Perfect Timing by Laura Spinella Read Free Book Online Page B

particularly bright and shiny, showing a very pregnant Carrie and a beaming Eric. His arms barely fit around her. Isabel closed the album, pushing it far under the bed.
    On the night of the gala Carrie fussed with the snug bodice of Isabel’s dress, bedazzled by her daughter’s appearance. If she was thinking about her former life, she hid it well. Her only fairy-tale thought seemed to be about the arrival of a pumpkin and a couple of field mice. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, Rick? Just stunning,” she said, admiring Isabel’s reflection.
    “Too good for the trash she’s goin’ with, if you ask me.” He reached into the refrigerator, filling a glass from what appeared to be bottled iced tea. Isabel pursed her lips, corralling a smile. “What in the hell?” he said, all but spitting the concoction across the room.
    She couldn’t contain it, bursting into laughter. “Isabel,” Carrie said, shaking her head. She looked in Rick’s direction. “I’m afraid that’s Aidan’s signature preperformance elixir.”
    “Lighter fluid and honey?” he asked, retrieving a well-marked bottle of bourbon from the cabinet.
    “Almost,” Isabel said. The potion, a combination of iced tea, grapefruit juice, and honey, was fairly disgusting without its secret ingredient, which she would add just prior to showtime.
    Rick and his fresh drink disappeared onto the porch, laughter fading as Isabel gazed into the mirror. Maybe
stunning
was the right word for the girl who looked back. Catswallow’s best stylists worked a small miracle with every feature that fell short. Instead of swampy green, her eyes were bold and intense. A sprinkle of freckles were banished beneath a layer of powdery cover-up, and a nose, which she saw as a tad too long, was a pleasant complement to her face. And when, Isabel wondered, did she develop cheekbones? Though she was admittedly at a loss when it came to fashion, her hair lent itself to occasions such as this. Cascading ringlets were pinned delicately to her head, falling like beautiful curled ribbon. Between the hair, makeup, and the nail tips that looked strikingly real, there was a stab of panic. Would Aidan even recognize her? The dress, magazine worthy, was sheer luck, having just been returned to a boutique in Birmingham. Isabel thought the returning customer might have been Shanna O’Rourke, and was relieved to overhear the clerk say that its previous owner, a girl from Birmingham, was “too far along to squeeze into it.” Isabel brushed a hand over the milky lavender skirt that flowed in sexy sheer layers. She’d never imagined wearing anything like it, not even in a dream. The saleswoman insisted otherwise, claiming the style flattered her natural curves. Needing no alterations, she said it looked custom-made for Isabel. She had to disagree when she saw the $800 price tag. To her surprise, Carrie had happily handed over a credit card, insisting the money wasn’t a problem.
    “Isabel,” Carrie said, her tone less light. “Look, I understand the temptation. I’m not blind. If any girl your age were to custom-order the most magnetic, talented—God help me—good-looking male on the planet . . . Well, they’d get Aidan Roycroft parts in the box. Despite my feelings, I get it. But don’t let the sheen fool you. You’re smarter than that.”
    She nodded. Carrie Lang was immune. In an eleventh-hour attempt to keep her mother from a night of nail biting, Isabel pleaded her case once again. “Mom, I told you, I’m just helping him out. It’s not like this is a real date. It’s one night. Besides, Aidan doesn’t look at me that way.”
    “Of course he doesn’t.” Busy smoothing the dress, she stopped. “That’s not what I meant.” A stark stare jerked to her daughter’s reflection. “He should be so lucky. But I see what Aidan wants. Irresponsible hookups and girls who party twenty-four, seven. I’m only saying that’s not you, Isabel. You’re more practical,