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“Let’s leave in forty minutes?” he replied.
I caught sight of my face, still layered with thick makeup from the production earlier. I couldn’t wait to wash it off and use my own lighter toned cosmetics.
Leaving the light on, I stepped out of the fitted white marbled bathroom and strode back into the bedroom, where Juan remained rooted, openly regarding me.
“Forty-five minutes, it is.” I nodded before shooing him away so I could start getting ready. “I’ll see you then.” Those were my parting words before closing the door on him. I had a feeling that had I not done that, he’d fancy lingering around, and we didn’t have time to spare for that kind of nonsense.
I intended to lay out my outfit for tonight, but before I did so, I quickly darted inside the bathroom to turn the dials on the shower.
With tonight’s agenda on my brain, I studied my outfit. It consisted of my favorite go-to Dolce white mini lace dress, a pearl choker, and my fierce four-inch Giuseppe Zanotti dubbed “cruel” sandals. One could never go wrong with white or nude shoes. Ages ago, I read somewhere that nude shoes gave the illusion of elongated stems, and in my five-foot-four stature, I needed all the help I could get.
Hastily, I carefully placed the items on the bed, double-checking that my ensemble for tonight was on point.
A smile played about my lips, satisfied.
Little trivial task done and prepared, I strolled back into the bathroom. The idea of being in Barcelona after long, rigorous weeks in Minorca was long overdue. And I, for one, couldn’t wait to see what this city had to offer.
