Dirty Lying Faeries

Chapter One

Thea

"Is that really what you're going to wear?" Candace looked at me questioningly. She tapped her perfect pink manicured nails on her desk.

"Apparently not," I mumbled.

"Correct." Her straight blond hair brushed the tops of her shoulders as she tilted her head. She was dressed to kill in a little gold cocktail number.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong with it?" I asked, craning my neck to see my backside in her mirror. The gray dress fell to my ankles, paired with my only black flats. My hair was up in its usual messy brown bun.

"Thea, that whole dress is a disaster. The silhouette is all wrong for your waist to hip ratio, the darts in the top do nothing for your chest, and flats to a formal event?" She stood dramatically, chair legs squeaking as they slid across the tile floor. "I'm going to have to dress you."

"No."

"Yes," she insisted.

"I don't even want to go. I'm only there for you and the fancy food."

"All the more reason to look good." Her heels clicked across the tiles as she excitedly threw open her closet doors. "The
Candace Lewis entourage has to be as hot as Candace Lewis herself."

"I'm your entourage now?"

"Just get your butt over here." She pulled out several things from the piles of clothes in her extensive wardrobe, pondering them for a moment before discarding them atop a nearby armchair. "Where the hell is that designer gown I just bought?"

"The red one? Candie, that has, like, no back to it."

"Yeah, that's kind of the point." She shoved herself between two large coats. "If I had your yoga-babe shoulder blades, I'd never cover them up."

"I can barely hear you through all that fabric," I said. "Isn't something backless a little too cold for December?"

"Fashion is pain and all that. A-ha!" She emerged triumphant, holding up a long red gown. "Get that monstrosity off and put this on."

"The things I do in the name of friendship." I slipped my dress off and let it fall to the floor. Candace was on me in one fell swoop, sliding the red satin over my head and smoothing it down my body. She stood back and eyed me from top to bottom.

"Gorgeous." She clasped her hands together, flashing a wicked grin. "You look absolutely devastating. I'll get some black pumps!" She dove back into her closet.

Turning to the mirror, I felt devastating. The neckline plunged, but not quite out of my comfort zone. The satin squeezed every drop of curve it could from my hips, flaring out as it brushed the top of my thighs. It was hands down the most flattering garment I had ever worn.

"Here, put these on. Match it with this ruby lip gloss, and for god's sake, Thea, run a brush through your hair." Candace checked her reflection next to mine.

Biting my tongue, I pulled a brush through my hair and slipped the hair tie back over it once it was more neatly in place. "Happy?"

She squinted at me and stuck a decorative silver hair pin in it before nodding her approval. "Yes."

With a laugh, I turned to the side and eyed the new ornament in the mirror. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd die a book hoarder in a dark basement apartment surrounded by antiques and tears. Now, let's go."

L'Atelier Rouge, or the Red Studio, was an oversized greenhouse in the middle of an elaborate garden. What was surprising was that it managed to stay that way, undeveloped as the offices and skyscrapers of Seattle went up around it. Once the workshop of the artist Marcel Dubois, it was painted—you guessed it—red. The studio had been preserved as a museum, with a modern art gallery built on its grounds. It was a classy place, for sure. Much classier than our ride anyway.