Page 6 of My Puckin' Luck
THE ANGEL
ANASTASIA
I’m an angel.I tilt my head left, then right, eyeing the costume in the mirror hung behind my bedroom door. “Are you positive this isn’t too over the top? It’s so…revealing. What if Saint doesn’t like it?”
“Anastasia, stop.” Misty steps between me and my reflection, placing her hands on my shoulders. “You look gorgeous. Wear this costume for you, not him. It’s absolutely perfect for a Halloween masquerade ball at the Ritz. I hardly recognize you myself.”
I’m grateful to her and I know, as she’s been my bestie since college, that I can trust her to give it to me straight. As soon as she heard about the event Saint asked me to attend with him, she was so excited, and offered to make our costumes.
She flew in to personally fit us into them and add the final touches. It just so happens that her professional hockey goalie fiancé, Storm, and the Denver Aspens are in town playing against the Los Angeles Vipers tomorrow night, so we’ll all attend the game together, too. That assumes I survive tonight with Saint.
“If Saint had mentioned the event would be a costume ball when he asked me out, I might have declined,” I say.
“But it’s for a great cause, and you are going to be the best angel there. In fact, I hope you’re the only angel.”
“I’ll be the only one wearing a Misty Costume Original. I’m so proud of how well your business has taken off.”
“I know. Can you believe it?” She grins and fusses with the white feather and lace piece in my hair. “Of course, I feel like I owe Storm a commission. He’s made it his life’s mission to tell every national league player and their girlfriends and wives and sisters all about my services. I’m over booked for Halloween costumes next week.”
“And yet you found time to come here today? You could have shipped this and stayed home to work.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for you and Saint for the world. I’m holding my breath hoping something happens between you two tonight. A little spark of magic, maybe?” She winks, and expertly applies a silver streak in my hair with special temporary tint.
“Go ahead and breathe. This is Saint we’re talking about remember? I’m simply helping him as a friend tonight, that’s all. About the only magic I’m hoping for is I don’t split a seam in this outfit.”
“You have my personal guarantee all seams are iron-clad. Unless of course a strong hockey player like Saint strips the costume off of you after the ball. I don’t think my seams could withstand that.”
“Nice try. That is definitely not happening.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at him, Anastasia.”
“I know you have, Misty. But tonight is just a one-off. There’s nothing more there. Believe me, Saint is not my forever-man.”
“But what if?—”
“Nope.”
“But he could—” I shush her with two fingers to her lips.
“Zip it. Not going there.” I move away from the mirror, my mouth dry suddenly, as if Saint were here now ripping away at my seams with his smoldering stare. The image of it won’t leave my mind. I fill a glass of water from the decanter on my bed stand.
“He could be your Prince Charming, Anastasia. He’d be a perfect hero for one of your scripts since he’s a brooding playboy who doesn’t think he’s worthy of love.”
I turn, almost choking on my water. “What do you mean, brooding?”
“Oh. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She reaches into her bag for her camera, her hair like spun gold falling into her face.
“Misty, what do you know? Tell me.”
She sighs and sinks onto the edge of my mattress. “Storm told me something Big D mentioned to him when he moved out of that apartment above Saint’s garage. While packing, he’d gone looking for a shirt he’d loaned Saint. I guess in one of his bedroom drawers he found a photo of Saint, only younger, with his arm around a young woman. Next to it was one of those 3D sonogram images of a baby in the womb.”
This news unnerves me, my forehead wrinkling under the Angel mask. A younger Saint with a woman? A baby? I try to speak, but don’t have a voice, and chug the rest of the water. Only now another worry sprouts. I can’t drink too much because if I have to pee I might not get this costume back on.
She continues, “Big D doesn’t know for sure because Saint will never talk about it. But we think we can read between the lines. Something must have happened in the past.”
“And now he wanders through life refusing to love again? Dating loose women because he can’t handle anything more? Sounds like the plot of the first movie I co-wrote at the studio?—”
“The Count of Holiday Hall?I thought the exact same thing when he told me. And look how your heroine was able to makehim see that he was worthy of love by the end of the ball.” She glances up at me with the most innocent eyes, full of hope and romance.
