Page 76 of Forbidden Romeo
I nod in understanding. “I’m not sure if I do either. But no matter the outcome, it would be really nice to have my sister to rely on. And not throw an I told you so in my face if I’m wrong.”
Mallory's mask slipped for a brief second, revealing vulnerability beneath the tough exterior. “I don’t want to be right. But after what I saw at the Kennedy Center show?” she shakes her head, her shoulders trembling as a shiver visibly courses down her spine.
“I know. I’m trying to move on from it… but I don’t know if I can until I face it.”
“Then maybe it’s time.” She squeezes my hands.
The weight of her words hung heavy in the air between us, the years of distance and resentment slowly melting away with each heartbeat. And as we stood there facing each other, a tentative smile tugged at the corners of my lips.
Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected encounter was exactly what I needed… we needed… to finally heal old wounds and forge a new beginning.
Amidst the hum of voices and clinking glasses around us, I feel a glimmer of hope and realization stirring within me.
“Will you do me a favor, Mallory?”
“A bigger favor than leaving my husband and kids at home and flying halfway across the country for you?” she teases.
I giggle and nod. “Come home with me. And let’s have the slumber party we never got to have as sisters.”
Tears well up in Mallory's eyes as she nodded slowly. “I’ll get the Oreos.”
CHAPTER 30
Holden
Five years earlier…
I paced the backstage area of the Kennedy Center. The green rooms were so much more lavish than the one single experience I had in ours at school. There were quadruple the amount of rooms. Katherine and I each had our own private dressing room and while I couldn’t speak for her, mine was sparkling clean with fresh cut flowers on every surface. Empty makeup trays were there, waiting for anyone to add their own brushes or palettes.
I didn’t wear makeup.
But maybe I should?
Everyone in class was trying to convince me to put some on, but I couldn’t bring myself to smear my face with cream and concealer and eyeliner. It just felt… weird.
And wrong.
McCay had left a small pouch of items on my table and it taunted me. Finally, with nothing else to do and forty-five minutes until curtain, I grabbed the bag and opened it, holding up the bottle of foundation that weirdly was a perfect match for my skin. Clumsily, I started applying it, unsure what to do when I reached my scruff. Do I just put it on over my coarse, stubbled facial hair?
Also, why the fuck was it so greasy?
I did my best blending it, wiping my dirty hand on my jeans after. Then I picked up the eyeliner. How much should I fucking use? Leaning toward the mirror, I closed one eye and tried to draw a smooth line across my top lid. When I pulled back and examined it, it was a fucking mess. I looked like a meth head on a bender. A drunk koala could have done a better job.
I grunted and yanked a makeup wipe from the box beside me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” A deep voice boomed from the doorway.
Normally, that would make me jump.
But I half expected my father to show up today. Instead, I kept my eyes on my reflection and wiped off the shitty eyeliner.
“What does it look like?”
His heavy footsteps thudded along the marble floors as he entered my dressing room. “I can get on board with the acting thing, but fucking makeup? What if an image of that leaked to the press. My campaign with the conservatives would be tanked.”
I snorted and shook my head. “You’re marrying a theater woman, Dad. You better get used to hanging with dirty, dirty liberals and men who wear makeup.” I paused, finally sparing him a glance over my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“Duncan called me,” he said and that made me stop in my tracks.