Page 42 of Shattered Throne
Then she stepped out in a deep navy gown.
My coffee cup stopped halfway to my mouth.
The dress was simple. Elegant. It hugged her curves without being provocative, the fabric draping like it had been made for her body. The color brought out the warmth in her skin, the darkness of her eyes. A subtle slit revealed a glimpse of her leg when she walked.
She looked like herself, but more. Like someone had found the volume dial on Kim Young and turned it up.
"That one," I said. My voice came out rough.
Renata nodded approvingly. "Excellent choice. Now, hair and makeup."
They sat Kim down at my dining table and went to work. I should have given them privacy, should have retreated to my bedroom or my office. Instead, I stayed at the breakfast bar, watching.
They let her hair down. I'd never seen it down before. It fell past her shoulders in dark waves. They added something that made it shine under the lights.
The makeup was subtle. An emphasis on her eyes, making them look larger and deeper. A soft pink on her lips. A glow to her skin that made her look lit from within.
When they were finished, she stood.
My lungs forgot how to work.
She was beautiful. She was always beautiful, in that quiet, understated way that didn't demand attention. But this was different.
This was Kim Young transformed, elevated, turned into something that belonged in galleries and magazines and places where people paid money just to look.
The heels added three inches to her height. She wobbled slightly when she walked, clearly not used to them, and somehow that made it better.
"You look beautiful." The words escaped before I could stop them. Her eyes widened. Color rose in her cheeks, visible even under the makeup. I scrambled to recover. "I mean... appropriate. You look appropriate. For the dinner. Very... suitable."
Kim's mouth quirked. "Smooth recovery."
"I try."
"You fail." But she was almost smiling.
"We should go," I said, clearing my throat. "Don't want to be late."
I grabbed my jacket from the closet. Slipped the velvet box into my pocket while her back was turned.
Time to make this convincing.
The drive to the estate took forty-five minutes. Kim sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. I watched her reflection in the glass. Her hands smoothed her dress, once, twice, three times. She was nervous, and she was trying not to show it.
I reached over and placed my hand on hers.
She tensed. Turned to look at me.
"You're going to wrinkle the fabric," I said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not." I didn't move my hand. "But that's okay. They're a scary bunch. I get it."
"I'm not scared."
"Okay."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, so softly I almost missed it, she said, "What if they don't believe us?"
