Page 16 of My Ruthless Husband

“I don’t—”

“You picked at your food the entire time.” She pushes the plate forward on the coffee table. “Finish this so we can get to the good part.”

She keeps guard until I finish the last bite then claps her hands in glee. “Now let’s get to your makeover.”

“O-kay.”

“You gotta close your eyes though!” She announces.

She was so adamant about surprising me that she even helped me change. The entire process was so amusing. Especially when she was reprimanding me for wiggling too much.

I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much. Like a real laugh where tears roll down your cheeks. The kind where you can’t breathe and your sides hurt.

It felt pretty amazing. She kept feeding me her chocolates and snacks throughout the process of my makeover. When I complained about being full, she glared at me. But still didn’t once mention my obvious weight loss. I was more grateful to her in that moment than I’d ever been.

Somewhere along the way we began sipping margaritas. As a result, we are tipsy.

“No peeping!” Summer grumbles as I try to peek through her fingers that are wrapped over my eyes.

“I wasn’t.”

“You can’t bluff the bluffer.” She stumbles over something and in turn, making me wobble. We might’ve consumed one too many margaritas.

“Okay, okay.” I hold my free hand in surrender, knowing full well arguing with her would result in both of us falling.

She walks me three more steps ahead before stopping me. “Okaaay, now I’m lowering my hand. But don’t open your eyes just yet.”

I wait patiently as she lowers her hand, I feel her breath around my face and I’m pretty sure she is checking if my eyes are still closed.

“Okay! Now you can see!”

We are standing in front of a huge floor-length mirror in the living room.

With wide eyes, I take in my sexy little red dress. Then her sparkly golden one.

A giggle escapes me. “I look silly.” I’m not referring to the dress. It fits me like a glove, and I admit, it looks great on me. The reason behind my amusement is the blue wig hiding my thick curls.

She grins at our reflection, her eyes meeting mine through the mirror, and I can’t help but burst out laughing. She’s wearing a wig just like mine—shoulder-length hair with bangs. The only difference is the color. Hers is bright red.

Tilting her chin up, she arches a brow. “You don’t like my hair?”

I bite down on my lips, trying to stifle a laugh as I watch her tuck a strand of bright red hair behind her ear, her wig sitting slightly askew. She tugs at it a little too hard, and it slips right off her head.

I snort and begin laughing again.

“Don’t laugh!” She tries to right her wig, huffing.

Watching her struggle sends me into a fit of laughter. I clutch my sides, barely able to breathe, as she grows red with frustration, huffing and muttering under her breath.

“Stop right this second, or I’ll snatch your wig,” she warns, lunging at me. I quickly step back, barely dodging her. Whoa—I almost lose my balance.

I eye her unsteady stance, amusement tugging at my lips. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” she slurs.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, trying to keep straight faces, but then the laughter bursts out. It only gets worse when she scoops up Goldie, who’s sporting a hot pink wig.

Alcohol has unraveled me, easing the tight grip of pain I’ve been carrying. The ache that once consumed me is fading and I can finally breathe again.

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