Throughout all my childhood, I’d always felt like a misfit who could never fit in or do things like normal people. When I’d gone to school, the feeling continued because I was so paranoid. But after the way my family had always treated me like an outsider, I’d been too afraid to put myself out there.
I’d been so sure I’d grow old alone and sad because I could never find a place to fit in. But yesterday, a boy had told me he loved me, and he’d kissed my breasts, and I felt so far above a normal, average girl today; I freaking glowed. And I knew where I fit in now.
Suddenly understanding why Jeremy had wondered if I’d lost my virginity, I flushed even harder. Would people really be able to tell I was in love just from looking at me? What if someone in my family noticed and decided to investigate? What if, someday, they followed me out to meet Knox and found us together?
“Felicity!” Mother’s irritated voice called from the base of the steps. “Really. What is taking so long? The hair stylist and makeup artist are here and waiting.”
With a sigh, I fastened the rest of my dress, slid on the heels Mother had chosen to go with it, and hurried from the room. “I’m coming.”
As I clattered down the steps, Mother glared at me from the bottom. “Tread more carefully, will you? You sound like a herd of buffalo tromping down the stairwell. I’d at least like to give the hair stylist the illusion you’re a proper young lady.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, ducking my face and slowing my step so the tap of heels could be more ladylike.
Sniffing in disgust, Mother grabbed my arm and hauled me after her. I think the ladies waiting in the parlor to fix me up had heard my scolding. They each sent me sympathetic grimaces and were extra nice as they worked simultaneously on my face and hair. The entire time, my mother stood guard, offering the occasional nasty critique, and by the time they were done, I had to admit, I looked good. I swear the makeup made me appear eighteen, maybe even older. And there wasn’t an ounce of frizz to my hair; every curl looked amazing.
“The photographer’s here,” Father announced as he strolled by, shuffling through a pile of mail in his hands.
“Good.” Mother urged me to stand with an almost proud smile, then she called sharply. “Abbott. She’s ready. What do you think?”
“Hmm?” He paused to frown at her.