No damn makeup,” Luc said, wrenching his head away from the black-haired woman who kept trying to come at him with a variety of weird brushes. The makeup artist, Carly something or other, merely chomped her pink bubble gum and shot a look over her shoulder in a way that signaled she’d dealt with this kind of resistance before, and it wasn’t her problem to solve. Ava was talking with the photographer, but she held up a finger to halt the conversation when she saw Carly’s look. “Hey, Luc!” she said, coming closer to where he sat perched awkwardly on a stool. He rolled his eyes at her tone. He knew that tone. When Luc had been a kid, before Anthony was old enough to babysit the rest of them, a high school girl who’d lived next door to the Morettis had sometimes come over to babysit. His parents had thought it was hilarious to tell poor Kimmy that the kids had to eat their vegetables.
