Kylie had been working a popular drag show Off Broadway for the last two months, and she had to admit that she absolutely loved it. There was not an audience more appreciative of makeup than drag queens, she mused as she added more glitter to Carla the French’s eyelids. It was a bit like coming home. They loved her makeup, loved her, and loved to experiment with new and dramatic looks, which Kylie also adored. The men were pretty fricking fantastic, too: funny and sweet and no one had thrown a flowerpot at her head. Nothing like her last job, Kylie thought with amusement.

She finished and leaned back for Carl/Carla to inspect. He peered in the mirror and then nodded. “Good job, babe.”

“Thanks.” She felt a bit like preening. “Go out there and wow them.”

“I always do,” Carla the French said, getting up with a flourish of pink boa.

Kylie grinned and began to tidy her station. She could put away her things and leave for the evening now that the makeup was done, though she always left extra cosmetic sponges and makeup remover for the men once they finished the show. The stuff they’d been using in the past was crap, and Kylie was particular about her canvases, and the men definitely qualified as canvases.

She was just putting away the last of her bottles when someone knocked at the makeup room door. “Knock knock,” said Tessa, the stage manager. “You have visitors.”

When Kylie looked up, she sucked in a breath.

There, in the doorway with a stranger at her side, was Daphne Petty, global superstar.

The last six months had been rough for Daphne. Kylie hadn’t seen her, but she knew from Cade’s reports that rehab was an uphill climb, and the tabloids had been crawling all over her, determined to be the ones to catch her when she slipped. Then, she’d left rehab three months ago and put on weight, and the tabloids had gleefully reported that, too. There wasn’t a day that Daphne wasn’t in the tabloids in some negative fashion or another.

But . . . she looked really damn good.

Daphne had put on at least twenty pounds from when Kylie had last seen her. Maybe thirty. The hollows were gone from her face, and she looked more like her twin, Audrey, now. She wore a brown wig with a thick fringe of bangs, and her skin was clear of makeup. Her figure was no longer twig-thin, but had curves to it. She wore a plain black sweater and a pair of jeans, and gave Kylie an awkward smile. “Hey there. Long time no see.”

“Oh wow,” Kylie said, moving forward to hug Daphne. “It’s so good to see you! How are you?” She wrapped her arms around Daphne and held her tight for a moment, pleased to see that Daphne no longer felt brittle underneath her grip, and that she actually hugged Kylie back.

“I’m doing great,” Daphne said as they pulled away. “And I should probably introduce you to Wesley. He’s my life coach slash bodyguard slash slap-my-hand-away-from-bad-things guy.” She gestured at the Goliath behind her.

Kylie eyed the man. He was well over six feet tall, had a body like a pro wrestler, and looked rather . . . strict. She offered him her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He scanned the room and moved protectively closer to Daphne, which Kylie thought was rather sweet. It was nice to see someone looking out for her for a change, instead of leading her down a bad path.

“So,” Kylie said, “I’m surprised you’re here in NYC.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, hating that it’d been a few weeks since she’d colored her hair and her ends weren’t as vivid as they could have been. She’d just been . . . busy. When she wasn’t working, she was running around the city with the ladies of their Ladies Night Table. She and Maylee had grown exceptionally close and traded recipes back and forth.

And when she wasn’t with the ladies? She was with Cade. Glorious, wonderful Cade. Cade, who had a crazy schedule between charities and foundations and his business—Archer Industries—and going overseas for ambassador programs—but who always managed to find time to make her feel pampered and loved and utterly, completely adored. Sometimes she went with him on his trips, but after three dry, obscenely boring medical conferences in a row, her eyes started to cross and she stayed home. When he was gone, though, her phone exploded with pictures and texts . . . and she reciprocated. They lived through texts and phone calls until he got home—and then they spent the entire night in bed, loving and reconnecting.

It was wonderful. Perfection, even. And seeing Daphne looking and feeling better? Instead of making her wary and jealous, she was just really happy for her that she’d found some measure of peace.