Page 42 of Dark Chains: First Link
Yasmin sat on the garden stool, admiring the pale pink nail polish she'd chosen, which was barely distinguishable from her natural color.
"This one would look good on you, Soraya," Parisa said, holding up a page in a hairstyling magazine, featuring an elaborate updo that looked like it required a box of hairpins in addition to an engineering degree.
"I don't like elaborate hairstyles," Soraya said. "And I like hairpins even less."
"It's so elegant, though," Parisa insisted. "And I don't think it requires that many pins. The structure is probably maintained with loads of hairspray."
"I don't like hairspray either," her mother countered.
Donya and Laleh were busy selecting nail colors, but after nearly an hour of deliberations, they were no closer to a resolution. Donya wanted midnight blue, but Laleh thought that it was inappropriate for the occasion, and Arezoo agreed with her. Laleh had chosen a pretty rose gold, but Donya had said that it was boring, and to that Laleh replied that her opinion was irrelevant because she had no taste.
Azadeh was sitting cross-legged on the floor between them and acting as mediator, but she was getting tired of being the peacemaker. "Donya, get the blue if you want to, and Laleh, get the rose gold. Neither of you has to like the color chosen by the other. It's not like you are going to be looking at each other's nails at the party."
"That's not the point," Donya said.
"There is no point." Azadeh threw her hands in the air. "That's my point."
"Sisters," Angelica said as she wound another section of hair around the curling iron. "Can't live without them and can't live with them."
"That's so true." Arezoo looked at the stylist through the mirror. "But I wouldn't change anything about either of them. I love them to pieces. All of them."
This was her family. Loud, opinionated, bossy, endlessly arguing about things that didn't matter as a way of expressing love for things that did. Only mere months ago, they had been living subdued lives, diminished in ways they hadn't even realized. Now they were crammed into an impromptu beauty salon, arguing about nail polish, and the normalcy of this newfound freedom was so precious that Arezoo had to take a slow breathto keep her emotions from spilling over and ruining the makeup that Angelica had already applied.
"Don't you dare cry." Angelica waved the curling iron. "I spent forty-five minutes on that face."
"I'm not crying."
Angelica paused with the iron midair. "I'm immortal now, remember? That means I can smell your tears before you shed them."
Arezoo felt her cheeks heating up. She had indeed forgotten about that particular trait. Angelica could smell much more than her tears. She could also smell her emotions, and so could every immortal close enough to sniff her.
Thankfully, the only other immortal in the room was Frankie, and she probably couldn't smell anything over the strong smell of nail polish.
"I know the tears are loading," Angelica added in a softer tone. "You have to hold it together, though. This is a cocktail party, and you are only allowed to cry at the wedding."
"I wasn't going to cry."
"Good. Because if you start, your mother will follow, and then your aunts will start bawling, and then I'll have to redo everyone's makeup, and you all are not going to make it to the party."
Arezoo smiled. "That's incentive enough to hold it in. Amanda will be furious if we don't show up after all the effort she's put into making this party happen."
Angelica released the curl and examined it critically before moving to the next section. "Are you excited?"
"Of course," Arezoo said. "I'm also scared because I don't like being the center of attention, and Ruvon doesn't like it either. We will probably go hide somewhere after the obligatory dance."
"Don't you dare." Angelica brandished the iron like a sword. "Not after all the work I put into making you look fabulous. You need to show it off, girl."
Frankie, who had somehow extracted herself from three simultaneous nail jobs, walked over to Angelica's station and admired Arezoo's reflection in the mirror.
"You are barely recognizable."
Arezoo frowned. "Is that a good thing? I don't want my fiancé to ask who I am and what I have done with the girl he loves."
Frankie chuckled. "It's still you, just better. I'm a great believer in presenting the best version of yourself at all times, but especially when you are the guest of honor at a party." She patted Arezoo's shoulder. "You will be unforgettable, which is the point."
Frankie didn't just preach, she always looked so well put together that every time she stopped by the store or the café, Arezoo asked her where she was going, and the answer was always, nowhere. She just liked to look her best at all times.
Her mate was one of the three gods who had recently arrived from Anumati, which was a fact that still made Arezoo's head spin when she thought about it.
