I had long ago learned not to challenge my friend and smoothed my dress below me as I followed her direction. She wrapped the ribbons around my ankles and tucked the ends into the backs of my shoes. “There,” she said. “Now, your makeup and hair.”
Ten minutes later, my hair was held back by a thin circlet of silver that Beattie had acquired for me while she shopped, and my makeup was shimmering and romantic. In contrast to her dark eyeliner and bright lips, I looked demure, which I actually liked for the night. I felt not only demure but beautiful, and for once, I was okay with playing that up.
When the men met us in the foyer of the guesthouse, both of them whistled, and I stopped dead on the steps when I saw Adaire in his suit. His dark curls were styled with something that made them mo
