Page 58 of The Senator's Secret
“Bells are ringing for a certain IT Couple.”
Chapter 17
Smitten
Pain sears through my body before focusing on one point of contact, and I hold my breath until spots dance before my eyes. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, and then the pain dissipates before it is inflicted again from a new area.
“We can no longer be friends, Cara,” I grit out.
“For Christ’s sake,” she snaps. “Quit being such a big fucking baby. You’re not the one whose ex-husband is lurking around somewhere in this house. And having to travel for work with him later this week.” And she’s not wrong. Rick is somewhere in this house with Jake. They’re probably drinking beer and eating pizza and not being tortured by their friends.
“How are you doing with all that?” I ask. I try and take a good look at here to see if she look like she’s really alright but my eyes won’t stop watering so I can’t see anything clearly.
“It is what it is,” she sighs. “We’ll figure out how to be professional.”
And then she rips off another strip.
“I’ve decided that you’re fired,” I tell after I try and fail to catch my breath.
She laughs, and Goddammit I want to rip her hair out until she’s baldheaded.
Riiipppp!She yanks off another cloth strip from somewhere on my body. I don’t even know from where anymore. When Cara came over early this morning to prep for the engagement pictures of the century, I thought it might be a soak in the bath and a face mask, maybe some mani/ pedi action. Not waterboarding and bamboo shoots shoved under my fingernails before all of my body hair was ripped out by the roots.
“I think this violates the Geneva Convention.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She rolls her eyes. “What you need is a gag.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“That was the last one, you candy ass,” she says before taking a rough scrub brush, dipping it in a sugar scrub, and applying it to my entire body while I lay on a foldup massage table covered in white towels. And by apply, I mean scrape off a layer or two of my skin.
She applies a less abrasive one to my face then takes washcloths and runs them under warm water to wipe it all off before using a dry, fluffy towel to dry my body. When all is said and done, Cara brushes rich lotion onto my skin and then wraps me up in a big, fluffy robe that dwarfs me, but I don’t care. I’m no longer being ripped apart. Don’t get me wrong; I love good-quality primping, but this wasn’t primping. This was North Korea level torture.
She gives me a light snack of cheese and apple slices with a big bottle of water. I narrow my eyes on the light meal.
“Do you really want to have pizza-face skin and a big bloated belly in pictures that will be on every media news outlet by four o’clock tomorrow afternoon?” she asks me on a raised brow.
“No,” I sigh before nibbling on an apple slice.
I sit patiently like a good girl while Cara wraps sections of my hair around a big barrel curling iron and then rolls them up on my head in big loops she secures with pins. When she’s done with my hair, she files and paints my nails in a soft nude.
She applies more makeup than I would wear on a normal Tuesday, but it’s beautiful, classic. Soft pink blush highlights my cheeks, and my eyes are accentuated with smoky taupes and shimmery nudes. She swipes a soft pink on my lips and the look is perfect.
Cara hands me a black velvet box. I snap it open and see two huge diamond solitaire earrings set on gold posts. They perfectly match the diamond bracelet Jake gave me last week. My heart beats a little faster. I can’t believe he’s given me another lavish gift. Even though I enjoy the finer things, I’m not the kind of girl to expect them from a lover. If someone buys me jewelry, it’s probably me. But Jake has this way of making me feel special when he gives me gifts. That is, until he doesn’t. I’m still smarting from the fake engagement, and an ugly voice in the back of my brain asks how many of his former paramours are walking around the tri-state area with diamond bracelet consolation prizes.
I slip the earrings through my ears, and she wraps the bracelet around my right wrist so my engagement ring is the only thing on my left hand. And then she hands me a bagful of under garments. I look at them and then look back at her, unsure if she’s playing a joke on me.
“Is this really what you want me to put on?” I ask.
“Yes, why?”
“Because these belong to a kindergarten teacher?”
“No.” She laughs. “Just put them on.”
I step into a plain pair of nude briefs and tuck my breasts into a matching bra. The most exciting part is the nude thigh-highs I roll up my legs; otherwise, the entire look is awful.
“I have it!” Carter shouts as he runs into the room with a garment bag held up high. “I have the dress!”