Page 92 of A Taste of Torment
“Where the hell have you been?”Bea shrieks through the door the moment I knock. She swings it open, and her lip curls as if she smells something sour as she takes me in. “You look terrible. What have you been doing? Slaving over a cauldron all day?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Why?”
I roll my eyes. I may not be shouting about my potions work in the halls, but they all know I’m vulnerable and potions are my only means to magic.
“Come on, let’s get started.” Bea already has a face full of elaborate makeup and her hair tied into a lovely updo. She wears a black robe, ready to finish her look with a gown in a moment’s notice.
I sigh and enter her room, almost as big as Jarron’s and Trevor’s with bright red silk sheets, just like Trevor’s. She’s only missing the balcony. On the far end of the room, though, is a large window with a lovely view of the mountains. The sky is orange and pink. Damn, this is a fantastic spot for a sunset.
“Do you plan to study at the gala?” Bea eyes the bag still strapped to my back.
“I didn’t have time to take it back to my room.” I shrug.
She nods to a chair next to a shiny black door. “Leave it there. Forget it exists until Monday. Got it?”
I obey, although I intend to retrieve my things first thing tomorrow morning. The rest of my potions will be finished tomorrow, and I need my notes to follow the final steps.
She walks to a door and holds it open for me.
Holy crap.
Bea’s closet is nearly the size of the rest of her room. There are lines of rolling wracks filled with hundreds of gowns. The back wall is floor-to-ceiling shelves of shoes, and in the corner is a massive three way mirror.
“Take your pick.” She waves to a rack on the right side of the room. There are at least a hundred dresses in the row, in order by color. “Those over there are dresses I’ve worn. I don’t care if you take one of those, but there will be some people who notice that sort of thing.”
“Pretty sure I can find something in this,” I say, shifting through the massive rack of dresses. I’m overwhelmed already. What am I even looking for? I don’t know what looks good on me or what kind of style people wear to these kinds of events. Jarron mentioned it’s not a Victoria Secret fashion show, but considering they wear peacock feathers with lingerie, it really doesn’t narrow it down much.
“Color preference?” she asks.
I shrug.
She looks me up and down. “Green?”
I grimace.
She chuckles. “I mean like a deep emerald.” She walks over to the rack and pulls out a lovely long gown covered in panels of sheer lace over the stomach and twisting straps over a plunging neckline. “It’s gorgeous on. Want to try it?”
I try to give the dress a full consideration but it’s really not me at all. “Maybe something less dominatrix?”
Bea snorts. “That is nothing. All right, ‘Miss Virgin’ it is.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes or complain. Bea and I are on totally different planes when it comes to modesty. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the beauty—I’m sure Bea will look incredible—it just makes me uncomfortable when I get that kind of attention from men.
I’d like to be remembered for more than the way I look, so if I’m a bit forgettable in that regard, that’s okay too.
“I’m going to pick four dresses, but you have to try them all on. Every one. If you don’t like them, no big deal.”
“What if they don’t fit?”
Bea is a bit taller and lot bustier than me. Her waist is like Barbie small.
“I have a seamstress on hand to shape it perfectly.”
Of course she does.
She looks me over. “Yours will need to be hemmed, of course. And maybe let out in the middle, but that’s no big deal.”
