Chapter 31
Thirty-One
AURELIA
“Darling, you cannot keep going on like this.”
Princess Beatrix yanks the covers back from over my head one Sunday morning. I groan and try to snatch them back, but she tosses them at the foot of the bed.
“Aurelia.” Margaret sits on the side of the mattress and strokes my tangled mess of hair. “It’s been two weeks, and you haven’t left this room except to go to work and class.”
“Look, I know my cousin is charming and supposedly attractive and all that, but he’s not worth all this.”
I catch a side view of the glare Margaret shoots her. “I think what Beatrix is trying to say is that we are worried about you and we think you need to get out and have a little fun.”
I mumble nonsense, not at all sure how to convey to them just how much I do not want to go out today.
Sundays are my one day to wallow in self-pity.
I haven’t had time to fully process everything between my work at the Maier’s and an increased school workload.
The spring semester is in full swing, and looming graduation has me focused on final projects and rigorous practicals.
“Oh, god. Is she having a stroke?” Beatrix picks up my right arm and then drops it. I keep it from falling completely limp on the bed. “Oh, good,” she gasps.
“Trix, be a lamb and go start the shower for her, yeah?” Margaret’s tone isn’t exactly asking, and I wish I could see the expression on the princess’s face at being ordered around.
My friend stays by my side a bit longer, still combing through my hair and practically cooing at me.
“You haven’t said I told you so, yet,” I finally croak.
Margaret grabs me around the shoulders and pulls me into a tight hug.
“Oh, my love. I would never say that. I can think it all I want, but saying it would help no one. You know I have your back no matter what.” She cocks her head toward my tiny bathroom, where steam is starting to drift from the gap under the door. “Beatrix does too, in her own way.”
In the weeks since the prince and I ended our little arrangement, his cousin and my best friend have taken turns checking in on me every day, both texting me multiple times, and have tried a few times to get me to come out with them.
I knew they would, at some point, get tired of failing via text message and phone call, and I’m not surprised they’re double-teaming me now in person.
“It’s kind of nice she’s been coming around,” I mumble into my pillow.
“That’s because I don’t like people very often, so I can’t afford to lose any that I do,” Beatrix says as she shuts the bathroom door behind her to keep the warmth in.
The room is silent for a moment, and I peek one eye open to see Margaret mouthing something over my back. Suddenly, I’m being hoisted up with arms under my shoulders. My head spins at the rapid change in position, but my two friends hold me steady.
“Good?” Margaret asks after a moment.
I nod and push to stand on my own. They follow me into the cramped bathroom, and I feel like a child as they help me undress because I just can’t seem to find the energy to do it myself. In fact, I don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed about being naked.
Margaret helps me into the shower, careful to keep her arms away from the spray.
The hot water feels good. My body is sore from the grueling runs I’ve put in the last few weeks, and the emotional pain has settled into my bones, too.
The water washes over me, and I try to imagine it washing all my worries down the drain.
Too bad it doesn’t actually work that way.
Showering during the week hasn’t been a problem. I have a purpose during the week, a reason for getting out of bed and making myself presentable. But it’s as if my body recognizes the insignificance of the day, and I can’t even make my arms work to wash my hair.
“Here, love.”
Margaret helps me to hang my head away from the shower and begins to shampoo my hair.
Her fingers massaging my scalp feel so good.
I relax into her touch, grateful to have a friend who would do so much for me.
She combs through my tangled tresses with the conditioner before helping me bathe.
I feel like an invalid, and perhaps I am. A mental invalid.
Unbidden images flash in my mind of the last time my heart hurt like this.
I had no one. My mom didn’t believe me or blamed me for it—her attitude changed daily.
The friends I thought I had in church all stopped talking to me when I came forward.
My only other friend had moved away earlier in the school year.
I quit running for a little while then, not even able to make myself get out of bed for more than a shower, which I did at least three times a day in the weeks that followed.
I didn’t go to school; I quit my job. All I could do was lay in bed and stare at the wall or the ceiling in complete silence, in as total darkness as I could manage.
Beatrix is sitting on the toilet lid when I finally step out of the shower. She holds out a towel and starts to carefully rub me dry while Margaret towels off my hair.
“Not exactly how I pictured getting you naked for the first time, darling.” The princess winks at me as she runs the towel down one leg.
I blush at her casual flirtation. “You wanted to get me naked?”
“You know I have a thing for redheads,” she says with a saucy smirk.
When she’s finished drying me, Beatrix wraps the towel around my upper body, tucking a corner in to hold it in place and slips back into my room, mumbling about trying to find something to bring my sexy back.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask my best friend as she pulls my still-wet hair into a loose braid down the middle of my back.
“Trixie thinks a girls’ spa day is in order, so I’m not really sure what constitutes a sexy spa outfit,” Margaret says with a giggle.
I am actually starting to feel a teensy bit better with these two fussing over me. It’s comforting to know I have people I can count on.
Back in my room, Beatrix has a pair of multicolored harem pants with mandala patterns and a chunky black sweater laid out on my bed.
“Loose and flowy is best for spa days,” she announces as she helps me dress.
Soon enough, they have me out the door and into Margaret’s Mercedes crossover. I still don’t know why she needs something this big, especially in these narrow streets. We listen to upbeat femme rock on the drive because Beatrix says I need to reclaim my bad-a side.
The spa is well outside the city, getting into the pastureland surrounding the suburbs. The air out here is fresh and clean. This must be some spa to have valet service, and right as I’m about to stress over the cost, both women link their arms through mine, and Beatrix leans in.
“This is our treat today, Aurelia. We are going to be pampered and spoiled, and you aren’t going to worry about anything other than finding your spark again.”
She boops me on the nose, and we all giggle as we step into a world of aromatherapy, trickling fountains, and soothing music. It’s quiet in here, but not that oppressive quiet that makes you feel suffocated. It’s quiet, like a walk in the woods or an old library.
The receptionist recognizes Beatrix immediately and fumbles through a curtsy. “We have a private suite all ready for Your Highness and guests,” she says breathlessly.
I wonder if she’s new because it seems that Beatrix is a frequent visitor, but this girl is acting like she’s never catered to someone like the princess before.
She leads us to a bathroom-slash-locker room that’s comfortably warm and smells like sandalwood.
The attendant shows us around the area, pointing out robes and slippers for each of us, hangers and lockers for our things once we’re changed, showers for later, explaining the order of rooms through the door on the opposite side of the way we came in.
I give her a friendly smile as she bows again, blushing a bit.
Margaret and Beatrix chatter about services and the schedule for the day while I peruse bottles of expensive handmade lotions and other skincare products. The princess takes my arm again and leads me along in our plush robes through to the service area.
“After what we have planned for today, you won’t need any of those, I promise.”
I guess these two helping me shower earlier was a prelude to the rest of the day because the three of us have been sparsely clothed or often totally nude all day.
Our first stop after another quick shower was the steam room, where Beatrix insisted we bring just a towel to sit on.
She assured me the area was completely private, and it’s only us in this part of the spa.
Apparently, this place caters to people like her and Margaret, and has quite the handle on managing privacy and security for total relaxation.
We down a couple bottles of water while we walk to the next room for a full body wrap.
We giggled and chatted while we were coated in mud and wrapped in shiny blankets, all while floating on a kind of waterbed.
By the time the spa therapists were done, Margaret was drifting off to sleep, and I wasn’t far behind.
Those forty-five minutes were the best sleep I’ve had in a while.
The thermal blanket was like being wrapped in a warm hug, and the gentle roll of the hydrobed rocked me like a baby.
Another quick shower, and it’s time for massages.
I’m feeling more and more comfortable in my nudity as the day goes on.
Now I’m lying on a table with my friends on either side while three men work our bodies like potters’ clay.
Warmed oils, hot stones, and panpipe music lull my mind to a dopamine-fueled haze.
No one speaks, but somehow my guy knows exactly where I need the most work and just how to press without hurting me.
I’m not ashamed to sneak a few glances at the Spanish hunk with the magic hands and immaculately chiseled jaw.
Not too long ago, I would have been mortified to allow a man to see me in such a state of undress.
This new me is perfectly content to allow him to rub his hands all over me.
I try to push away the Friedrich-sized ache settling in my chest as he works my thighs, gripping and rolling and kneading, reminding me of the way the prince would grasp my legs when he went down on me.
The masseuse begins on my glutes, and while it feels rather intimate, the soreness that’s settled into my legs and bum from my punishing runs is slowly ebbing away with the perfect pressure of his ministrations.
We’re stumbling messes as we slip back into our robes and go for our last treatment, facials. Beatrix insists we’re never too young to start on anti-aging treatments, even if I am a solid nine years younger than her.
I’ve felt so wonderful all day, pampered and cared for, and the general atmosphere of the whole place has me at utter peace.
I’ve barely thought about Friedrich all afternoon.
I recline in a heated leather chair as the specialist uses various scrubs and creams on my face.
My mind and body are completely relaxed.
As she massages my temples, a sudden tidal wave of emotion breaks down the walls I put up around the prince’s spot in my mind.
Everything I haven’t allowed myself to feel since I watched him disappear in the rearview mirror floods me, and I can’t keep the tears at bay any longer.