Mrs. Henderson nods, rising from the table as a staff member approaches with questions about wine selections. "The hair stylists have arrived early," she informs me before turning away. "They're setting up in the east salon rather than your suite."
I finish my soup, having consumed perhaps half of what she gave me.
The east salon has been transformed into a professional styling suite, with specialized lighting, multiple mirrors, and an array of products that would rival a high-end salon. Two stylists and a makeup artist wait with practiced smiles, portfolios ready for my review.
"Miss Everett," the lead stylist greets me with professional enthusiasm. "I'm Marcos, and this is my team—Sophia and Vincent. We're thrilled to be working with you for your special day."
"We have several options based on the preliminary consultation," Marcos continues, opening a portfolio of elegant updos and sophisticated styles. "Mr. Blackwood specified that your copper hair should remain the focal point, so we've designed accordingly."
Of course Gage's preferences were noted and incorporated into every decision. I review the options without comment, selecting an elegant but relatively simple design that willcomplement the dress without requiring painful pins or excessive products.
"Excellent choice," Marcos approves, beginning to work with my hair immediately. "This will highlight your natural color while maintaining classical lines appropriate for the ceremony."
I sit motionless as they begin the trial, applying products, curling sections, pinning and unpinning as they refine the design. The physical sensation of their hands in my hair is almost soothing, the methodical process requiring nothing from me beyond passive presence.
"You have beautiful bone structure," Vincent comments as he begins applying foundation for the makeup trial. "We'll enhance your natural features with a palette that compliments both your coloring and the floral arrangements."
Isabella enters as they work, tablet in hand as always. "The jewelry will be delivered tomorrow morning for final coordination," she informs me, checking items off her endless list. "Would you prefer to keep it in your suite or have it secured in the main vault until the ceremony?"
"The vault," I reply, careful not to move my head as Marcos works. "I have no need to review it beforehand."
She nods, making a note. "The final guest count stands at two hundred and ninety-seven. Four last-minute additions from the governor's office, but two cancellations from your father's list."
The numbers wash over me without impact—hundreds of witnesses to a ceremony that means nothing to me. People who will smile and toast and admire.
"The south gardens have been tented as a precaution, though the weather forecast remains favorable," Isabella continues. "Mr. Blackwood upgraded the champagne for the toast to vintage Dom Pérignon, with standard Veuve Clicquot for general service."
I listen without commenting, allowing the details to flow around me like water around a stone. None of it matters—not the champagne selection, not the tent precautions, not the exact shade of eyeshadow being applied to my lids.
"Perfect," Marcos declares after nearly two hours of work, stepping back to assess the completed look. "Sophia, the diamond hairpins will be placed here and here for the ceremony, correct?"
"Yes, with the veil anchor positioned centrally," she confirms, making notes in their portfolio. "The entire arrangement is designed for easy transition between ceremony and reception."
Isabella studies the final result. "The hair height balances the neckline perfectly. Mr. Blackwood will be pleased with the approach."
Of course. Gage's approval remains the ultimate metric for every decision, every selection, every detail.
Vincent applies a final touch of setting powder. "All done, Miss Everett. What do you think?"
I study my reflection without expression. The woman in the mirror looks like a stranger—perfectly coiffed, expertly made up, every feature enhanced to photographic perfection. Beautiful in a distant, untouchable way.
"It's suitable," I say finally. "Thank you for your expertise."
Marcos looks momentarily uncertain, clearly having expected more enthusiastic approval after hours of meticulous work. "We can make adjustments if there's anything specific you'd prefer differently," he offers.
"No adjustments necessary," I assure him, rising from the chair. "This is fine."
Isabella dismisses the styling team with practiced efficiency, waiting until they've packed their equipment before turning to me with unusual hesitation.
"There's one more item requiring your attention today," she says, consulting her tablet. "The marriage license requires your signature before the ceremony. Mr. Blackwood has scheduled a private meeting with the official at four o'clock in his study."
I nod, accepting the inevitable with the same detachment that has carried me through recent days.
"I'll be there," I assure her. "Is there anything else requiring my input today?"
"That's all for scheduled appointments," she confirms. "Though Mr. Blackwood mentioned he wished to speak with you privately after dinner this evening. Something about final arrangements for the honeymoon departure."
I nod again, already turning toward the door. "I'll be in the conservatory until four if anyone needs me."
