Turning to Stone (Heart of Stone: Book 2)

Chapter 20: Confidence

Chapter 20: Confidence

Sulking over the Mac situation at least distracted me from the Ed situation. When Saturday rolled around, though, and I was introduced to my hair and make-up stylist for the awards show, the nerves barrelled into me.

"Any preference with your hair?" she asked.

I thought back to my conversation with Camille. Whatever changes I made to my usual appearance wouldn't render me disguisable, but I could still become less instantly recognisable.

"Up," I said. "Also, could you cut me in some curtain bangs? But then when you style my hair, can you pin them back or something so it doesn't look like I have any?"

Even as the words left my mouth, I realised how daft they sounded: give me a fringe, but then hide the fringe. If she felt the same, though, she didn't show it. We discussed different styles and then she started snipping.

When we moved onto my face, she took the lead, explaining that my skin tone allowed me to get away with much heavier make-up than I'd usually wear. Perhaps she'd cottoned on to my strategy; after all, wasn't that part of her job, to know what I wanted before I knew myself?

By the time she'd finished, I could have cried with joy. I didn't, of course, because that would have ruined the make-up. With my hair scraped back, smoky eyes and darker lips, I looked different enough that it gave me a surge of confidence.

And with one of the biggest nights of my life ahead of me, I needed all the confidence I could get.

*

When my new eyes landed on Ed waiting at the lift, some of my nerves faded away—and not just because my role as his girlfriend suddenly seemed much easier when he looked like that.

Dressed in a black jacket and trousers, with a white shirt and black bow tie, he leaned against the wall, eyes on his phone as his thumb flicked at the screen to scroll. His suit hugged the lean contours of his tall body, the crisp white shirt contrasting against his golden skin.

His gaze briefly darted up from the phone when I approached, then lifted again more slowly to sweep over my body.

Upon leaving my stylist ten minutes earlier, I'd felt like a supermodel—or, at the very least, someone worthy of standing next to Teddy Stone on a red carpet. She had truly worked a miracle on my face and had picked out a flattering dress that I already wanted to steal for my own wardrobe.

But now, as Ed's dark eyes roamed over the emerald lace of the skin-tight bodice, down to the flared skirt that finished just above my knee, eventually reaching my chunky heels before retracing their path all the way back up my figure, I felt more self-conscious than I had in years.

Clearing his throat, he slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and pushed himself off the wall.

"You look great, Soph."

Although his words were casual, almost detached like he'd said them out of politeness, sincerity brimmed in the blueness of his eyes as our gazes touched.

"Thanks. So do you," I replied.

"Are we ready?" Helen reached past me to press for the lift. "Does anyone need any refreshers on what's to be expected?"

By 'anyone', she meant me. Helen could have given me all the refreshers in the world and I'd still be nervous.

I'd memorised the length of the red carpet, how many times we'd have to stop for photos, and what poses I needed to pull, but that wouldn't prepare me for seeing my face all over the internet tomorrow.