Page 74 of Just a Friend for the Lion
Still, I have to admit—it feels good.
Too good.
Like maybe my sisters have a plan and they might actually know what they’re doing.
“See?” Dina says, winking at me. “When you look good, you feel good. And when you feel good, you make better choices. Like, say, not letting some golden-eyed Lion wreck you twice in one lifetime.”
“Ugh, Dina, seriously?” I groan, tugging the cape tighter around me.
“Can we not talk about him while I’m getting my ends trimmed?”
Carina pats my hand, her eyes all soft and maternal.
“Sweetheart, we have to talk about him. Because whether you like it or not, he’s in your orbit now. You just have to decide if you’re going to keep dodging or if you’re going to face him.”
I stare at my reflection. My curls gleam. My cheeks are pink.
And maybe, just maybe, I see a version of myself who could face him—without crumbling into tears or launching a pizza at his head.
“Fine,” I say, glaring at both of them. “But if thisends with me humiliating myself in front of Carter Leone again, I’m haunting you both forever.”
Dina snorts. “Please. I already have a Wolf haunting me every time I step out of the shower. You’ll have to take a number.”
Carina giggles so hard she nearly tips out of her chair, and for the first time in days, I actually laugh with them.
Chapter 25
MJ
By the time we tumble out of the salon, we’re armed with fresh blowouts, shiny nails, and enough giggles to power the entire block.
Dina insists on snapping selfies in front of the plate-glass window like we’re Kardashian-level glamorous, and Carina waddles dramatically into every photo with her belly front and center, demanding captions like#HotMamaBear.
It feels good to laugh.
Almost normal.
Almost like my heart isn’t a cracked mess thanks to one particular Lion.
But the second we’re home, the sisters’operation distractiongoes into overdrive.
“Shower, MJ. Don’t forget to shower cap those curls! Now,” Dina commands, tossing me a silk robe from the pile of clothes she brought. “Trust me, you’re going to want to be smooth and moisturized for this dress.”
“What dress?” I demand, narrowing my eyes.
“This dress.” Carina beams, pulling a box from behind the couch like she’s a magician unveiling her big trick. “Special delivery. Uncle Uzzi sent it.”
My heart lurches.
“Uncle Uzzi? No. Absolutely not. He sent me the dress I wore when I got into this mess with Carter in the first place!”
“Yeah, well, apparently he’s meddling you into a new wardrobe.” Carina shrugs, smug.
My heart squeezes. I don’t know if this is a good idea, but I’m not rude, so I open the box—and I freeze.
The dress inside is breathtaking.
A tea-length confection of layered chiffon, shifting in an ombré from fiery maple red at the shoulders to deep, earthy gold at the hem.
