about that at all. Surely, he wasn’t thinking that. Caelan was a gentleman and I thought of him and Saryna’s bizarre behavior at the brunch. They weren’t on good terms lately.
“Done!”
Isabella backed up and put her hands on her hips, admiring her work.
Roslyn looked stunning and nearly unrecognizable with makeup.
“I didn’t realize how good you were at this stuff,” I said.
She twisted playfully, still holding the comb. “Your turn!”
I gave myself over to the powers that be. “Have at it.”
When she’d finishedmy makeup, I didn’t recognize myself.
Roslyn nodded with approval. “It’s perfect.”
“Alright,” Isabella said. “Now that you two are all dolled up, it’s my turn. We have a few hours. Try not to mess it up.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. “I think I might rest until it’s time to change, though.”
Roslyn nodded, “Me too.”
Back in my room, I noticed my window was open, letting in the cold. I snapped it shut, feeling the chilled air bite at my skin. Where was my sweater? I sighed, seeing my breath form before me.
“Damn,” I muttered, picturing it thrown over the back of the couch in the hall. I slipped out of the dorm and headed down the corridor to retrieve it. Snapping it up and pulling it on, I crossed my arms and rubbed them briskly to warm up. As I turned to leave, I paused. Was that someone crying? Peering behind me and around the corner, I saw someone alone in one of the armchairs.
“Hello?”
I moved closer, worried someone was hurt, when long, straight locks came into view.
“Saryna?”
Quiet sobs sounded from beneath her hands as she hid her face.
I hovered there, unsure whether to approach her. I was probably the last person she’d want to see in a situation like this and I nearly turned and left, but something stopped me. It was uncharacteristic for her to be alone. How could I walk away when she was like this?
I sat beside her, unsure of what to say. She glanced at me before looking away and wiping her eyes.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just going to sit here in case you need anything.”
She glared at me and looked away again, leaning back in the chair and staring straight ahead.
“You do not have to act like you care,” she said.
I pursed my lips, withholding a retort.
She’s crying and in distress. Keep your cool.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, drawing patience from deep, deep, down.
“No,” she snapped, then buried her face in her hands again, fresh sobs piercing my ears.
