CXXIV

In front of the mirror in his room, Henry straightens his dark blue tie. As he told Max days ago, he already has a suit for this occasion: a three-piece navy blue suit with a classic cut that gives it a perhaps too professional look for an outdoor event—in any case, it's not like he wears it too often: why would he buy another one? Lastly, a pair of dark, shiny shoes and a silver watch add the finishing touch to his look.

Pleased with what his reflection shows him, Henry exits his room and goes to the living room to wait for Eleven and Max, who has come to help her get ready for the wedding.

"And… done!" Max declares as she finishes her makeup, going to stand behind her to allow her to see her reflection in the vanity.

"Oh," Eleven murmurs, turning her face slightly to better observe the results.

The makeup is light: just a simple foundation, mascara, some blush, and a soft natural pink lipstick. Her hair—shaggy, layered curls with a somewhat messy texture that barely reach the nape of her neck—perfectly frames her face, giving her a rebellious but mysterious air.

"You like it?" Max asks her friend, eager to hear her answer. "I've been practicing a lot the last few months…"

"It's beautiful," the young woman answers. "Thank you very much, Max." Suddenly, her smile vanishes and an absent expression takes over her face. "Henry asks if we're ready: he is waiting for us downstairs."

Max sighs. "I'm never going to get used to this telepathic connection of yours. Get up and let me see you one last time." She, after all, is ready; for the occasion, she has opted for black palazzo pants with a simple white blouse and black platform shoes.

Eleven stands up then, and Max makes no attempt to hide her smug smile.

If Eleven's hair gives her a rebellious air, the outfit she has helped her choose contrasts this with classic elegance: it's a wrap, knee-length dress with a warm brown color printed with floral motifs. Made of silk—and therefore perfect for a daytime, outdoor wedding—with short sleeves and a notch collar with a V-neckline that overlaps slightly in the front and shows a little skin, but without overdoing it. A matching belt with a rectangular buckle hugs her friend's waist, highlighting her silhouette. Finally, although the heels of her brown shoes are relatively low, they do accentuate her curves and give her a sophisticated bearing.

…

Certainly, Max does not know if her friend's feelings are reciprocated—especially considering the age difference between her and Henry. However, seeing Eleven like this, smiling, marveling at a beauty that—she knows—she didn't think she had in her, she can't help but anticipate the reaction of the man waiting for them downstairs.

When he hears a mumble and laughter from Eleven upstairs, Henry looks up and prepares to tell them to hurry up. Yes, he opens his mouth to do exactly that, but he finds he's unable to: the words get stuck in his throat.

Although Max looks pretty—she always has been, the contrast between her eye and hair color an extremely striking feature—it is Eleven who takes him by surprise.

Less than two years ago, Henry had already had the opportunity to see her with makeup and a party dress. At that time, the thoughts that flooded him had more to do with the family he had chosen to leave and the suspicion of the possibility—albeit involuntary—of finding himself recreating a circus similar with an Eleven that was getting closer and closer to adolescence.

And now? Now, the young woman in front of him—because she truly is a young woman in her own right—barely reminds him of that insecure, shy girl from back then. No, her face has left behind the roundness of childhood and the dress that hugs her body shows a growth that goes beyond the intellectual development that Henry has noticed every time he has a conversation with her.

Nonetheless, there is something that remains the same.

"Henry!" she greets him with a smile, hurrying down the stairs, Max rolling her eyes at a childish enthusiasm that, however, only highlights her dimples. "Look how pretty the dress Max chose for me is!" She punctuates her words by pulling the fabric to the sides so that the garment fits even tighter against her skin, revealing the shape of her thighs and belly under the silk.

It's more than the dress, certainly. Henry would have to be blind not to see it.

Still, he swallows and responds to her smile with another one: "It suits you."

Eleven's smile fades a little at his words. Henry doesn't get to ask her if something is wrong, because she suddenly turns to Max, mouth agape: "Ah! I forgot my purse! Be right back!" she adds, already heading upstairs.

Max moves out of the way and finishes going down the stairs without rush. Henry keeps his gaze fixed on the steps, a restlessness that he doesn't know how to describe taking over his body.

The girl, however, lets out a dramatic sigh. Henry considers asking—more out of politeness than genuine interest—what's going on, when Max casually comments: "'It suits you'."

"Excuse me?"

"That's what you said to her." The teenager stares at him, a disapproving expression on her face. "'It suits you'."

Henry wrinkles his nose and raises an eyebrow. "Do excuse me, have I offended you in some way, Maxine?"

Max crosses her arms and clicks her tongue. "I told you, didn't I, Mr. Creel?" Seeing the look of confusion on his face, the young woman repeats her words from days ago: "That El would be prettier than ever."

Henry understands, then. In the past, in a much less sophisticated outfit than her current one, he had offered her other words.

Words that right now seem as dangerous as they are insufficient, for some reason.

"It's not just the dress," Max insists, and leaves it there, because it's obvious what she's referring to.

"There are better people to tell her so," Henry points out with his eternal 'done with you, Maxine' smile.

"Hm, really?" Max asks, tilting her head slightly, her red curls falling to the side. "I don't think I know anyone more suitable."

Henry is about to tell her in no uncertain—and certainly less diplomatic— terms to shut up, when Eleven returns.

"Sorry I'm late!" With a smile, she shows in one hand the little brown purse she has retrieved. "I'm ready!"