Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I look at light-pink eyeshadow on my lids and the darker plum on the outer corner of my eyes in the mirror. “I think they look fine,” I reply, “but maybe we can lighten it.”
I look at the makeup artist, who nods her head. “Of course.” She walks over to get the makeup brush.
“I’m going to go shower,” he announces, bending and kissing my lips and I can taste the booze on them. “I’ll be ready at five thirty,” he assures me and I smile at him.
“Thank you.”
He walks out of the room and the makeup girl applies a light coat to the dark edges. It takes her ten more minutes to make the edges lighter and then she applies my lipstick. My hair is slicked back and tied into a tight bun at the base of my neck. “I’m going to go and get dressed. Can you zip me?” I ask her and she nods at me.
“I’ll be closing up,” she says and I rush to the closet and slip off the robe and grab the dress, sliding it on over my hips, before working my arms into each sleeve. I hold the front to my chest and turn to walk back to the bathroom. “Oh my gosh,” she gushes breathlessly, “you look like a goddess.” I smile, turning so she can zip the zipper closed to the base of my back.
My phone buzzes, letting me know the driver is at the door. I rush out to slip on the open-toed satin shoes that match the dress, tying each one around my ankle. Then I slip on the pink diamond earrings my parents gave to me on my twenty-first birthday. “I’m ready,” I hear Trent as he comes into the room wearing a black tux, “and you aren’t.”
“I am,” I confirm, grabbing the little clutch purse, walking out of my closet, and waiting for him to say something.
“We should go,” he urges, motioning with his head. “Don’t want you to be late.”
“Yes,” I agree, feeling a little bit disappointed that he didn’t tell me how pretty I look. I walk out of the house following him, wondering when he stopped holding the door for me or waiting to follow me instead of me following him. The driver has the door open, and again, instead of waiting for me to go in first, he gets in and tells the driver to shut the door. “Go around to the other side.”
I look at the driver. “Good evening,” I greet the driver. “How are you doing?” He rushes to the other side to open my door before I put one foot in and then the other one. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
“You’re welcome,” Trent replies, his phone in his hand as he types away.
I look out the window with my hands in my lap and I try and focus, going over the list I must check once we get there. But instead, I hear Kirby’s voice from when we recorded the video, “It’s not just up to me. It’s a date, so it would also depend on what she wants to do.” That one sentence stuck with me and I can’t get it out of my head.
My head is spinning with everything that went on in the past month. Everything I’ve worked so hard for is finally here, and I should be celebrating it. But instead, I’m dreading it and I don’t know why. The car comes to a stop and I look over at Trent. “Let’s get this fucking over with,” he mumbles, opening his own car door, while my car door is opened.
A man reaches in to help me. I slip my hand in his, getting out and smiling at him. “Thank you,” I tell him and see Trent standing by the door, waiting for me. He waits for me to be beside him before he walks into the banquet hall.
The sign in the entranceway sits on a gold easel, telling guests to walk up the steps. He folds his arm for me to slip my hand in his before walking up the steps. “I hate your makeup,” he starts. “She made you look like a fucking showgirl instead of a doctor’s wife. Don’t hire her again. She does nothing for you. You could have done your makeup better,” he chides. Then his scowl turns into a smile when he gets to the top of the steps and sees Cheryl there with her husband and Dr. Visabell standing with them.
“There she is,” Cheryl states, looking over at me, her face a bright smile wearing a light-blue, off-the-shoulder gown. “I don’t know how you did it”—she throws her hands up—“but it’s so pretty.” I can’t help the smile that fills my face. The nerves from today are going away a bit, as I look around, seeing the little seating areas I fought for. They are scattered all around the little lounge area. A cast-iron railing is in the middle of the room and you can see five doors that lead to the outside where the big terrace is. We even have seating out there if people want to get away from the noise.