Chapter 37 Marital Optics

• I stood there for a full minute, trembling with lingering adrenaline, cold water, and simmering fury. A sickly sweet, aggressively cheerful meringue. The dress was everything I hated: fake, bright, and expensive. But the threat about the art gallery deal for my father—that was the chokehold.
• I dropped the damp towel and snatched up the hanger. There was no time for subtlety or protest. I quickly pulled on the yellow sundress. It fit perfectly, of course, hanging light and airy, revealing just the right amount of decolletage and leg to appear effortlessly alluring. I grabbed the straw hat, intending to leave it, but remembered the "Wardrobe Mandate" and slammed it onto my head.
• I moved to the vanity. My jet-black, glossy lob was already damp, so I quickly blasted it with the dryer, giving it volume. My pale skin still held a faint flush from the adrenaline, but I used makeup to enhance my green eyes and give my face the polished look required for a King photo-op. I applied a bright, glossy lipstick—something that would contrast dramatically with the yellow dress, just to retain a sliver of defiance.