The Lover's Game Read Free

wouldn’t be able to close my eyes at night.”
    Thalia laughed quietly in my ear. “He calls it his ‘mandrake.’ Scary as shit. Now, that’s the art I was talking about. He is kind of obsessed with it.” She pulled at my arm gently. “Like I said, pop over a few times, and you won’t even notice it anymore. But if he asks, tell him you love it.”
    I nodded and Thalia led me through yet another door into a well-lit space with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and various places to sit.
    “This is the dressing room.”
    Compared to the entrance hall, this room felt oppressing and tight. Maybe it wasn’t the lack of space as much as the fact that it was littered with clothes and carrier bags, and shoes strewn across the floor.
    “From the sight of it, Grayson’s busy.” Thalia pointed to the ceiling.
    I was just about to point out that I had no idea what she was talking about when soft thudding sounds carried down from above. People rushing around. Jumping. Perhaps even dancing.
    Moving past the mirrors, I caught my reflection and winced. My hair looked presentable enough. Being curly and wavy, it never needed a brush. But my face was a mess: my skin pale from exhaustion, the bags under my eyes swollen and dark. There was no doubt I looked as though I had attended a funeral. I laughed inwardly at my morbid thoughts. It some way, I had been at one. While sitting in Central Park, I had mourned my old self and all those things I’d never have: a family with Jett, a father for my child.
    Thalia glanced at her watch.
    “We’re late. We have to hurry.” She retrieved a blue Donna Morgan print dress from her bag and pushed it into my hands. “Try this on. It should fit you.”
    I changed quickly, aware of her eyes on me, and then followed her silent command to sit down when she pointed to a chair. Her hands immediately began to busy themselves with my hair and makeup. My curls were pulled up and twisted with bobby pins, then, with a precision and ease I had never possessed, Thalia started to transform my face into flawlessness, complete with porcelain skin and huge, hazel eyes, framed by dark green eyeliner. She paused to inspect her work before resuming with the confidence of a professional artist.
    “Where did you learn to do this?” I asked.
    “I’m self-taught,” she said with justified pride. “As a teen, I wanted to be a makeup artist, so I used to spend my time reading fashion magazines and blogs. Even though I couldn’t afford school, the knowledge has come in handy.” She applied a touch of mascara and stepped back to regard me, apparently satisfied with the result. “There you go! You have stunning eyes. You should wear more green and gray.”
    “Thank you.”
    She pointed at the mirror and began to put away her brushes.
    For a moment I hesitated, afraid of what I might see. Taking a deep breath, I lifted my gaze and almost didn’t recognize myself. “Wow. You’re good.” I stared at myself, unable to look away. “Really good.” And I meant every bit of praise.
    The woman standing in front of me didn’t look like Brooke Stewart at all. She didn’t look hurt and broken. She looked confident and sexy.
    The kind of woman no one would ever dare to cheat on.
    Self-doubt passed over me. What if I had never really been sexy enough for Jett? What if my insecurities and my inability to trust him completely had pushed him away? Maybe he had missed the excitement and the confidence women of his social status often exuded. Maybe he started cheating on me because I wasn’t like them?
    I turned back to Thalia, glad she didn’t seem to notice the sudden drop in my mood, and watched her change into a peach-colored dress with fishnet stockings. I had to admit, not only did she have a gorgeous body with toned legs and hips to die for, but the attire seemed to be her thing, as though she never wore anything else.
    “Do you like your job?” I resumed the conversation as she began to paint her lips a bright shade