Page 103 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

“And what about the makeup?” I ask, watching her shake out the fabric, which looks like some sort of dress.

“We don’t have to do much if you like. Keep it simple or none at all. Your choice. You’re pretty enough without all that makeup you used to wear anyway.”

I snort laugh because she has no idea how much I hated wearing so much makeup.

“Wasn’t my idea. Stylists can be very pushy. I was basically their Barbie doll. My opinion had no place in the decision-making.”

I hear Ginger growl for the first time ever, sounding more like her brother than I could have imagined. He growls all the time, usually because he likes something I’m doing and is aroused. Kinda weird, actually, to hear it from Ginger. I hope it’s an irritated growl and not a horny one. I like her and all, but that’d be really awkward with me being with her brother and all.

Seeing the scowl on her face, I conclude it’s an angry growl.

“Did you really have no say in your own life? Like at all?”

“Nope.” I pop the p in exasperated emphasis.

“Fucking assholes. I love your music, and not gonna lie, I did love some of those designer dresses and would kill to go to Paris fashion week or meet even a fraction of the celebrities you have.”

Overhyped if you ask me.

“But now I really don’t think you should return to work with them. They don’t deserve you or your voice. You know, if you asked him to, Hunter would build you a recording studio. Building shit is kind of his thing,” she concludes, obviously slipping in her vote for me bonding with Hunter.

My cheeks heat with a blush. I don’t think Hunter would ever tell me no if I were to ask anything of him.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The thought of building my own recording studio and making my own music has never been anything more than a fantasy. I’ve been part of a large studio for so long that it didn’t even occur to me I could do it myself. There’s always been someone or a team to do everything for me.

Now that I’m considering the possibility of making my own music, other ideas are forming. I could teach music to others, open a shop to bring music and instruments to town. There was an empty storefront right next toTall Tailsthat would suffice.

My spiraling daydream is interrupted when Ginger leads me over to the full-length mirror in the corner, spinning me to face it and standing behind me. She brings the white eyelet dress in front of me, draping it over my front and showing me how it would look. It’s short, hitting mid-thigh with an empire waist and low scooping neckline that would probably show a bit of cleavage but not too much. The sleeves are soft but bubbly. The overall look is sweet but with just enough appeal to be sexy if worn right.

“I think my brother would bite his own tongue off if he saw you in this.”

Reaching up, I brush my hand down the short, gathered skirt of the dress. It’ll have a little volume but nothing too poofy. It's very cottage-core-meets-baby-doll.

“Where did you get this?”

“I may have had a friend in town whip it up for you. Fairies can be very good with fabric. I’ll introduce you to Larken sometime. Whenever I have a craving for something I see on a runway, I go to her.”

I have no idea why fairies would be better for the job, but I’m guessing this Larken is a seamstress of some sort. That would be useful way out here, where access to certain things can be limited.

Staring at my reflection, I take in the white dress and the soft smile on Ginger's lips. I may not want to wear any makeup, but that doesn’t seem to apply to her. She’s just as put together as ever, with pristine application of a smoky eye with winged liner and a deep crimson lip with her auburn hair in a stylish soft wave. My assumption is that when she shifts, it doesn’t affect her human form. Must be nice.

Again, my mind snags on thewhitedress. White doesn’t seem an appropriate color for being chased through the woods and then fucked under a full moon. It would seem to be the absolute worst color to choose since it would get dirty in about three seconds. But if bonding is like marriage to shifters, white would be appropriate.

My mind stutters at the thought. That is effectively what I’d be doing, marrying Hunter. I look at the white dress a little differently now. Realizing this could be my wedding dress, and that’s why Ginger picked white.

Seems strange to possibly be getting married with so little pomp and circumstance. No invitations or registries. No bridal party or flower arrangements. No photographer or ring bearer. Hell, beyond Ginger, no one else even knows we might be bonding tonight. Am I taking away something special for Hunter and his family by keeping it secret? Will his parents hate not being there?

Ew, never mind, his parents should definitely not be there. That’s something I don’t want them to see; I would be eternally mortified. But would they want to know beforehand? Does it matter to them?

“Ginger,” I start, quietly trying to mentally form the question I want to ask.

“Yeah?”

“If Hunter and I bond as mates tonight, am I ruining some sacred ceremony by doing it this way? Secretive and all.”

She smiles, and the affection in her expression has me holding my breath.

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