As soon as her nails were dry, she tried out the massive tub in her bathroom, soaking in deep rose-scented water until it cooled. She moisturized and fussed with her hair. It was always tricky what to do with the hair—auburn and wavy that tended toward huge and curly rather than the red carpet sort of sleek tumbling waves that looked effortless. Right now, she knew her hair had looked better in Vegas because it was so dry. Manhattan was having a rainy spell, and her hair was better than most meteorologists at announcing that fact. Anti-frizz serums were unearthed from her luggage and applied, along with various other unguents meant to tame the overlarge bundle of fluff that her hair wanted to be today.
“You have to behave. We’re meeting the Wicked Queen. Now is NOT the time to audition for the Broadway adaptation of Brave, for crap’s sake,” she muttered at her reflection, “Think lovely, think princess, and I do NOT mean Merida.”
Heated appliances were indicated. Despite temptation, she knew from long experience that a sleek blowout wouldn’t last three hours in this humidity. So she abandoned that pipe dream and pinned back the top and went for beachy waves. She could tame the curls enough to approximate beachy waves. It was totally doable.
It took an hour and a half plus she broke four bobby pins in the attempt, but she managed it. The dress would’ve looked better if she had a decent spray tan, but remembering the Dreamsicle experience from a month back, she decided to stick with pale. The makeup was harder—she liked dramatic smoky eyes and her trademark MAC Ruby Woo lips.
Being elegant was going to be a real bitch, she decided as she toned it down to a simple brown eyeliner, and she used the sheer rosy gloss for a purpose it was never intended—solo on her lips without the deep red lipstick beneath it. She looked so…young. And untroubled. And sort of plain, she admitted. It wasn’t her favorite look; certainly not for a fancy evening that she normally would’ve thought demanded red lips and statement earrings. The trouble was, she was representing Brandon Cates and had to look a proper, respectable blushing bride, not brash, not flirtatious, not herself.
Marj was debating whether to grace Lena Cates with the wearing of the sapphire and diamond pendant when Brandon knocked at her door. She knew it was him and not the housekeeper. Something about his knock, about the very aura of his presence sent a sizzle through her. She opened the door and there he was. Tall and strong and alluringly thick wristed (she smiled wryly at herself over that descriptor), dark hair swept back from his forehead, just devastating in a white shirt undone at the neck.
“How are you settling in?”
“It’s fairly fabulous. Where do you bunk in this joint?”
He winked. “With you, darling.”
“For show.”
He ran a finger down her cheek and looked at her with lustful eyes.
“We have mind-blowing sex,” he purred. “Is that for show?”
She laughed. “Where’s your real room?”
“Down the hall, last door on the left. Interested? I’d be happy to give you a tour.”
“I wish. But the hair took me an hour and a half, don’t ask. If I muss it—which I totally would if you show me your room—we’ll never make dinner with the WQ.”
“Have I mentioned what a turn-on it is when you call her that?”
“Despite the fact, it makes me a rather sullied Snow White?”
“I didn’t mind sullying you, and I won’t let any woodsmen come at you with an ax during dinner,” he promised. She smiled and he continued. “We better get going. The hag awaits us.”
“I bet our wicked queen is still pimping. Staring into her mirror, saying, “Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”
“And the mirror tells her it’s you…”
“She won’t like that one bit. Promise me you’ll keep the Wicked Queen from poisoning me with an apple?”
He flashed her that movie star smile, all glistening white teeth. “Without a doubt, love.”
“I wonder why she wants to have dinner with us.”
“To meet her competition, her adversary. You’re a contender for her throne. But don’t worry, like in all good fairy tales, the villain will be defeated by the hero.”
“And heroine,” Marj added. “I helped too.”
“We’ll defeat her together. My guess is that she wants to portray me as a wild, cunning, desperate beast preying on your gentle innocence.”
Marj scoffed. “Gentle innocence?” She twirled around. “Does my gentle innocence show in this dress?”
His gaze wandered down to her spilling cleavage. With a mischievous smile, he said, “I love this dress and what fills it out. It’s so damn sexy.”