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“Um,” I gasp, “I hadn’t really thought about it…”
She shrugs.
“No biggie. I just thought, you know, special occasion and all that.” She waggles her perfect eyebrows at me and I want to melt into the floor.
I’m about to tell her no, but I’m suddenly seized by the idea of Elio undressing me later, unwrapping me like a present, and finding me smooth and bare down there.
Would he be surprised?
Would he like it?
I can’t get the thought out of my mind. Before I can lose my nerve, I nod and squeak out, “OK!”
Turns out waxing down there hurts a hell of a lot more than the other places. But even so, Valentina is still quick and competent. It’s almost hard to be embarrassed even spread-eagle for her because she’s so casual about the whole thing, like she’s used to it.
“How are you so good at this – fucking ouch!” I exclaim.
Valentina presses her fingers to the raw place, letting the hot throb cool to a quiet pulse of pain. “I always wanted to own my own business. Guess that runs in the family,” she says with a slight roll of her eyes. “For a long time, I thought I’d open a hair salon or a spa. Even though I’d be the one running it, I still wanted to know the ins and outs. Lucia and Giulia used to let me practise stuff like this on them all the time.”
She whips another strip of wax away, and I have to wait for the sting to subside before I can ask her, “You don’t want to run a salon anymore? What do you want to do now?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. Things aren’t exactly going the way I imagined they would.”
She prepares to yank another strip of wax, and when she moves the light sparkles on the pink diamonds of her rose-gold ring.
It’s almost as if she senses my sudden pity, or that I’m going to say something mopey that she doesn’t want to hear, because she gives a swift tug and all I can manage is a yelp. We don’t talk much after that until the waxing is all done.
“I need a drink,” I groan, my whole body feeling like an exposed nerve. “Or an ice bath. Or both.”
“No time,” Valentina replies, handing me a bottle of some kind of soothing post-wax lotion. “I still need to do your hair and makeup!”
Since we’re running late there’s no time for any elaborate heat-styling of my hair. Valentina settles on leaving its natural wavy-curly texture as-is. She pins it up, leaving little curls falling around my ears, then frowns at her phone.
“Elio’s gonna be here soon and I can guarantee he’s gonna be pissed if you’re not ready,” she says, looking worriedly at my bare face.
“That’s alright,” I say quickly. Last time Valentina did my makeup the result was stunning but it didn’t feel like me. The foundation was so perfectly-applied that every freckle on my face had vanished.
Elio told me once that he liked my freckles.
We settle on some light concealer, mascara, and very dark red lipstick that adds drama to an otherwise softly ethereal look. I forgo a bra with the low back of the dress, and with a surge of erotic defiance I decide not to wear any panties, either. When I put the dress back on, the silk of the clinging skirt brushes the newly-bare skin between my legs. My clit responds instantly, my nipples pebbling. I take a few experimental steps, just to feel the delicious kiss of the silk against my exposed, sensitive places.
“Thanks for all this,” I tell her, reddening a little thinking about how much time she spent between my legs helping me get ready. “And for… for the wedding stuff.”
I can’t believe I’m thanking her, or anyone, for anything to do with that wedding. But here I am.
She grins, brushing long blonde hair away from her face.
“Elio runs one tight fucking ship, I’ll tell you that much,” she says, but it sounds affectionate. “Only he would demand that I plan a whole wedding in basically one month. And not just some elopement shit either. A big grand affair. ‘Deirdre deserves something nice,’” she says in a suddenly deep, growly voice, “‘so you had better make it nice.’ That’s what he told me.”
“He said that?”
“Sure did.”
“And what about you tonight? Are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day with Dario?”
“Ugh, gross,” she says. “Definitely not. Some flowers arrived for me this morning and I’m 99% sure his secretary sent them instead of him. Wasn’t even a handwritten card or anything.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say to that. Valentina deserves a hell of a lot better. I almost feel guilty now, thinking of the immensely personal and thoughtful gift that Elio gave me.
