Chapter 62 62
FREYA POV
I could feel the weight of their stares. Nana was looking at me with a knowing, almost hopeful smile, while Elena and Sophie just looked confused and a little awkward. The silence in the bathroom was deafening.
I can’t be pregnant, I thought, the panic rising in my throat. Not now. Not when my life is finally starting to make sense.
I quickly braced myself against the sink, forcing my body to stand tall. I needed to shut this down before it became a "thing."
"I’m fine," I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. I looked at the girls and then at Nana, trying to sound convincing. "It’s probably just malaria, or a touch of fever. I've been under so much stress lately. I just need some water and to get back to work. I'll be fine."
I brushed past them and walked back into the lounge, sitting firmly in the high-backed chair. "Let's continue."
Nana followed me, her arms crossed over her chest. "Okay, if you think it's just stress... then I should call the doctor. And I definitely need to call Steve."
"No!" I shouted.
The word echoed off the walls, sharper and louder than I intended. Nana jumped slightly, her eyebrows shooting up.
Calling the doctor—or worse, calling Steve—was the last thing I wanted. First, I didn't want a doctor poking around and confirming something I wasn't ready to hear. Second, I knew Steve Hayes. If he thought for one second that I was genuinely ill, he would call off the entire party. He would shut it all down just to make sure I was okay. He was that protective, that extreme.
I looked at Nana, my eyes pleading. "Please," I whispered. "Don't call him. Don't tell him. I'm fine, Nana. I promise. I just need to get through tonight."
Nana stared at me for a long beat, her gaze searching mine. Finally, she let out a slow sigh and nodded. "Fine. But the moment you feel dizzy, we stop."
I turned my attention to the two stylists who were still hovering by the door. "And what are you two waiting for? We have a 'masterpiece' to create, don't we?"
They jumped into action immediately, their professional masks sliding back into place. Elena began applying a thick, scentless clay mask to my face while Sophie started a paraffin treatment on my hands.
The skin treatment lasted for about three hours. Three hours of sitting still
By the time they were finished, my skin felt tight and incredibly smooth, glowing even without a drop of makeup.
A gentle hand on my shoulder pulled me back from a dreamless sleep. I blinked my eyes open, momentarily disoriented by the bright ring lights, until I saw Nana’s warm face leaning over me.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty," she whispered. "The skin prep is done, and you’ve had a good rest. It’s time to start the hair and the dress."
I stood up slowly. My body felt heavy and a bit sluggish, but the nap had done wonders for my nerves. I was glad for the rest; it had pushed the nausea to the back of my mind, leaving me with a calm, focused energy.
The next few hours were a whirlwind of hairspray, the clicking of bobby pins, and the soft tapping of makeup brushes. Elena and Sophie worked like artists on a canvas. They didn't mask my face; they enhanced it. My eyes were defined with smoky, earthy tones that made the green in them pop, and my lips were painted a deep, muted rose.
Finally, it was time for the dress.
"You look so beautiful," Sophie said, stepping back and clasping her hands together as she looked at me. "Mr. Hayes was right when he said you would look good in this. Actually, 'good' is an insult. You look incredible."
I turned toward the full-length mirror, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.
The dress was a masterpiece of midnight-emerald silk. It was floor-length, hugging my curves in a way that felt like a second skin without being vulgar. The neckline was a sophisticated halter style that showed off my toned shoulders, while the back was draped low, exposing the smooth line of my spine. The skirt had a hidden slit that only revealed itself when I moved, showing a hint of my long, shimmering legs.
Aside from my wedding day—a day I now associated with a life that wasn't mine—I had never gone this far with a makeover. I didn't see the tired, stressed-out mother who had walked into this house. I saw a woman who was powerful, elegant, and dangerously beautiful.
Nana walked into the room, stopping dead in her tracks. She slowly began to clap her hands together, a look of pure pride in her eyes.
"Herr erbarme dich, ( Lord have mercy)," she breathed, walking a circle around me to admire the fit. "
I caught my reflection, touching the cool silk at my hip. My heart gave a small, excited thrum. "Is he ready?"
"He’s been ready," Nana said, checking her watch. "He’s waiting for you downstairs. And honey, I suggest you take the stairs slowly. Give him a moment to process what he’s seeing."
I took a deep breath…
"Go," Nana commanded, gesturing toward the door.
I reached the top of the stairs and stopped. My hand held the railing tight. I took a deep breath. The silk dress felt smooth against my skin, but inside, my heart was racing.
I looked down.
Steve was standing in the hall. He was wearing a dark suit that fit his big frame perfectly. He didn't have a tie on, and the top buttons of his white shirt were open.
Then, he heard my heels click on the floor.
He turned around slowly. When his eyes met mine, he froze. He didn't move, not sure he's breathing as well, He just stared at me, his eyes getting darker.
I started to walk down the stairs, one step at a time. I could feel him watching me— By the time I got to the bottom, my heart was thumping hard.
I stopped on the last step so I was almost at his height.
Up close, he smelled so good—
"You look..." He started, but his voice sounded rough. He cleared his throat and looked me in the eyes. "I said you should look breathtaking, Freya. But this... you look like a dream."
I gave a small, nervous smile. "Is the dress okay? Is it too much?"
Steve stepped closer. He reached out but didn't touch me yet, "It’s perfect for tonight's show.
He finally put his hand on my lower back. His palm was warm. That heat spread through my body, and for a second, I forgot about feeling sick earlier.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice very low.
I looked into his eyes.
"I'm ready," I said.