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I have no idea what this man has in store for me but when I find out, I’m sure I’ll be shaking like a leaf and I’d like the added confidence of knowing my body is at its best. But… the pain of waxing, the awkwardness of exposing my naked naughty bits to strangers…
Stalling for a moment, I stand in front of the spa, biting my lower lip. “I can do this.”
The doors suddenly fly open, making me start. A flock of normally dressed women, wearing loungewear similar to my own, their hair tied back and comfy shoes on their feet come flocking down the steps to join me.
The head bird introduces herself as Emma as she links her arm with mine. “Lily! We’re so glad you’re here! Rockwell told us you’d be here any moment and we’ve been looking for you.”
Another woman greets me with an arm around my shoulder. “Come along with us, love, we’ve got a wonderful day planned out for you! And you deserve every moment of pampering, don’t you?”
“Do I?” Surrounded by the protection of the flock, I float up the steps, my feet feeling like they’re barely touching the ground.
Emma says, “Of course you do! Mr. Bachman has a beautiful evening planned for the two of you and we’re going to make sure you’re prepared to enjoy every moment of your time together.”
Two hours and two glasses of champagne later I’m snoozing in what feels like a chair covered in soft lamb’s wool while a team of women massage a newfangled cream into my skin that smells like vanilla and warms at the touch. I’ve been told it painlessly removes all hair while moisturizing and softening the skin. My fingers and toes are painted a glossy pale baby pink and have been massaged for so long they feel like they’ve detached from my body.
I’m totally and utterly relaxed as they wipe my skin clean with warm, damp towels, steam rising from their soft fibers as they glide across my smooth skin.
After a scalp massage, deep condition, and blowout, I’m kissed with a hint of makeup and left standing across from a full-length mirror in a short white waffle-knit robe so cozy that I’m tempted to take it with me when I leave here.
Rockwell’s stern voice and blue eyes flash through my mind and I put the thought of stealing from the Bachmans far, far away.
They’ve already got a full outfit waiting for me. A lacy white sundress that is so delicately beautiful, it could be a wedding dress for a simple beach ceremony. Is that Vera Wang’s name on the tag?
My God, the closest I’ve come to wearing something like this is pronouncing Target, Tar-jey in a fake French accent when I’m shopping their clearance rack.
The dress has been paired with satin ballet slippers, a little bow centered with a tiny pearl on the elastic band of the shoe.
And underneath?
No bra anywhere in sight.
Nothing between the gauzy dress and the world but a pair of innocent white cotton panties.
When I’m dressed in the outfit, the mirror reveals an innocent-looking virgin staring back at me.
Pure. Fresh. Beautiful.
Sexy…
When I go to leave, Emma holds a crisp white paper bag out to me. “Here you go. It’s a robe. You seemed to love it so much, I had a new one packaged up for you to take home.”
“Emma!” I peek inside the bag, warming with glee when I see the soft waffle-knit robe. “Thank you so much.”
She gives me a quick hug. “Enjoy your evening, love!”
“I will, thanks!” I give the women a waggle of my shiny, pink-tipped fingers. Filled with the confidence that can only be bought by a full day of beauty treatments at an upscale spa, I stride across the Village back to Rockwell’s townhome.
The hem of my skirt flutters in the breeze as I move, my hair bouncing in soft waves.
When I reach his home, there’s a note on his navy blue door. It’s addressed to me. I read it out loud to myself. “Go inside and wait for the driver to pick you up. There’s a white suitcase in the foyer. The driver will bring it with you. No peeking and no lifting. I don’t want you to do a thing.”
“Wow.” I stand there, stunned, staring at the thick cardstock. Not only do I look the best I ever have, I smell like beauty and now… I’m not even going to be lifting my own suitcase. A smile like the cat that got the cream to go with her cookies spreads across my glowing, blemish-free face.
I open the door, stepping in. The note tells me he’s not home but still, I call out, “Hello?”
No answer.
The soft soles of my shoes are noiseless as I tiptoe around the house. The suitcase is there, as he said it would be. Is the driver not far behind? The excitement of being alone in his house makes my belly fill with wings. I take my time, giving myself a slower tour of the first floor. Really taking in the paintings he’s chosen. The beauty of the polished hardwood floors. The elements that make the kitchen any woman’s dream room. An extra set of cabinets and countertops tucked to the side as a coffee bar, a place to make yourself a cozy little latte while in the comfort of your pajamas.
