Mister Fake Fiance

“Sorry,” I say, feeling properly chastised. Her nametag reads, Becca. “Sorry, Becca.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to yourself! If you don’t take care of yourself, who will? Nobody cares about you more than you.”

Not according to my dad or Warren. But she doesn’t need to know that. “Right.” Best to humor her, since she’s wielding scissors near my face and neck.

“So many women put others first, and then one day they wake up and have nothing, not even their looks. Their husbands are accomplished in their career and ready to trade up to a younger and prettier model, and their kids are finished with college and out of the nest. But the wives—now, they’re old and sad. Alimony is nice, but it’s a cold comfort.”

I start to nod, then catch myself. “I’m sure.” I give Becca a weak smile, not willing or wanting to tell her that I’m never going to experience what she’s saying because I’m never going to be with anybody for that long. Or have kids. Or even stay lucid enough in my golden years to know what’s going on.

“That’s why divorced women have makeovers. Shoulda done that throughout their lives!”

I debate if I should point out that I can never be divorced, since I don’t plan on getting married in the first place. But I keep my mouth shut because I’m supposed to be David’s fiancée.

“Your sister got a raw deal, Becca, but really, Erin doesn’t need to have that kind of things filling her head. She’s about to be transformed into a home and hearth goddess,” Jun says.

“With sleek sophistication,” Josephine adds, studying things hanging from racks.

“Sexy underwear and demure dresses,” Jun says thoughtfully.

“What k

ind of sexy underwear? I’m happy with what I have,” I say, not interested in discovering what Jun considers sexy. What if she tries to put me in something crotchless?

“If it’s as plain as your top and skirt, no,” Josephine says. “Trust me, I know.” She starts picking bras out.

“They probably aren’t even the right size,” I say.

She raises an eyebrow. “Thirty-two B.”

What…? “How did you know?”

She laughs. “Because I’m good at my job.”

I wait with dread while she starts picking out dresses. I wish I could get up and see what she’s doing, but I can’t move from the chair. The pedi lady in particular looks like she’s going to break my ankles if I move and mess up the work she’s done on my toenails. I look down and resist the urge to wriggle my toes. Holy cow. The shade she picked out is the sweetest and most ethereal pink. Despite my anxiety, I love it. My mani lady used the same one for my nails. I sigh, admiring my hands and feet. They’ve never been this pretty before.

Becca laughs. “You’re cute,” she says. “First time for a mani pedi?”

“First time since my mom passed away.” I lost interest in a lot of things after Mom died.

Her face softens. “I’m so sorry to hear that. But look how you’re feeling better already. Just a little TLC is all we need.”

Her friendly manner is contagious. I smile, my shoulders relaxing a little. “You’re right. Thank you.”

“Now, see what I’m doing here? How your hair moves? It flows better, lies better. More volume.”

I look at myself in the mirror. She’s right. It doesn’t look like she did a ton, because the overall style is the same as before, but my hair looks significantly better. Must be magic.

Josephine walks closer, gives me a critical once-over and nods. “Awesome, Becca. I love the way she looks now. Very chic.”

Becca curtsies. “Thank you. I always do my best work.”

I smile at that. She deserves to be proud.

Josephine looks at her phone, then frowns. “Huh. Change of plan.”

“What?”

“You’re to be yourself.”