Free Caught in the Frame by ReGina Welling, Erin Lynn

I’ll walk in there, and the minute they get a look at my hands, the head tilting will start.”
    “The what, now?”
    “You know, the sympathetic head tilt. Sometimes they even make that tsk noise. Then you can practically see the wheels turning while they try to decide what drastic measures I’ll need.”
    Biting her lip, Chloe tried to stifle a grin and failed. “Bet they ask what you use on your face, though. Whatever is in that cream Thelma makes is magic. If you used it on your hands, you wouldn’t get the tilt-y head faces.”
    They hit the bottom of the stairs where a pair of thick glass doors whooshed open as if on cue.
    “Be nice.” Chloe hissed. “And try to enjoy this.”
    For all her bluster, EV was looking forward to a couple of hours sans tension. Dalton showing up here with Remy practically on his heels put a few knots in her shoulders. Normally, she would have worked the kinks out on the big punching bag hanging in her bedroom. The castle boasted its own gym, just not one fully stocked to her tastes in exercise. Given the choice between running in place or pouring her anxieties into a righteous beating on something, she’d go for the latter.
    They stepped inside, where EV watched Chloe greet some of the staff as though it hadn’t been at least three years since their last meeting. After a round of cheek kissing, Chloe introduced EV, who got the same treatment.
    As Chloe had predicted, schedules were immediately shuffled and EV was dragged into a whirlwind of peace and tranquility wrapped in terrycloth softness. The next three hours passed in a blur of sensations; hot stones, moist facial masks, slippery seaweed wraps, and the coolness of peppermint foot cream.
    Every bit of tension had been soothed out of her by the time those glass doors whooshed open again.
    The calm feeling lasted only until Chloe’s next sentence. “Now for hair and makeup.”
    “I’d like to submit a formal protest.” EV knew it was pointless, but she tried anyway.
    “Denied. Come on. It’s time you met Patrice.”
    A second round of cheek kissing ensued while the staff assured Chloe she was putting them to no trouble. Another flurry of activity, and an absolutely stunning woman—wearing unrelieved black and clutching a rat-tailed comb with an end sharp enough to qualify as a weapon—circled her speculatively. A similarly-clad flock of underlings waited, each one poised to take action at their leader’s command.
    Shock-white hair angled from the nape of Patrice’s neck to curve around blade-sharp cheekbones set high above a narrow chin. A fringe of white cut a line above sea green eyes that took in every detail of EV’s appearance.
    Mild panic set in when Patrice reached out to sift a lock of sable strands through her fingers.
    “Virgin.” she pronounced in a heavy French accent. “It is rare—unprocessed hair. Good color. You cut it yourself, no?”
    “Well, I…”
    “Do not lie. Patrice always knows.”
    From behind her, EV heard a snicker and knew it was Chloe. She squared her shoulders. “Yes, I cut it myself.” Was this a trip to the Principal’s office, or a hairdresser?
    “This you must not do.” Patrice circled a third time. “Shape is wrong. Those eyes, those cheekbones, you do them no favors.” She reversed, circling once more in the opposite direction. “Yes. I will fix.” Patrice clapped twice, sending her minions scurrying to do her unspoken bidding, while EV turned to burn Chloe with the force of her glare. Somehow, Chloe managed to keep a straight face while she nodded encouragement, but the second EV turned away again, she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
    If fear of what Patrice planned to do to her hadn’t set EV on edge, she might have enjoyed the shampoo more. As it was, she suspected the beautiful young man who danced expert fingers over her scalp only wore those tight black pants to distract patrons from what lay ahead. It almost worked, too.
    When tight-pants