A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals #1)(69)
Ledi tried not to show how sick that thought made her. “And your point is?”
She knew what the point was: Thabiso had a huge pool of possible brides to choose from. Ledi knew what her chances were in that kind of situation. She’d learned it over and over again every time she’d stuffed her belongings into a black garbage bag and left her temporary home with a social worker at her side.
No one chooses you.
“All we mean to say is that certain families here have set their hats for him. Each time he turned down what could have been prosperous alliances, they believed their chances increased. If you go out there looking like anything other than the woman destined to be princess, there’s a line of people waiting to tear you apart,” Jolie said, curling her hands into claws and slashing in Ledi’s general direction. “You may have been born here, but right now you’re a greedy American coming to take what’s ours.”
The dress woman cleared her throat and Jolie looked chastened.
“Or so people might say.”
Ledi’s palms were sweating and nervous nausea made her clutch her stomach. The problem with compartmentalization was that she had separated all the emotional aspects of the trip—fear, anger, apprehension, anxiety—into various boxes. One by one those boxes were being knocked over, and the resulting mess wouldn’t be pretty.
“Anyone who might say that would be a fool,” Nya said, coming to stand beside Ledi. “Thabiso is a man, not a prize, and if he and Ledi have been lucky enough to find love, everyone should celebrate that.” She spoke in a voice that brooked no discussion. “And any Thesoloian with a problem might want to take it up with the priestesses.”
There was silence after that, except for the rustling of the dress as the other woman prepared it and the sound of Ledi’s hair being twisted and pinned.
“All done,” Jolie said after what seemed like an eternity. Ledi turned to look into the mirror and did a double take. Her hair had been pulled into a high, round bun, a simple sleek look that had been made regal by dozens of crystal-tipped rose gold pins. Her bun had become an elegant, jewel-studded crown. She pulled her shoulders back and raised a hand to touch it.
“Thank you. It looks beautiful.”
Jolie made a sound that was both “you’re welcome” and “duh,” as if it had never been in doubt that she’d make her look amazing.
“Now for the dress,” the other woman said. “Alehk really went all out with this one.”
Ledi turned and saw the woman holding out what seemed to be a pile of black and red silk. She stepped into the opening and sucked in her breath as it was zipped from behind, watching the dress take shape as the zipper made its way up. When the woman stepped away, Ledi stared at herself in disbelief.
The black bodice was formfitting, with a sweetheart neckline and frilly off-the-shoulder straps. The skirt billowed out around her, frothy black and red layers of silk and taffeta that gave the effect of a blooming, fantastical rose. The lavish dress paired with the elegant crown updo and Nya’s top-notch makeup job had transformed her into someone else entirely. Perhaps the woman she would have been if her parents had never taken her to New York.
“The prince will not be able to tear his gaze from you tonight,” Nya said. “And your red lip stain will match perfectly.”
Ledi let Jolie apply the lip liner and stain, not wanting to step on any more toes, then checked herself out in the mirror.
“Wow,” she said, allowing herself a moment of vanity.
“Wow,” Jolie repeated with a little laugh. Ledi thought she was mocking her, but when she glanced at her, Jolie seemed to be genuinely entertained. “Is that what Americans say? Yes. ‘Wow,’ indeed. Cool.”
In the mirror, Ledi noticed Nya looking at the tube of lip stain wistfully. Nya’s dress was simple instead of sumptuous, loose fitting instead of accentuating her slim curves. Her hair was wrapped in a black headwrap, but that was simply done, too, not like the structural marvels Ledi had seen at the gala. She wore no makeup. She was lovely, but there was an air of neglect about her that was concerning. Ledi wondered why Alehk had lavished her with this gift while his own daughter was in Cinderelly-clean-the-kitchen mode.
“Do you want to try some?” she asked.
“That is too bold for me. Red is not for dark-skinned girls anyway,” Nya said.
“Says who?” Ledi tilted her head and regarded her cousin. “I’m the same color as you.”
“But.” Nya eyed the lip stain covetously. “You’re a New Yorker. I’m just a village teacher.”
Ah. That explained the “shut up and sit down” tone she’d used on Jolie.
“I’m a waitress and a glorified number cruncher,” Ledi countered. “You’re not exactly speaking to a paragon of glamor.”
Ledi hadn’t known the woman for more than a few hours, but already she could see the resemblances that went deeper than the surface. The way Nya folded in on herself and tried to be inconspicuous, for example.
“Tell anyone who asks that the bossy American made you do it,” Ledi said, unscrewing the wand from the tube and handing it over. She watched as Nya carefully applied the bright color, and saw the way her eyes lit up when she looked at herself in the mirror.
“Jolie, since you didn’t get to do my makeup, can you do hers instead?”