Page 10 of Scars of the Sun
She nodded, “M’kay. Your eyes are really pretty, so I was thinking about some dark eyeshadow to make them pop. How do you feel about blush?”
I gaped like a fish and croaked, “It’s fine.”
“And your hair? Do you feel better with it down or up?”
It was in a mess around my shoulders, right now, but thinking it through, I felt a little more confident when I let her know that I wanted it down. The shifter had only seen me with it pulled back in a braid so far, and I wanted to do something different. When I’d been able to tame it, my hair could look decent, at least.
Sylvie nodded again, brow furrowed like she was on a mission, and she darted out of the bathroom without saying a word. I watched her leave and heard a rustling in her bedroom. Before she came back, a little pattering on the wooden floor preceded Dahlia sticking her head into the doorway and giving me a curious look up and down.
Her mother came back with a short skirt and a black, long-sleeved shirt in her hands. “How about this? I think they’ll fit you.”
She moved closer toward me, clothes extended in my direction, and I reached up a hand to touch the silver accents on the skirt. They were simple but striking enough to not be boring. Thankfully, she’d picked up my wearing full sleeves without asking any questions about it, and I swallowed the thick lump in my throat. “Yeah, that looks good.”
Sylvie gave me a kind smile, and I understood what my brother went on about when he mentioned his mate’s sweetness. And it was rubbing off on me, because I felt my own smile rise in response.
She draped the clothes over a free area on the counter and turned back to me. “Sweetheart,” she spoke at Dahlia behind her, “can you go get me your hair stuff from your room, please?”
Dahlia let out a little, “Okay,” and scampered out of the room while Sylvie started running her fingers over my hair. The big, dense curls were a far cry from my mom’s pin-straight locks, and if I wasn’t entrusting them to the hands of an experienced hairstylist, it was easier a lot of the time to just plait them out of the way.
Sylvie retrieved a glass spray bottle from the wooden cabinets beneath the counter and held it up to me with a questioning raise of her brows. I bit my lip and nodded, and she got to work.
After she wet my hair, Sylvie slowly started on my curls, and when Dahlia came running back into the bathroom with a jar of curl cream in her little hands, Sylvie began smoothing the product into the strands. Though there were some nasty knots in there, her fingers were gentle, and at some point, I’d closed my eyes, relaxing into the way she worked on my hair.
“Oooh,” Dahlia’s voice broke my trance, and I fluttered my eyes open to find Sylvie twirling her finger around the shorter locks framing my face. She then took large handfuls of my hair, scrunched them to encourage the curls, and let them fall around my shoulders and down my back.
I still hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror, but I continued to stay still while Sylvie went to her makeup bag and pulled out a new brush and swiped it in a pot of shadow. I closed my eyes obediently and tried my best to keep still.
Luckily, Sylvie wasn’t like Mom or the makeup artists she hired over the years, because it took about five minutes for my sister-in-law to brush the color on my lids and swipe some liquid blush on my cheekbones. Lastly, she dipped her finger in a jar of Vaseline, and I tilted my mouth up toward her. She dabbed it on my lips and pulled back.
She looked at me with a satisfied grin, and Dahlia’s face was a cute echo of her mother’s. Sylvie opened her hands toward me, and I looked at them, confused. After a moment, I settled my palms over hers and let her bring me to a stand. She pulled me back toward the mirror, but I hadn’t been prepared forthis.
My hair fell in buttery ringlets around my face and cascaded down my back and shoulders. Black shadow smoked around my eyes, making their light color sharper, and the delicate blush made me look more alive, somehow. I didn’t remember ever admitting to Sylvie that I had a weird aversion to anything other than balm on my lips, but she’d somehow known what to do. The Vaseline made my lips look poutier.
I examined my face and hair, tilting my head this way and that, admiring what Sylvie had done. My hair would dry, getting softer and bigger, but the way she’d set it left the smile on my face. For once, I was done up,andI felt like myself. The makeup didn’t swallow my features or comically exaggerate them.
With an encouraging pat on my back, Sylvie steered Dahlia out of the bathroom and closed the door to let me change.
I unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts first, switching them out with the miniskirt that was a good fit. My hips were a little narrower than Sylvie’s. If I had to guess, the skirt was meant to be higher on the waist, but on me, it settled around my navel. I lifted my sweatshirt a little, and did a little turn in front of the mirror. My legs looked nice and long under the short hem, and it hugged my ass in all the right ways.
Satisfied with that part, at least, I took a deep breath, and pulled my sweatshirt up and over my head. I eased it slowly, trying my best not to ruin my makeup or my hair, and tossed it to the floor. My lace bralette was pretty but not anything special, and the silver bellybutton ring I’d gotten in a rebellious fit at seventeen matched the decorative details on Sylvie’s skirt.
As much as I tried not to look at them, the deep scars running along my inner arms were an ugly sight. I shoved on the shirt as quickly as I could while still being careful to not ruin Sylvie’s hard work.
It was oversized and cropped at the same time, and the boxy silhouette was familiar and comforting. The hem of the shirt just met the waistband of the skirt, and when I twisted or raised my arms, a sliver of my belly showed. At least that wasn’t a part of my body that I was insecure about.
After a few more twirls in front of the mirror, I opened the door and stepped out into Sylvie and Orion’s bedroom.
Sylvie was doing her final twirls in front of a full-length mirror near the closet, and Dahlia was running up and down the length of the wall of windows, engaged in her own imaginary play. When I made a few tentative steps toward her, Sylvie turned her head and gave me another approving grin.
“I’m so glad the clothes fit. You look great!” Her praise made me blush, and I hoped the redness was disguised by the makeup she’d put on my face. Sylvie smoothed a hand over the sleeveless dress she’d put on that hugged her curves and ended about mid-calf. A pair of combat boots rested against the double doors to the closet, so I figured those were the shoes she’d decided to go with.
She gave herself one last once-over and grabbed a small fanny pack that’d been thrown on the large bed. I almost laughed at the outdated thing, but when Sylvie buckled it around her waist, further accentuating her curves, and settled it into place,the snicker died in my throat. It was black, to match our outfits, and I had to admit. It looked good with her dress and was a smart way to avoid holding onto a purse all night.
“All right, are you about ready?” She opened up and dug in the fanny pack. After checking her phone and putting it back, she bent down to pick up her shoes. “We’ve got time to grab a drink and find a good spot, I think.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears and took a breath. “Yeah, that sounds good. Just gotta grab my phone and wallet from the room.”
“Okay. Come on sweetheart, Auntie Mona and I are gonna say bye to Ollie and Daddy then go to the concert.”