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I win the spa voucher in a raffle, but my friend entered me under Isabella because she knew I would refuse anything labeled for men. The receptionist greets that name without hesitation and leads me through makeup, long black curls, and a champagne satin robe worn over black lace. I keep waiting for someone to discover the joke and return Ian's clothes. Instead, every attendant asks what Isabella prefers. By the portrait session, I am reclining on the chaise with one hand in my styled hair, smiling before the photographer gives any direction.

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