Page 38 of Love You Truly

“Thanks. You grow up on a farm in California, you wear a lot of sunscreen.”

“So you and I aren’t that different in how we were raised, I’m discovering.” She dips a brush into a pot of liquid eyeliner. “Close your eyes.”

I obey, slightly worried Mary and her friend in the English countryside may have a different style of makeover than I’m looking for tonight. I hope she doesn’t overdo it. I feel her dabbing little dots onto my lashes and then feel a breeze as she fans my face with her hands.

“You can open.” She studies my face like I’m a work of art, stepping back and tilting her head before picking up another brush. She dabs liquid blush onto my cheeks, fans it with her fingers, then applies lipstick with a tiny brush. Another head tilt. Then a nod. She seems satisfied.

Before she lets me look, Mary gets to work with the curling iron, and moments later, I feel bouncy curls hit my shoulders as she releases them. I brace myself for the decent chance I’m going to have to scrub off half the makeup and straighten what I’m certain are ringlets worthy of a schoolgirl.

A few minutes later, Mary has finished her beer and my hair. She leads me over to the full-length mirror to see her handiwork.

I have to do a double take. The woman staring back at me in the mirror looks a thousand percent better than how I normally do when I try my own hand at makeup.

“Wow. You’re really good at this.”

Mary blushes but covers by going back to my kitchen for another beer. She returns a moment later, tapping it against her cheeks to cool them.

“Glad you like it. More subtle, yes? Keeps focus on your gorgeous eyes, and then we go for red on the lips. Boom. Dash won’t know what hit him.”

“Ha. I don’t think that’s the goal tonight.”

“Now you’re being absolutely ridiculous. It’s always the goal.” She picks up the liquid eyeliner and gives my eyes a smoky rim that will definitely get Dash’s attention. Then she waves her hand like the fairy godmother she is and sends me on my way.

CHAPTER 16

Dash

Mallory: Running late

Me: No prob

Mallory: Fashionably late

Me: What’s the difference?

Mallory: The more nervous I get, the later I am

Me: Just come, honey. I’ll calm your nerves

Mallory: Too sweet. Made me even more nervous

Me: Fuck off, jerk. Better?

Mallory: Be there in a sec!

“She was supposed to be here an hour ago.” I put my phone away and loosen my tie because it feels like a vise. My dark suit feels stiff across my shoulders, and I look around the rustic indoor event space for signs I’m overdressed.

I know I’m properly attired. This isn’t my first time at a fundraiser, and everyone who drives around in a pickup truck and muddy boots during the week has turned out in finery tonight. It would be weird for me not to dress up.

The room is half full even though it’s thirty minutes past the starting time for the cocktail hour. Guess the other half of the town knows to come fashionably late. The guests mingle with stemless wineglasses in their hands and nibble on hors d’oeuvres passed around on serving trays.

If I’ve been to one of these events, I’ve been to a hundred. Always some sort of raw fish on some sort of crispy thing; always something overly cute like a shot glass filled with tomato soup and accompanied by a tiny triangle of grilled cheese.

I could eat fifty of these appetizers and still want to grab a burger by the end of the night.

Beatrix grabs us two glasses of cabernet from where they’re lined up on the bar for guests. “She’ll come. She lives for these things.” Beatrix rolls her eyes, and I bristle at her opinion of Mallory, which seems influenced by my brother.

I told my siblings about our arrangement because they need to pretend they’ve known about us for a while. They were all pretty impressed with the potential business benefits, and they all assume I’m in it for the sex. I don’t care enough to set them straight.

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