Plus, a part of me resented her deciding what I’d wear. Did she even know what I liked? What right did she have to choose what looked good?
I took a step back, trying to think of somewhere I could hide.
But before I was out of view, one of the beauty technicians caught my eye, waving me over with a wink. “We’ll take real good care of your girl, Dom. Promise.”
Caught, I had no choice but to step into the room, rubbing my arm anxiously. “What is all of this?”
Dom stiffened at the sight of me. I assumed it was because of the lingering tension between us, but as her gaze darted past me,I started to suspect it was a different emotion entirely. “Happy birthday…”
Looking at the display of high-end makeup and nailpolish, I rubbed my neck. “You didn’t have to get me a present. Kind of silly to get all dolled up to hang around the house, anyway.”
“It’s not a present,” she said gruffly before clearing her throat. “This isn’t. We’re going out tonight. To celebrate. I need you done up for the venue.”
The word venue made my blood pressure spike. I wasn’t sure what type of birthday celebration Dom’s money could buy, but whatever it was, I was sure it was a debt I didn’t want to owe.
“Really, it’s too much. You know I hate my birthday. Why don’t we just spend the night in? You don’t need to waste the money…”
But as gently as I tried to put my rejection, it fell on deaf ears. Not before a flicker of emotion — was it annoyance, or hurt? — flickered behind those icy blue eyes. “We’re going. Try to enjoy it.”
And before I could get another word in edgewise, she left the room, keeping a wide distance from me on her way out the door.
The beauty techs, who’d been busying themselves with their supplies to avoid the awkward confrontation, finally looked up from their stations. “You ready to get started, Kiera?”
I looked between them with a sheepish smile, clocking the sword and wing tattoos on their arms before swallowing my resistance. “Yes, thank you. Where do we start?”
True professionals, the women got me seated on a tall stool by the vanity and got right to work. One worked on my nails and did makeup, while the other arranged my hair into the style Dom had requested.
As they worked, we chatted a bit about how they knew Dom — through Violence, of course — and how beautiful the house was. I wasn’t sure if Dom had warned them to avoid the topic ofmy birthday itself, but thankfully, it didn’t come up in the hour or so that I was in the chair.
And in no time, the hair stylist was helping me down from the chair and leading me over to a small wardrobe in the corner. “No peeking! I want you to get the grand reveal!”
Gesturing for me to close my eyes, the two women helped me get into a long gown with a sleeveless, sweetheart neckline. One of them handled my thigh high, lacey socks and heeled boots, while the other helped me into lace gloves and clasped an intricate, jeweled necklace at my throat.
I tried to fight back my blush as they dressed me.
They’re professionals, Kiera. They see people like this every day.
But it didn’t stop the whole thing from feeling quite intimate.
Luckily, the fact that they were professionals meant that they worked fast. And it wasn’t long before they were grabbing me by the hand, leading me to a trifold mirror they’d set up where the arm chair usually went.
“Okay, ready to see?” The hair stylist said, adjusting the last few strands of my hair.
“Ready,” I nodded, anxious to see.
As they stepped away, I opened my eyes and was truly floored. I was never under any illusion that I was ugly, but damn, did they make me feel beautiful.
The black, jewel speckled dress hugged my every curve as it trailed from my chest all the way down to the floor in a small train. A high slit along the right leg gave a perfect view of my red bottomed boots and lacey black thigh highs, as well as a healthy dose of skin above them.
Matching black, lace gloves hugged my upper arm all the way down to my wrist, leaving my fingers free to show off the stunning manicure they’d given me: black on the top and red underneath, just like my boots.
And while my shoulders were exposed, my neck boasted one of the most ornate necklaces I’d ever seen: black lace that dripped down from a collar at my neck, draping jewels in all the right places to accentuate the curves of my chest.
Even the makeup was impeccable: a deep burgundy smokey eye and matching lip with a crisp winged eyeliner. And now, I understood exactly why Dom wanted my hair pulled back. The color, the eyeliner, the hairstyle: all of it worked together to make the green in my eyes pop.
Licking my teeth, I couldn’t pretend like the outfit wasn’t perfect. Just my taste.
Maybe she had been paying attention to me.
