Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 12

Expectations

Lydia POV

A week after the disaster dinner, I decided to learn how to do eyeliner.

Not because I had anywhere to go.

Not because my husband had suddenly remembered I existed.

But because I had too much time on my hands, too much silence in this house, and apparently, when life was actively mocking me, my natural response was to sit in front of a vanity mirror and attempt tiny acts of self- improvement.

The first wing looked decent. 1

The second one made me look like I had lost a fight with a permanent marker.

I leaned closer to the mirror in my room, squinting.

“No,” I muttered to my reflection. “Absolutely not.”

I wiped it off with micellar water and tried again.

Still tragic.

By the third attempt, I had accepted that maybe some talents were not given by God freely and had to be purchased through suffering.

A knock sounded on my door.

“Come in,” I called.

Bernard stepped in with his usual composed face and impossible timing.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

I dropped the eyeliner on the vanity. “If you’re here to tell me lunch is ready, I forgive you for interrupting.”

A tiny smile flickered across his face.

“No, ma’am. I came to inform you that the family stylist is available today.”

I turned halfway in my chair. “The what?”

“The family stylist,” he repeated. “You may send her any designs you’d like. She will have them prepared and delivered.” 1

I blinked at him.

For a second, I thought I had misheard.

Because I already had clothes.

A lot of them, actually.

Most of them still untouched in the wardrobe that had apparently been stocked by people who assumed all women wanted to look like luxury gift wrap.

1/5

Still…

Nooked at my reflection.

Then at the failed eyeliner.

Then back at Bernard.

You know what?

If these people were determined to throw money around recklessly, the least I could do was help them burn through it.

I straightened in my seat. “What’s her number?”

He handed me a small card.

I took it and tried not to look too pleased.

“Thank you, Bernard.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

After he left, I picked up my phone and opened P*******t like a woman with purpose.

If I was going to do this, I was going to do it properly. 1

Not whatever shiny nonsense had already been hanging in that wardrobe since I arrived.

I scrolled through my saved board and started selecting dresses.

Clean silhouettes.

Structured pieces.

Soft but elegant.

Clothes that looked like they belonged to someone who wanted to be seen without begging for attention.

Clothes that looked like me.

Or at least the version of me I had never really been allowed to become.

I sent over screenshots and voice notes explaining exactly what I liked.

A few minutes later, the stylist replied.

Noted, ma’am. Which brands would you prefer?

I stared at the message longer than necessary.

Brands.

The question shouldn’t have felt strange.

But it did.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Because the truth was, I had never really had the luxury of preference.

+15 Bonus

2/5

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+15 Bonus

My had options.

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