Two weeks later... Narrated by Paige:
It has been two crazy and hectic weeks, going back and forth thanks to Emily. If she takes me shopping for one more day, I swear I'll end up in a psychiatric hospital. It's incredible how much she had planned, and I'm not really a fan of this kind of thing.
We have one day left before we leave, and the funny thing is that Emily told Mason she would sleep at his place tonight because we won't see each other for a long time. Simba is staying with her too. So, we'll leave this house and head straight to the airport. Also, it's strange that I saved the salon appointment for today but not the waxing and everything else. Today, after breakfast, we're going to the hair salon that my mother-in-law booked for me. We arrive at a large and beautiful place.
Everyone who works here is attractive, as they say. A lady greets Emily and then me, calling over a guy dressed in a fuchsia shirt with a tiger-patterned scarf.
"Hello, beautiful," he says, smiling at Emily.
"Hi, John. How are you?" my mother-in-law asks, smiling, while the guy gazes at me intently.
"It wouldn't be easy if it were you, but I truly don't understand how such a beautiful woman doesn't take care of herself and the image she presents," he says, touching my hair. "This needs volume and color," he adds, more to himself than to me.
"My name is Paige, and before you continue, I do care, but it's not a priority for me," I reply, a little annoyed by his way of talking about me.
"Oh, sweetheart, don't take it the wrong way. That's just how I am. You're beautiful, and today I'll make you even more gorgeous, I assure you," he says, taking my hand and placing a kiss on it.
He leads me to a private room, hands me a glass, and says, "Now you're going to relax, leave everything to me." He smiles, and I nod because I have no other choice.
More people start coming in, some taking care of my hands, others my feet. I feel like Sandra Bullock in that movie where they transform her into a model.
Emily looks at me and gives a thumbs up, approving of everything they're doing to me, while I sigh, afraid of changing too much.
"I don't want anything too exaggerated, please," I tell the blond guy who is giving orders to everyone around me.
"Darling, you'll thank me when they're done," he says, winking.
Hours go by and I'm still here. I watch as they put aluminum foil in my hair, and I close my eyes just imagining what they are doing. Not that I'm terrified, Emily wouldn't let them do anything bad to me.
Hours later...
I've lost count of the hours I've been here; all I know is that they're already washing my hair to dry it and give it volume. My nails are beautiful, they have a half transparent white tone, French style, the ring finger has silver glitter, and they look too good, I love it. My feet also have the same style as my hands.
My face feels soft, they put masks of I don't know what and I feel like I have a baby's skin, I've always had it like that, but I've never bothered to apply creams or masks. I must admit that I am very careless with my appearance, well not in how I dress, since I do like to combine clothes and bags. However, when it comes to skin and
However, when it comes to skin and hair care, I only worry about applying a treatment cream after the conditioner and nothing else, on my face I'm lucky if I use a makeup remover. If the blond is right, my skin needed and will be forever grateful for everything that was done to it today.
I let my hair wash and dry, I watch as it makes waves, as my hair is a bit, butane, unruly sometimes. Then I get my make up done, this time I do interfere, I ask him no foundation or powder on my face, I don't like to overload my skin with makeup. When I say that the blond in charge of my image smiles and says:
"You are one of the few women in the world who knows how to think about that. Most people think that their faces should look like porcelain dolls with tons of makeup on, without realizing that it damages the skin overall. That's why your skin looks so good. You don't overload it with too many products. However, I do advise you, dear, to use a high-quality foundation with sunscreen. That way, you can protect your skin from the sun and prevent damage," he says, showing me a translucent foundation.
"I think I could give that a try, although I can't promise anything. I'm quite forgetful, and I usually don't have time to do more than apply mascara and lipstick, but I can try," I reply, smiling.
Finally, they let me see myself in the mirror. I gaze at my reflection for several minutes, running my fingers through my hair, which is no longer the same brown as before. It now has a shiny texture with subtle highlights of light brown, not blonde, and I absolutely love it. It feels soft and silky, and they didn't cut it, for which I'm grateful. I adore my long hair.
My face looks beautiful. I touch my cheeks in disbelief that this is my natural skin tone. My eyes stand out with the eyeshadow they applied, and my lips appear velvety with the matte lipstick I have on.
I love the result, and I let them know. I feel my eyes welling up with emotion at seeing myself so beautiful. Although I've always felt beautiful, I feel like everything they did today enhances my natural beauty even more. That's what excites me. They could have easily transformed me into a stunning person with makeup and more, but they respected my wishes and only showed me the beauty I have naturally.
I express my infinite gratitude to them. Emily, who has just arrived from who knows where, smiles at me and says:
"I knew you would make the most of her natural beauty. You're the best," Emily embraces the blonde guy whose name I can't remember, but I'll find out.
"My dear, your daughter-in-law is beautiful, and believe me, I'm delighted to have brought her out of her shell. Now, whenever she wants, she can call me, and I'll happily prepare her for anything. You have my number," he says, returning Emily's embrace.
"I'll give it to her," my mother-in-law replies, winking at him.
We say our goodbyes, and I thank them again for what they did for me. On the way home, Emily says to me,
"When Mason sees you, he's going to regret this trip, I guarantee it," she says with a smile.
"Why would he regret it?" I ask, confused.
"He'll want to lock himself up so no one can see you," she answers confidently.
"I think you forget that he's in love and counting down the days for our marriage to end," I remind her, looking out the window.
"Yes, of course, whatever you say," she responds, gazing out her window.
I stop dwelling on what she said. There are only two and a half months left until our marriage ends, and then I'll start my life anew. I have to stop thinking about Mason and what I feel for him. It's not good for my well-being.
We arrive home, and Mason and his father are in the living room, laughing about something they were discussing. Emily clears her throat, and I grip her arm. I know she did it on purpose to get their attention. She knows I hate being the center of attention. Before they notice me, I blush and want to leave, but my dear mother-in-law holds onto my arm.