“Ooh. Now you’re talking,” she says with a nod. “A menswear-inspired vibe will telegraph that I’m the kind of girl who takes charge. I like it.”
Standing, I begin meticulously sorting through Cleo’s clothes, in search of the outfit that I know is buried under here somewhere. My current micro wardrobe doesn’t offer me the luxury of spending this much time trying to find something to wear, and while I don’t miss all the material things from my old life, per se, I do miss playing dress-up every now and then. Not that I have anywhere to go out to, other than whatever Nate’s got on my schedule.
I wonder if he’s going to pick out my makeup and clothes every time we go out. I can’t tell if I like the idea or loathe it. He did a great job for our first date, admittedly, but I wouldn’t want to wear anything that revealing on a regular basis.
Spotting a flash of pinstripe fabric, I tug the pants out from the pile and wave Cleo over. Her eyes light up as if she had forgotten she even had them.
“You found them! The vest is still in the closet. Hang on,” she says, rushing away.
Once she’s back with the matching pinstripe vest, a selection of silk button-ups draped over her arm, I hold the vest against her T-shirt and narrow my eyes. The midnight blue color is stunning with her dark hair and sapphire eyes.
“What if we skip the shirt, and you just wear the vest by itself?” I ask. “Too daring? It’s not super low-cut.”
“Yes!” She takes the pants and vest and dashes to the bathroom. “I love it!”
She rushes back out a few minutes later and spins in a circle.
“What do you think? My camisole covers most of my cleavage.”
“You look amazing,” I tell her honestly. “All you need now is a good pair of heels.”
“Do my hair in that twisty thing that I like?”
“Of course.”
Taking my hand, Cleo leads me to her makeup table and sits happily on the stool in front of the mirror so I can work on her hair. I’m not a professional by any means, but I learned multiple ways to style hair for my dancers. French twists, topknots, ballet buns, braid crowns. I can do them all.
I take out her ponytail and run a brush through her long, curly hair. When we were younger, we used to pore over fashion magazines at our sleepovers and give each other fabulous makeovers using our moms’ discarded clothes and old makeup. I loved having Cleo as my guinea pig when I wanted to try out a new style. We’re grown up now, but she still loves getting done up by me.
From the corner of my eye I can see her looking at me in the mirror, but I avoid her gaze. She’s got that sneaky look on her face, as if she’s about to mine me for information.
“So, Piper…” she says innocently. “Is there anything you forgot to tell me about?”
Damn it. Her sixth sense is tingling. I knew I couldn’t hide my new life from her for long.
Forcing a laugh, I say, “No, I don’t think so,” as I keep my focus on her hair.
She reaches behind her head and snags the brush from my hand.
“Don’t be coy. Someone told me you were out with an older man at CouCou. How could you not tell me?” She pouts at me in the mirror. “We tell each other everything.”
In my guilt, I get defensive. “Oh yeah? How long have you known about this date with the oil prince? Because right now is the first time I’m hearing about it.”
“Come on. That’s not the same thing at all. I am going on an obligatory social outing for the sake of keeping the peace with my mother. Butyougoing on a date…particularly in your current situation…is a big deal. And I want to know who this guy is. And if he’s good enough for you.”
There’s no sense trying to deny the whole thing, since all she has to do is Google to find out the details. But I’m not giving her his name. I can make her work for her information, too.
“It was just a business thing,” I tell her. “It’s not romantic. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
Plucking the brush from her fingers, I resume untangling her curls. It’s not a full lie. Thisisa business thing that’s not romantic.
“Business thing? Whose? Yours, or your father’s?”
“I’m just cleaning up some messes my father left behind, that’s all. There’s nothing to tell, Cleo. Sorry.”
She looks disappointed. And suspicious, still.
“Well, I don’t think you should give up on finding someone special, Piper. You can’t help what your dad did. The right guy will understand that.”
