Chapter 76
We had a late lunch in the old part of Florence. We sat on a second-floor balcony next to a trellis covered with vines, and had oysters and glasses of chilled white wine.
“Don’t fill up too much,” Adriano cautioned me. “Dinner’s going to be fantastic.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
After lunch came a trip to a makeup boutique.
And not just any boutique…
But one that sold proprietary blends created specifically for the clientele.
“How can I help you today?” the woman at the counter said. She wore understated but fashionable clothes, and her face was pretty –
But her makeup was flawless.
A work of art.
“We have a very special dinner this evening,” Adriano said.
“Ah.” The woman peered at me like a painter evaluating a canvas. “You have beautiful bone structure.”
“Uh… thank you…”
“I’m thinking something light,” the woman said. “Your natural beauty shouldn’t be hidden, only accentuated.”
“Um… sure.”
The woman worked on me for about 30 minutes…
And when I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t believe what I saw.
The models in the pictures in Valentino’s?
Claudia Schiffer, Elle MacPherson, Gisele Bündchen?
The women I had idolized my entire life, who had worn the most beautiful dresses in the world?
I could have stood next to them and not been entirely out of place.
I looked like one of the women I had dreamt about being when I was eight years old.
Adriano stared at me in wonder.
“You really are Venus,” he murmured.
I smiled, and my eyes welled up the tiniest bit with tears –
“STOP!” the woman commanded. She immediately gave me a tissue. “Don’t you dare ruin my masterpiece.”
I laughed and dabbed at my eyes.
“No crying. EVER,” the woman said sternly. “The mascara won’t run, but I don’t want you messing up the rest of it.”
“I won’t,” I said, definitely intimidated. “I promise.”
“Good. I think this color of lipstick is best…”
Five minutes later, she was ringing up a tube of the lipstick and a small compact with some of the makeup she’d used.
I happened to see the receipt, which included a section for SERVICES.
730 euros.
I stared at Adriano in shock.
“What?” he said.
“The price,” I whispered.
“Botticelli didn’t skimp on supplies when he painted ‘The Birth of Venus.’”
“Amen,” the woman said as she placed the makeup in a tiny bag.