Imperfectly perfect

"Mrs. Lydia, are you alright?" the nanny asked with concern as Lydia descended the stairs, looking absolutely drained.

Clinton and Constance, who had been chatting nearby, both turned their attention towards the pale, lifeless figure of Lydia.

"Babe? You okay?" Clinton immediately moved to her side, brow furrowed with worry at her haggard appearance.

Lydia simply nodded woodenly, clearly devoid of any energy or spirit this morning. The events and threats from Constance yesterday had utterly sapped her reserves.

"Oh god, this is not good at all," the nanny tutted anxiously. "We can't have you looking like this on your wedding day!"

"There's nothing a strong cup of coffee and some expert makeup can't fix, right Lydia?" Constance interjected with sickening faux-cheer. Her lips were stretched into a grin, but her eyes glinted with an unmistakable undercurrent of threat that sent chills down Lydia's spine.