Page 19 of Tis The Season for Secrets
“Yes, all on the Frost account. Thank you for all your help.” She had some cash left in her purse after shopping for a nice tip; she made a mental note not to forget.
“For the daughter of Mrs Frost, it’s a pleasure. Please tell Mrs Frost we look forward to seeing her very soon,” the receptionist said. Juliet knew Gillian would be there at noon for her standing appointment; she helped plan the Christmas Gala, and she’d besure to arrive before all the guests. Juliet was relieved to hear they wouldn’t run into each other.
After exchanging polite goodbyes, she put her phone on the kitchen counter. “Done!” She winked at Margot.
“I can’t believe you got me in! They book out months in advance.” Margot beamed. “I’ll have to put it on one of my credit cards until my next client pays up. They charge hundreds for a freaking manicure.” Margot might have come from money, but she’d put everything into her business, and her family had cut her off once she announced she had no intention of following their plans for her future. Juliet could never thank her enough for always supporting her. Hopefully, this would be a good opportunity for her.
“No need– it’ll be charged to Gillian’s account. I’d pay to see her reaction when she gets the bill,” she said mischievously.
Her stepmother had always begrudgingly given her what she thought was appropriate to keep up appearances befitting a daughter of the Frost family, but Juliet had been the first Frost to work her way through school and college because her stepmother had kept the money her dad had originally planned to give to Juliet for expenses. She’d claimed Juliet wasn’t mature enough to handle her own finances, but Gillian obviously just didn’t want her to have any financial freedom. She’d only been able to attend college because Nana Rose had paid for what her scholarship didn’t, and she’d covered the rest herself. An education meant freedom, and they’d wanted to keep her on a tight leash.
Yet when they’d learned about her plans to go whether they liked it or not, and the power was out of their hands, her dad had suddenly loved to brag about her excellent grades and her academic scholarship, as though it hadn’t been out of necessity.
“Thank you, but it’s too much!” Margot argued.
“It’s not nearly enough, and you can thank Gillian.” Juliet smiled. For the first time in years, if ever, she was looking forward to attending the Christmas gala.
“Are we going to talk about the man’s shirt I saw in the laundry basket the other day?” Margot whispered as their stylists worked on them side by side.
Despite it being one of the busiest days of the year, the salon still maintained a quiet, peaceful atmosphere. Every inch, decorated with white marble and gold-trimmed mirrors, screamed expense.
“It’s Will’s. The guy from the night when I collected the manuscript from Hugo.” Juliet tried to sound like she wasn’t still thinking about him. The flashbacks of his lips on hers, and the weight of his hands on her hips, were never far from her mind.
“You kept his shirt? How romantic.” The manicurist glared at Margot as she snatched her hands out from the heat lamp to clap. “Are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t think so. I was going to return the shirt to him, but I’ve no way to contact him. It’s expensive, so I wasn’t going to throw it out.” Juliet wished she had his number, so she could have at least thanked him for helping her get her dreampromotion. But she figured that if he’d wanted her to have it, he could have given it to her in the lobby.
“You could donate it?” Margot suggested as her stylist sprayed her icy locks, slicked into a low bun and decorated with white pearls, with an alarming amount of hairspray.
Maybe Margot was right and she should get rid of the reminder. After all, they’d agreed on one night, and she needed to stop thinking about him. But it felt wrong donating what wasn’t hers, and what if their paths crossed again?
“I will, when I get the chance,” Juliet lied, focusing on the bald stylist clipping back her soft waves with emerald-winged clips. A few wispy bits were left out to frame her heart-shaped face.
Thankfully, they couldn’t really speak once the make-up artists started. Juliet nearly fell asleep in the chair. When she opened her eyes, she admired the blushed cheeks and dark brown eyeshadow that highlighted her features without masking them.
“Your eyes look incredible,” she told Margot, whose dark, smoky eye gave her a vampiric yet sultry look with her sleek hair.
“Still, I’d kill for your lips. The red is perfect on you,” Margot returned as they pulled themselves from the comfy leather chairs. They said their goodbyes, and Juliet made sure to add a generous tip to the bill.
“I need another coffee if I’m going to last the night.” Margot shivered outside the salon. Luckily it hadn’t started snowing again, but she was grateful for the litre of hairspray, because the wind had picked up.
“You read my mind.” Juliet took her arm, and they huddled together to keep warm.
Both appreciatedthe large coffees once they got to their chilly apartment.
“Victor should be here to pick us up at seven,” Juliet said, carefully slipping her green dress over her hair and make-up.
“I’ll be ready. I haven’t seen him since he brought you back from the estate last year—” Margot cut herself off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to talk about it.” She fidgeted with the crystal straps that did little to support her chest.
“It’s fine, you don’t have to tiptoe around it.” Juliet shrugged off the memory and put on the gold necklace with the small bell she’d found in the chest. She didn’t like talking about the Frost estate, even though Margot knew about her cottage – how her grandfather and stepmother had kept Juliet out of sight and out of the main house when she turned fourteen. Her dad had agreed, needing to keep his wife and father happy, when it was suggested Juliet had better not live in the main house – that it was too upsetting to have her inGillian’shome, except for at parties and during the holidays, when appearances had to be maintained and Gillian could show her friends how generous she was to accept her husband’s pre-marital child.
Even if she had never felt wanted at home, Victor, the groundskeeper and driver, had always been like the dad she’d never had. He’d taught her to drive, and taken her to the emergency room when she’d broken her arm when she’d failed at her first and last attempt at skateboarding.
Pushing aside the memories, Juliet searched for her silvery heels. They weren’t in the wardrobe; lifting up the blanket at the end of her bed, she found them resting against the chest she’dbeen procrastinating about opening again. She grabbed her heels, but couldn’t resist her curiosity. Margot was still getting ready in her room, so she had a moment to spare.
The letter she’d shoved inside still sat on top, and this time Nana Rose’s handwriting hit her like an emotional freight train. She forced herself to swallow her grief so her tears wouldn’t ruin her makeup.
Dear Juliet
