Page 129 of Hide and Keep

I rip my eyes off the panties and focus on her head where the stylist is massaging some kind of product into the strands.

Damn. I missed something.

The makeup artist is busy sifting through her giant tackle box of beauty shit, so with a stern expression on my face and my hands behind my back, I mimic the same motions as the hairstylist, scrunching and unscrunching my fingers. Idon’t know what she put in Ever’s hair but I can practice the application part.

“You look like you’re constipated,” Ever deadpans, and I shoot her a scowl. Her head is bowed toward her phone, but her eyes are on me through the mirror.

My hands freeze.

“I’m concentrating.”

“I won’t hurt her,” the stylist promises with a sideways peek.

I give her a tight smile, not exactly wanting her to think I’ll shoot her but also not wanting her to pull Ever’s hair.

She timidly returns it, then glances at my scar.

I go to adjust my hat before remembering I didn’t put one on after my shower. I didn’t even put it back on after the festival. I forgot all about it honestly.

Ever snaps, “Go put something else on. You’re not going looking like that.”

I’m her fucking personal protection agent. I’m going regardless.

Both the makeup artist and hairstylist stop what they’re doing to inspect my outfit. And my face.

Damn it.

I tell the brat as calmly as I can, “I’m not wearing this. Whenever you change, I will, too.”

Ever’s own scrutinizing stare now alternating between the two women, she says to me, “We’re gonna be here a long time and I don’t need you up my ass—”

“Three years to be exact,” I say, cutting her off. “And I plan on being up your ass every fucking second of it, so get used to it.”

Azure eyes drill into mine in the mirror again.

The stylist assures me, “It won’t take methatlong.”

I return my attention to what’s happening to Ever’s hair but keep my hands still.

After a few minutes, Ever says, “Chloe, can you take a step to the right…”

Is she fucking serious right now? I can’t even stand near another woman?

“…so my bodyguard can see your hands at all times?”

Thankfully, Chloe listens, giving me a better view of what she’s doing.

If Ever knows why I’m really here, why does she have to waste time being such a bitch about it?

She probably can’t help it. Bitches bitch.

I watch as Chloe dries Ever’s hair, noting she uses a brush the whole time as well as downward strokes from roots to ends. I’ve never used a hair dryer before but I’ve caught glimpses of my mom using hers over the years. She didn’t seem to have any technique whatsoever, just random, chaotic movements that blew her hair every which way, including into and all over her face. Not once do any strands touch Ever’s face though, allowing the makeup artist to start on her part.

With everyone’s focus finally off me, I repeat slow, measured rolls of my wrists behind my back until the hair’s dry and we move on to the next process.

An hour and a half later, Ever’s hair and makeup are just about done when I’m shooed from the room so she can get her dress on.

Only needing my suit, I hustle upstairs and put it on. I secure my fancier watch, too. Since I don’t know how to tie a bowtie, I take that down with me, letting it hang loose around my neck. Ever did say she’d teach me how to tie one.

---