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middle-aged woman with curly auburn hair in a jumble on top of her head pounced on her, makeup brush in hand.
    “I’m Natalie,” she said, swiping the brush over Bella’s face. “You’ll be seeing a lot of me, so get used to it!”
    She set to work with a vengeance, covering Bella’s face, neck, upper body, and even her hands in foundation. She pencil-darkened her eyebrows, lined her eyes and applied shadow and mascara. She swiped various shades of blush and powder all over her cheeks, nose and forehead, lined her lips with a pencil and filled them in with lipstick. Bella felt like she was wearing a mask by the time all was said and done—a stiff, itchy, uncomfortable mask.
    “Voila!” Natalie exclaimed, turning her toward the mirror.
    Bella gazed at her reflection with horror. She looked as made up as a rodeo prostitute. “I’m sorry—I’m sure you’re very good at your job,” she said to Natalie, “but I look…” she waved a hand.
    “The cameras will love it,” Natalie assured her. “You don’t wear makeup very much, do you? I made you up to look natural. If we were going for a glamour shot, I’d have applied twice as much.” She laughed at Bella’s expression. “Get going—you’ll be late for dinner.”
    Madelyn snagged her as she left the room and dragged her back toward the main entrance of the lodge. Bella’s forehead itched, but she was afraid to scratch it. She was afraid to touch anything. She was uncomfortable and suddenly felt ridiculous in her denim skirt with Madelyn still dressed for the city.
    “Maybe I should change,” she began as the woman tugged her toward the main dining room.
    “Too late now,” Madelyn said. “Come on.”
    * * * * *
    Denim? For dinner? Evan bit back a smile as Madelyn ushered his opponent into the lodge’s dining room, hearing his mother’s critical voice in his head. He didn’t care what women wore, but she sure had, and she’d judged every eligible girl in sight on their poise and taste whenever they left the house. He stood up while Bella took her seat, then sat down again and took his time appraising her. She’d obviously also undergone the tortures of Natalie’s ministrations, but she seemed far more uncomfortable with the results than he was. Hell, he’d been on camera dozens of times as spokesman of Mortimer Innovations. Still, he was a guy—he should be the one holding himself stiffly, afraid to even fold his hands in his lap or take a sip from his water glass. A woman ought to wear enough makeup to be familiar with the process.
    He suspected Bella thought a dab of eye shadow and a rub of lip gloss were adequate for any occasion. Would Amanda be able to give her a few hints when the time came for Bella to accompany him to charity balls and other events as his wife, or would the cowgirl step up her game on her own without help? He had no idea how he’d even bring up the matter. Maybe there were classes for that kind of thing. He made a mental note to have Amanda look into it. While she was at it, she could enroll Bella in business classes as well. Anyone who lost money as a veterinarian obviously needed to revisit the basics.
    He allowed himself to smile at the pretty, miserable woman across the table, who became even more miserable when the television crew snapped on a series of bright lights and aimed their cameras at them. “Hi—I’m Evan Mortimer.” He reached out his hand.
    Bella glanced at Madelyn, and extended her own to take his. “Bella Chatham. Nice to meet you.”
    “Fine, fine, niceties dispensed with,” Madelyn said acerbically. “Here comes Jake. Let’s get this party started.”
    Jake Cramer was Can You Beat a Billionaire’s legendary British host. With his upper-crust accent, he made a trip through a jungle or a wild ride down a river on a raft sound as elite as dinner at Buckingham Palace. The show’s writers gave him plenty of face time and snappy one-liners, Evan had learned when Amanda sent him a highlight