a hand, but Mariabella ignores it and pulls the older woman into a hug.
“It’s so good to meet you!” she exclaims, and Nana chuckles good-naturedly, patting my friend on the back. To me, she adds, “When is your date going to be here?”
I glance at the archaic grandfather clock with vines and various types of flowers carved into its woodworking. “About an hour.” I grab Mariabella’s hand and pull her towards my bathroom. “So let’s make me look beautiful.”
Mariabella laughs lightly. “You’re always beautiful, silly. But I am dying to do your hair.”
We enter the first-floor bathroom, and immediately, Mariabella instructs me to straddle the toilet.
“Hair first,” she says, plugging my curling iron in and grabbing my brush. She begins to slowly, leisurely, brush through my white hair, and my eyes squeeze shut with how good it feels. I’m one of those people who loves it when someone plays with their hair.
Mariabella curls the long strands before French braiding the front and connecting it in an intricate loop at the back of my scalp, joining the long tresses cascading past my shoulders.
“Damn,” Mariabella drawls out as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. “I did good.” She pats the bathroom counter as she unzips my makeup bag, pulling items out at random. “Now sit.” Her face scrunches together when she pulls out a pallet of blush that has seen better days. It’s clumpy in some places but as loose as sand in others. “When was the last time you wore this makeup?”
“Um…” I shrug helplessly. I rarely, if ever, put on makeup. Maybe some mascara and blush here and there, but never anything overly fancy.
She clicks her tongue as she pulls out my eyeliner, moving to stand between my legs.
“Now close your eyes,” she instructs, her eyes flicking to my lips before moving to my lipstick collection. She makes another face at my limited shades, releasing a heavy sigh. “We don’t have a lot to work with her.”
When Mariabella finally declares she’s done, we both step back to admire me in the mirror. I have to admit she did a great job of accentuating my already prominent features. The dark gold, sparkly eyeshadow heightens the amber color of my eyes. She contoured my cheekbones and applied a light layer of blush, the combination looking surprisingly natural. Light pink lipstick was applied to my lips, completing the look.
“You’re a fairy godmother,” I breathe, a wide grin splitting my face in two. She makes a nonsensical noise in the back of her throat.
“Bippity, boppity, boo,” she singsongs before tossing me a dark green gown with a lacy trim. It’s long-sleeved, like everything else I own, and has a sheer top that cinches at the waist before cascading outwards, ending just at my knee. It’s sexy and stylish and fun…but it’s also perfectly suitable for a party. It’ll look great with my white blonde hair.
“I’ll go find you some shoes,” she says, referring to the ones sitting on a shelf in the entryway that she no doubt noticed when she arrived. “Get changed.”
She ducks out before I can even thank her, and I take a moment to run my hand over the soft material. I wore this dress only once before, back at the coven for the Halloween Solstice. I attended with Uriel, and it was one of the best nights of my life. Drinking, dancing, and receiving the powers from the Earth as it coursed through my body like waves of electricity.
The Halloween Solstice represents new beginnings—a time when the Earth’s magic replenishes itself. It’s only fitting that I wear it now. Maybe, just maybe, this date with Emmett is my new beginning.
I strip out of my normal clothes and step into the dress, tugging it up my hips. Before I can finish putting it fully on, the door to the bathroom flies open, and an oblivious Mariabella enters, dangling two pairs of shoes from both hands.
“This one will definitely add a few inches of height, but I’m not sure how comfortable they are. And these are—” She pauses when she catches sight of me, eyes roaming across my body before resting on my bare arms. Her face turns stark white, and the shoes clatter to the floor, forgotten. “Peony!” she gasps as she rushes forward, tenderly grabbing my wrist and straightening my arm.
I’m rooted to the spot. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t even see. My heart feels heavy in my chest, like it weighs a million pounds, and my