AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She starts for the hall and I follow her, allowing my gaze to settle on her gorgeous behind. We step outside into the cool evening air, and I walk her to her car. “It’s over an hour drive to the opera house, so I’ll swing by around six to pick you up if that’s okay.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“See you tomorrow,” I say, my eyes flicking down to her lips.
When my gaze meets hers, she’s giving me that look that says yes to all the things I’m thinking. “Good night, Hudson. Thank you for everything.”
“I’m happy to be a part of it.”
And I am. I’m so much happier than I’ve ever been in my life. Which is a giant fucking problem, isn’t it?
20
Too Many Aestheticians in the Kitchen
Allie
"Ouch!" I try to move but Zia Fernanda’s grip on my head is too strong.
"Stay still,” she says, attacking me with the tweezers again. My right eye starts to water the second she plucks out another one of my errant eyebrow hairs.
It’s late Saturday afternoon, and half my family showed up hours ago to help me get ready for my big date (which I keep telling them is not an actual date but a PR stunt). I wish it was a real date. Oh, how I wish. These last few weeks of being with Hudson all day have been pure torture. I’ve basically given up on the fan because his scent is burned into my brain. Even right now—when I’m being choked by a blend of cheap perfumes worn by my aunt and my sister, who is trimming my cuticles at the moment—my brain can instantly conjure up the smell of Hudson’s cologne. Or his skin. I have no idea what it is, but it’s got me undone. But I can’t let myself believe it’s a real date, because that would mean I’d start to believe we have a future together, which we definitely don’t. Therefore, tempering my expectations is imperative for my heart.
Lucia stops what she’s doing long enough to look at my eyebrows. "I don't think the eyebrow plucking is a good idea. She’ll have big red dots all over her face when he gets here."
"First of all, she doesn’t have crazy black hairs all over her face. Only on her eyebrows,” Zia says. “And second, she will not have red marks. I've got a soothing balm I'm going to put on. I've been doing this for almost forty years, and somehow you still don't think I know what I'm doing?"
"She's got very sensitive skin, this one," my mom says, rummaging through her jewelry box for a pair of cubic zirconia studs she bought on the Home Shopping Network back in the 90s.
I wince a little even though Zia’s not actually plucking anything at the moment. "Yes, my skin is very sensitive, so maybe we should just leave the rest.”
She crouches over me, scouring my face for any last hairs that don't belong. "My niece is about to go on the most important date of her entire life. There is no way in hell I'm sending her out there unless she looks perfect."
My father, who just appeared in the kitchen with an empty espresso mug, shakes his head. "My daughter is perfect the way she is. She doesn't need the plucking or the makeup or anything else. And if she needs all of that stuff to impress this man, then he is not the right man. Because the right man is going to see the beauty in her no matter what's happening with her face."
I smile over at my dad, who’s got that look that tells me he’s terrified his little girl is about to go out with some big shot actor. And I’m not just guessing about that. I overheard him saying it to my mom last night when I was on my way down to the kitchen for a snack. He’s afraid that Hudson is going to break my heart, just like ‘the other one,’ and I have to say, there’s a reasonable possibility it could happen. Because no matter how hard I try to tell myself we’re just colleagues, it’s too late. I’m falling for him, hard. “Thanks, Pops.”
“That's very sweet, Enzo," Zia says, gripping my head again. "Totally wrong, but sweet." She quickly yanks out two more hairs and then stands back to admire her handiwork. "Better. In fact, perfect."
Lucia shakes her head. "Unlike these cuticles. Honestly, Allie, I don't understand how you let your nails get so bad."
"She lets them get like this because she's busy being an astronomer all day and all night," my mother says, and to be honest, I'm not sure if she means it as a compliment or an insult.
Zia pours some type of oil onto a cotton pad, then presses it to my stinging eyebrows. It feels cool and soothing and, for the first time since everybody showed up today, I'm not completely annoyed. And I know they're here to help. Well, sort of. They also want to get another glimpse of Hudson.
"I'm going to let your face settle while I do your hair." My aunt smiles at me and pats me on the cheek a little too hard. "You're going to look like a princess."
Forty-five minutes later, my hair has been swept off my neck into a surprisingly lovely and rather complicated updo, my nails have been painted a soft pink, and my makeup is flawless for the second time in my life. The first time was when Zia got me ready for my senior prom. I'm dressed in an off-the-shoulder chiffon gown in various shades of soft pink with a raspberry-colored velvet clutch, both of which belong to my grandma. I stand, staring at myself in the full-length mirror in my parents’ bedroom, with half of the family crowded into the room with me.
I glance down at my niece, Camilla. "Well? What do you think?"
"I think you can actually look like a real lady with enough help."
Children are so good for the ego, no?
My mom is busy snapping photos of me on her phone while Lucia fluffs out the long skirt of my gown. She glances at her daughter. "Camilla, can you plug your ears for second, sweetie?"
Nodding, Camilla sticks a finger in each ear. As soon she does, Lucia says, "I am so jealous right now, you lucky bitch. I'm not sure I'll ever get over this."
