Page 9 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

A gorgeous, perfectly made-up blonde woman pokes her head into the room. “Hey, do you need something?” she asks.

Elena smiles and pats my arm encouragingly. “This is Wren. She’s going to be one of the contestants on this season ofThe Last Kiss. Wren, this is Jennifer.”

“Oh! We’ll be spending lots of time together, then.” Jennifer gives me a wide, warm smile. “You look nervous, hon.”

“I don’t think I have what it takes to be a bachelorette on the show,” I admit, already feeling the nerves twist in my stomach. My laugh comes out too loud, too sharp. “I mean, look at me. And don’t even get me started on the fact that I get sweaty and awkward on camera.”

Elena and Jennifer exchange a look. Jennifer shrugs. “I’m sure we can handle the first one, at least.”

“What kind of makeover are we talking about here?” I start to say I just want something minimal—maybe a haircut and a little blush—but Elena cuts in.

“Push yourself, Wren. Go outside your comfort zone. Do you want to go full glam? Or maybe something cute and perky? We could play up your youth to make you stand out. Most of the other bachelorettes are in their late twenties and early thirties.”

I frown. “I don’t know, Elena. I was thinking we’d just change my top and throw on a little lipstick, maybe.”

Elena gives me a long, assessing look. “Carina, you have the chance to do whatever you want here. I think you should try something completely new. It doesn’t have to be your identity after the show wraps in two months, but who knows? You might like it.”

My eye twitches. I press my fingers to the spot, trying to rub away my irritation.

Jennifer approaches with a thick binder full of clothing and hairstyles. The style name is printed on each glossy sheet and surrounded by cut and pasted models wearing clothes that match the aesthetic. Princess. Glam. Cottagecore. Androgynous. Bohemian. Goth.

This binder is a little like an old school version of Pinterest. Each style is more impressive than the last. They’re all bold,dramatic, and attention-grabbing. So, the antithesis of my wallflower style.

“These styles are nice, but they’re very dramatic. I can’t imagine myself in any of these.”

All I wanted was to get through this gig quietly. A little lipstick. A sensible ponytail. Something safe. Something invisible. I didn’t want to be seen. That was the whole point of how I dress. Now they want to turn me into a headline waiting to happen. A new girl in a borrowed face.

I turn the page to peer at Sporty and Retro. Yeah, there’s no way anyone is getting me into a 1950s style A-line dress.

“These are just for inspiration,” Jennifer says. She’s flitting around me, laying out hair spray, a couple of expensive bras, and a set of fake eyelashes on the table in front of me. “Just look through them all first before you reject the entire project.”

I don’t even wear bras like these. I don’t let anyone see me undressed, period. The idea of being a sexualized version of myself makes me want to crawl under the vanity and disappear.

So I’m a project now? I sink low in my chair and keep my eyes down so Jennifer won’t see how much I hate this entire process.

“Oh. Sure. I mean, yeah. I trust you. Totally.” I force a smile that feels too wide. “Please transform me into a human Bratz doll. God.”

After a few minutes flipping through it, I point to a look that feels just on the edge of ridiculous. It’s bratty and punk, but still kind of sexy. Pink and black dominate the color palette. There’s something in it that appeals to me.

“Maybe this one?” I say, voice unsure.

Jennifer blinks, then grins. “Oh. I didn’t expect you to pick that, but I think it’ll look amazing on you. How do you feel about changing your hair color?”

I shrug. “I guess… we can talk about it?” It comes out sounding more like a question than I’d like.

Elena folds her hands and looks pleased. “I’ll be back later to see what you two come up with.”

Three hours later, the transformation is complete.

I step out of the dressing room and glance down at my damp palms. I want to wipe them off, but I’m wearing a borrowed dress, so I just squeeze my hands into tight fists.

Jennifer rushes over, eyes raking over me with satisfaction. “Wait until you see yourself in the mirror.”

She leads me over to a three-way mirror, and when I look up, I stop breathing.

The woman staring back at me is fierce. Sexy, even. What kind of magical makeup and mystical bra tape did she use on me to get me looking this good?

I’m rocking a custom baby doll dress made from gauzy blue material. The hem hits just below my crotch. My legs look long and lean in white tights. A black silk tie highlights my narrow waist. It matches with the patent leather high-heeled Mary Janes and black silk choker around my neck.