Veiled Revenge Read Online Free

more-you-drink-the-better-they-taste type of appetizer.
    Stella sipped her pink champagne. “Can you believe it, Lacey? I’m getting married. To
Nigel
.”
    “Last I heard. You sound unsure. Shopping for a different groom to match the shoes? Something pinker?”
    “Oh, no. I’m sure. Nigel’s the one. We are getting married. Pretty sure. Unless somebody drops dead between now and Saturday.”
    “No dead bodies! Don’t even think it.”
    “I’m kidding,” Stella said. “Like I said, I’m waltzing down the aisle. In the pink. Things actually seem to be working out for me, for once. But it’s always something, isn’t it? Like
her
. I can’t believe she had the nerve to show up.”
    “Who?” Lacey scanned the room.
    “Rosalie—the buttinsky having her palm read. My cousin.”
    Stella indicated the frizzy-haired bridesmaid huddling with Marie. Rosalie’s hair was a creature with a mind of its own. Medusa-like, it had started the evening curly and then exploded into a ball of baling wire, courtesy of the D.C. humidity. Despite her hair, Rosalie appeared to be having a great time.
    “You invited her, didn’t you?”
    “Well, kinda, sorta. My mother forced her on me. I mean, I have plenty of bridesmaids without her. Bridesmaids I actually
like
. But she’s
family
.”
    Lacey took a closer look at Stella’s cousin. Underneath Rosalie’s wild curly hair were brown eyes, blotchy skin, and flat cheekbones. It was a plain face that might have been improved with a bit of subtle makeup. She wore a sleeveless green sheath that made her skin look a little olive. It was a little too tight, and a little too long, and her black shoes were too heavy for a light spring dress. Obviously Stella hadn’t had a chance to make over her cousin—yet.
    The stylist grimaced as she explained, “Rosalie’s a bookkeeper for an auto supply store near Princeton—not the good side of Princeton either—but she’s not exactly a typical Jersey girl. Look at her! Dull, dull, dull.”
    Lacey thought a rosy-hued bridesmaid dress, no matter how dreadful it might be, would perk up the woman’s looks and make Rosalie a little rosier. “She’ll probably clean up nicely.”
    “Optimist,” Stella said.
    Marie finished telling her fortune and Rosalie gazed at Stella with a mix of admiration and envy. And possibly fear.
    “So, Rosalie, what’s the outlook, fortune-wise?” Stella asked.
    “I’m going to meet a great guy,” Rosalie said. “Where and when and who, that’s all a little fuzzy. But she said it’ll be raining.”
    “If Marie says rain, bring your umbrella.” Lacey smiled and put her hand out to shake. “Hi, I’m Lacey.”
    Rosalie squeezed her hand, starstruck. “I know! I read the papers. Lacey Smithsonian. You and Stella have such exciting lives.”
    “Busy, at any rate,” Lacey said. “Have you picked out your dress yet?”
    Rosalie’s hair bobbed as she nodded enthusiastically. “It’s really pink. I hope you like it. I’m so excited! I’ve never been a bridesmaid before.”
    Stella grabbed a hank of Rosalie’s hair. “And you never will be again if we don’t do something with that hair! I made an appointment for you tomorrow at Stylettos, before you head back to Jersey. And you can get a blowout Saturday morning before the wedding. Okay?”
    “Wait a minute, Stel.” Rosalie looked wary. “Remember the last time?”
    Fellow bridesmaid Michelle picked up her cue. “Stella says you’d like something new and sleek. I’ll take good care of you.” The assistant manager of Stylettos, Michelle was charming and soft-spoken, where Stella was opinionated and loud.
    Rosalie squinted at her. Michelle was a striking woman with milk chocolate skin and an amazing updo, a French twist that swirled into a crown of curls. Though Lacey hadn’t seen Michelle’s dress, she knew that any shade of pink she chose would complement her skin tone.
    “I don’t remember saying anything like that, but if Stella—”