Page 59 of Pack Nightmare

“Wow, Roxanne, it’s fantastic!” I turn my head in different directions, admiring her work before I catch her face in the mirror. She’s gazing at me fondly, her eyes half-filled with tears, and my heart lurches. I turn and pull her into a hug. “Thank you for everything,” I murmur. I can’t bring myself to say more. Emotion is clogging up my throat.

She squeezes me back and half-sobs, half-laughs. “Okay, stop, no crying! It’ll make your face puffy and undo all the work we just did on your skin, girl. We don’t have time for that. The boys will be here soon.”

We get settled in to the bathroom so Roxanne can do my makeup—she insists I’m not getting away with half-assing it tonight, so I just let her go town, and finally she helps me into the gown she picked out.

It’s not a full, huge princess gown, but it definitely has an elegant corset-style top and a fuller skirt that flares out from the smallest point of my waist. The entire thing is a silvery-purple confection, and even I can admit it’s stunning. Roxanne helps me slip on a pair of low, sparkling heels that are insanely comfortable, and then she finally spins me toward the full-length mirror so I can see the ultimate result.

And I fully, honestly, don’t recognize myself for a solid ten seconds. The girl in the mirror has dark hair like me, but it’s a pile of silky midnight ribbons. Her pale skin is practically glowing, and her bright green eyes sparkle like glimmering emeralds compared to the dark wash on her lids. She’s not a skinny girl with bony shoulders; her feminine body fills out the elegant dress and emphasizes her womanly shape.

“I look like a princess,” I breathe. “I… I don’t know what to say,” I admit, still searching the mirror for signs that this is actually me.

Roxanne steps up behind me, resting her dark chin on my shoulder. “I’m glad you can finally see it, Layla. We’ve all known for quite some time.” She grasps my shoulders gently to turn me so she can hold my gaze, and adds, “But not a princess; a queen.”

I reach out and wrap my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you,” I whisper again.

“It’s my pleasure, Layla.” She beams as she steps back.

“Lilliana, please. Or Lily,” I stammer. “I’ve been told I need to accept my true name, so I might as well start now.”

Understanding flashes in Roxanne’s dark eyes. “Lilliana, then. I’ll let the staff know. Are you ready?” She checks her phone. “I believe all the guests have arrived.”

“Sure,” I say, then glance around. “Does this thing come with a purse? I need somewhere to put my stuff.”

“Even better,” Roxann grins, “It has pockets.” She parts the fabric at the sides and helps me load the necessities into the deep hidden pockets, then walks with me down the long hall. I can hear low music and the rumbling of lots of voices echoing up from the ground floor already, and my stomach twists with nerves. I head toward the elevator, but Roxanne gently steers me toward the stairs.

I glance at her in panic. “Do you want me to trip?”

“No, I want you to have the opportunity to make a grand entrance. Even if you never do it again, a girl should have one ‘gliding down the stairs to the admiring crowd’ moment in her life. This is your moment, girl.”

“More like falling down the stairs,” I mutter, and the panic rises in my throat. But some part of me is excited—it’s literally a fairy tale come to life, and Roxanne has orchestrated the entire thing for me to experience it. So by god, I’m going to do it.

I hitch up a handful of satiny fabric to clear my feet and grasp the banister with a sweaty palm. Shooting one more panicked glance at Roxanne, I catch her ‘thumbs up’ gesture before she darts toward the elevator. Knowing she and my mates, not to mention a good portion of Smoky Falls, will be waiting downstairs for me, I suck in a deep breath and start my descent on the curving staircase.

My heart pounds against my ribs, each beat feeling like it’s attempting to actually break free. My hand leaves a sweaty trail on the banister, and I spare a guilty pang knowing that Daphne or Mary will have to clean it. But I focus all my energy on not tripping as I follow the curve into view of the house below.

There’s so many people, and as one, they fall silent when I appear. A sea of faces stares up at me, and my throat clenches, panic rising and cutting off my air supply. Somehow, this feels far more vulnerable than standing on the stage last night.

I try to smile confidently, and as my eyes wash over the crowd, I realize they are all beaming back at me. Happy, proud, admiring—I open my alpha sense and finally see I’m surrounded by a wave of love and support—it eases my tension and I draw in a deep breath, continuing carefully down the stairs.

Light flashes in my vision, but I ignore it—my gaze has finally landed on the three men waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, and now I can’t look away.

Landon wears a basic black suit that hugs his tall frame, but the skinny tie and fitted pants emphasize the rockstar look. I’m starting to think Milo does it intentionally. Milo, of course, wears a black shirt under his gunmetal grey suit, and Jared—for whatever reason—went with an all-white tuxedo. It would almost be funny if it didn’t look so sharp against his dark skin.

I’m just pleased he’s not wearing a ball cap.

All three gaze up at me with the most adoring expressions, and I adore them right back. A phantom pang squeezes my heart, but I quickly shove it down and bury it deep.

Content now, excited to see them, I practically float down the rest of the stairs and greet them each with a hug and a kiss.

And now that I’ve made my grand entrance, the party picks back up in full swing.

It’s hard to believe this isn’t even the actual dance—this is just the pre-party for the pack members past their college homecoming years.

After my all-day makeover, I’m starving, so the guys and I head into the formal dining room immediately to eat.

The giant table is gone, replaced by a dozen smaller standing tables with a long buffet spread out along the wall. We fill plates, then select a spot to eat, and I take the utmost care not to spill on my dress.

“So, how long does this go?” I ask between mouthfuls. “Like, when do we head into town for the dance?”

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