Chapter 161
Iris
The following morning, I’m yanked from sleep by the sound of knocking at my door. Groaning, I roll over and squint at my phone. It’s barely past seven. Who the hell is here so early?
When the knocking doesn’t stop, I drag myself out of bed, pulling on my robe as I stumble toward the door.
I peer through the peephole and see an unfamiliar woman in a crisp pantsuit, flanked by Ezra and another security guard. Is this my new security detail?
The moment I open the door, the woman extends her hand with a bright smile. “Good morning. I’m the head of styling for the President’s PR team. I’m here to prepare you for tonight’s gala.”
“I–what?” I blink at her, still half–asleep. I almost forgot I agreed to go to that event with Arthur, but I didn’t expect this. I glance at Ezra. “Arthur didn’t mention anything about a stylist”
The Alpha President arranged for a full styling team this morning,” the woman says, and Ezra shrugs, looking mildly amused. “May we come in? We have quite a lot to accomplish before tonight.”
Before I can respond, she’s already sweeping past me into the apartment, followed by two assistants I hadn’t even noticed standing behind her, each carrying multiple garment bags and large cases.
“Wait, I haven’t even had coffee yet,” I protest, but the stylist is already surveying my living room and laying out her instruments.
“This will do for hair and makeup,” she says, gesturing to my small dining table. “We’ll use the bedroom for fittings. Is the child. home? We’ll need privacy.”
“The child has a name,” I mutter. “Miles is sleeping. And I didn’t agree to any of this.”
The stylist finally pauses, looking at me directly. “The Alpha President didn’t inform you?”
“He mentioned a gala. Not a complete makeover at dawn.”
She checks her watch. “It’s hardly dawn, Ms.” She stops herself, uncertain how to address me.
“Iris is fine,” I say, suddenly feeling very exposed in my thin robe and messy hair.
“Iris,” she repeats, her professional smile returning. “I understand this is unexpected, but you’re about to make your first public appearance as the Alpha President’s mate. The eyes of the nation–the entire world, really–will be on you. Every detail will be scrutinized, from your nail color to your posture. We’re here to ensure you make the right impression.”
The right impression. As if I’m some kind of political prop rather than a person.
“I need coffee,” I say firmly. “And I need to check on Miles. Then we can talk about… whatever this is.”
+20 Bonus
To her credit, the stylist backs off. “Of course. We’ll set up while you gather yourself.”
By the time I return from checking on Miles, who’s still blissfully asleep, and brewing a much–needed pot of coffee, my
apartment has been transformed into a mini salon. Lights, mirrors, and various tools and products now cover every surface. One
assistant is steaming dresses while the other arranges what looks like hundreds of makeup products on my table.
I pour coffee for everyone and hand the cups out. The security guard, a tall and muscular woman with close–cropped blonde hair and kind eyes, accepts her cup with a formal nod of her chin. Ezra gives me a sympathetic look, but introduces me to my new bodyguard.
“Nice to meet you,
meet you, Emi,” I say, shaking her hand. “I guess we’re gonna be close friends now.”
The bodyguard nods and says nothing. A woman of few words, I see, not that I’m complaining. And I’m glad that Arthur hired at woman as my personal guard.
“So,” I say, clutching my coffee mug as I turn to the stylist, “what exactly is the plan here?”
The stylist gestures for me to sit. “Hair, makeup, dress selection, final styling. We brought several options approved by the PR. department all suitable for a diplomatic gala while allowing for your personal style.”
She glances at my worn pajama pants visible beneath my robe, both of which have paint splatters on them. “Which is…eclectic, I
understand.”
I take a large sip of coffee to avoid responding.
“Look,” I say, setting down my mug, “I appreciate that Arthur wants me to look presentable, but this seems excessive. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself for a party.”
“This isn’t just a party,” the stylist retorts. “This is your introduction to Ordan society as the Alpha President’s mate–the first human Luna in our nation’s history. The traditionalists will be looking for any excuse to criticize you, to prove that humans don’t belong in the highest echelons of our society.”
I want to tell her that I’m not even officially the “Luna” of Ordan yet, that Arthur and I are still… figuring everything out relationship–wise. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?
She holds out her tablet, showing me a news article from this morning. The headline reads: “Alpha President’s Human Mate: Who Is She?” Below it, there’s a grainy photo of me leaving the Marsiel gallery from the night I reconnected with Arthur a few months ago.
In the picture, I’m wearing paint–splattered jeans and my yellow sweater with the hole in it, my hair messy from a long day of
work
“They’ve already figured out your name and your alter–ego, Flora,” the stylist says. “By tonight, they’ll everything else
about you, whether you go to the gala or not. So it’s very important that we get ahead of the rumors and present you to them in the most positive light possible.”
