Page 80 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

“Mark my words, Indy,” Juliet says as Aurora turns back to her laptop. “This is the moment you’ll regret not listening to me. You and Felix could happen. I really think it’s possible.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I grumble. “And I’m letting myself hope just the tiniest little bit, because I’m emotionally tired and have no self-control.”

“There’s no point in hoping for a good answer if you’re not willing to ask the question,” Juliet says primly, returning to the closet. “And I think you should wear this.” With theclick-clackof hangers rustling, she pulls out a dress. “Wear this. Look him in the eye and tell him you like him. See what he says.”

“That’s a little direct,” I say as I inspect the dress. It’s made of soft cotton in a deep forest green, knee-length, completely unadorned. It’s cut like a fitted t-shirt, just longer.

“I could wear this,” I concede. I was worried about what Juliet would choose, but this isn’t bad.

“You look so relieved,” she says, shooting me a disapproving look. “Like you didn’t trust me at all.”

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” I say, my voice evasive. “I just wasn’t sure our tastes would align.”

“Get dressed,” Jules says, waving her hand. “We still need to do your hair.”

Thirty minutes later, I have shot down multiple proposed hairstyles and watched Juliet grow more and more grumpy—which, for her, means her face scrunches up and her nose wrinkles and she stomps her foot a lot. Finally, though, my hair is long and gently curled down my back, my lashes are dark with mascara, and there’s actual blush on my cheeks.

I don’t have a problem with dressing up if I need to. I just rarely feel like I need to. So this is a little strange for me. A little strange, and a little…something.

There’s excitement buzzing in the pit of my stomach, bees in my lungs, making it hard to draw a full breath. I hate being sonervous—but my sisters are right. It’s probably worth it to find out once and for all how Felix feels, directly, to my face. I can’t get Juliet’s words out of my head—maybe he was jealous—and I can’t get rid of the way he looked, either, the little twitch in his jaw or his irritable expression.

I don’t know how he feels. But I don’t have the patience to read his mind and figure it out.

So when he calls me fifteen minutes later, I answer with steady words. “Hey,” I say—does my voice sound weird to him, too, or is it just me?

“Hey,” he says. “I’m on my way.”

“I’m ready,” I say. “Just pull up in the front and I’ll come out.”

As soon as he hangs up, I turn to my sisters. Juliet is lounging on Aurora’s bed, reading a magazine now that her makeover is complete, and Aurora is still focusing on her computer at her desk.

“What do I say if he asks why I’m dressed up?” I say.

“That depends on how he asks,” Juliet says promptly, while Aurora offers a shrug and a noise that I take to meanI don’t know.

“More details, please,” I say, because neither of their responses are helpful.

Juliet nods and sits up. “If he asks flirtatiously, you answer flirtatiously. Tell him you dressed up just for him.” She eyes me, suddenly skeptical. “Can you do that?”

“Of course I can,” I say. In truth, I have no idea, but I’ll figure it out. “What about if he asks not flirtatiously?” I swallow. “Like, what if he’s serious?”

Juliet shrugs and reclines against Aurora’s pillows once more, picking her magazine back up. “Then tell him the truth. Throw me under the bus if you need to. Say your sister wanted to give you a makeover.”

“Oh,” I say as relief trickles over me. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“You can tell him you’re trying to win him over, if you want,” Jules goes on, “but I’d be careful about that tactic if I were you?—”

“No need for that,” I say quickly, and Juliet nods.

“Good call,” she says. “I don’t think you’re quite at that level yet.”

I’d argue with her, but she’s not wrong. So I do a twirl for her and say, “Am I good?”

“You’re good,” she says with a satisfied nod. “Wear your white shoes, please.”

“I’ll have you know those are the ones I’d already planned on,” I say, and Juliet claps her hands.

“Look at you,” she says, beaming at me. “Our little fashionista.”

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