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Once we were thoroughly scrubbed down, massaged and steamed, Aunt Mireille and Charlotte were whisked away to the manicure station, and Mom and I were shown to the pedicure lounge. As soon as we were seated, sparkling mimosas were placed in our hands.
Mom made atsksound and removed the mimosa from my grasp. I was actually considering drinking it for the orange juice content alone, but it was probably best that it was gone. “She’ll have water,” she announced curtly.
“And coffee,” I croaked, tapping my empty travel mug.
I stuck my feet in the little foot bath, my mind and body still throbbing dully with recollections of last night’s fuck fest. Even the massage hadn’t fully erased it. I didn’t dare shut my eyes, since an image of Shane’s naked body poised over mine and flexing, over and over as he drove his magical cock into me, seemed to have been permanently etched into the backs of my eyelids.
I really did try to relax, though. Canapés were served, and I decided that gourmet goodies, a mani-pedi and a massage might not erase last night from existence, but it couldn’t make things any worse.
I had Mom for that.
While our feet were pampered and prepped for polish, she got started on me by pointing out Alyssa’s many admirable features and achievements, as if I were unaware.
“Imagine, twenty-three and managingthis.” She waved her mimosa about to indicate the spa. “In a few years, who knows? She could own it. She couldownher ownbusiness.”
“Are they letting women do that nowadays?” I asked mildly, chugging coffee.
“I suspect David will propose soon.”
This was probably true, since David—Alyssa’s longtime boyfriend—was ass over teakettle in love with her and, as Mom loved to point out ad nauseam, none of us were getting any younger. “Great!” I manufactured a smile. “Another wedding!”
One of the staff had rolled over a display with an array of nail polish colors to choose from and I busied myself poking through the bottles.
“And her sense of style!” Mom went on, unfazed by my sarcasm. “Très chic!” She gave my messy ponytail a pointed glance, along with my white tank top, through which my black bra could be seen, and my faded boyfriend jean cutoffs.
“Margot.” I selected an electric turquoise color for my toes, mainly because it reminded me ofthatcolor—the one I chose the last time I had a pedicure with my Mom. “I know what you’re thinking when you give me that look.”
“Hmm?” she hummed, feigning distraction as she perused the color selection. Then she spared the bottle in my hand the briefest of glances. “Oh, is that the color you’re choosing? Well, it’s blue, darling.”
“I see that.”
“You’ll be wearing open-toed shoes.”
“I’m aware.” Today, we were supposed to be picking the colors we’d wear at the wedding, for a test run.
“And you want blue nails? You’ll look like a corpse!”
And here we go again.I turned the bottle over to check the label on the bottom. “Incroyable!That’s just what it says here. ‘Corpse Blue.’”
Mom pursed her lips in an expression of severe perturbedness.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a corpse with turquoise nails, Mom.” I gave the polish a shake.
“You think turquoise goes with the red dress?”
“I don’t care. It’s just nails. You get a say in the dress and the shoes and the flowers, I pick everything else that goes on my body.”
“Hmm. Is that how it works?”
“Absolutely.” I passed the polish down to my pedicurist.
Mom handed her pedicurist the classic red polish she’d chosen.
I sighed. “It’s your wedding, Mom. Everyone will be looking at you.” And Shane would be looking at the girl he brought and probably screwed in the parking lot, so really, the nail polish was for no one but myself.
Mom eyed the turquoise polish as I wiggled the first painted toe. Then she turned her negotiating face on me. “Toes only.”
“Fine.”
