Chapter 33
EMILY
Who said makeup was easy?
It’s my third attempt to apply cosmetics since I became Lorenzo’s wife.
All of the women in his family I’ve met so far are experts at this craft.
At the wedding, every woman had expertly applied eyeliner, eyeshadow, and blush. Their lipstick was such a vivid red you’d swear they were vampires who just feasted on fresh blood.
I’ve always been a no-cosmetics kind of girl, proud of my New England complexion. Pale unless a ruddy color from surviving one of our famous Nor’easter storms.
But now since I’ve lived in New York City, I must look frumpy. Like a tourist from what New Yorkers dismissively call a flyover state.
“Miss Emily, do you require any assistance?” says Ciro, after rapping on the closed bedroom door.
“No thanks,” I call out, turning the YouTube make-up tutorial on my iPad louder.
I get as far as lipstick primer when my phone rings. It’s Angie.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asks.
“No. Well actually, yes. I’m trying to get ready for my lunch with Lorenzo. He warned me to look gorgeous.”
“You always look gorgeous,” says Angie. Then she pauses. “Well, gorgeous for Emily.
“Hahaha. Very funny.”
“What’s the occasion?”
I consider the possibilities. Angie’s right. Busy Made Men like Lorenzo don’t take their wives to lunch for just any old reason.
“I’m not sure,” I tell her, stalling for time.
My deepest hope is that he found my birthday is later this week, and wants to kick it off with an early lunch celebration.
But how would he know my birthday is coming?
Quite possibly, he was thinking about what we shared last night. And wanted to cement our relationship with a lunch.
But I can’t tell Angie that. If I did, I’d have too many questions to answer.
“Who knows why Lorenzo invited me? Maybe to show me off. He sent me a dress he had Antoine select at Saks.”
What’s the occasion?”
“Show it to me!”
I look at the large pink box with the black ribbon sitting on the bed. I’ve wondered what was inside all morning.
“What are you waiting for? Open it, already!”
“I can’t. Lorenzo told me I couldn’t look at it until I was at the club.”
“Then how are you supposed to put it on?”
“Antoine will be arriving any moment now to assist.”
“Please, Em. You’ve got my curiosity going. Open the damn box!”
“I told you, I can’t.”
“You said that you can’t look. Nothing about me taking a peek.”
I indulge Angie but look away as I snap a picture of the dress inside, then replace the box top.
“Now tell me what’s inside,” I demand.
“Like you said. ‘A dress,’” she says with a giggle.
Now she has me nervous.
“Not for me to tell. It’s a surprise, right? Call me when lunch is over,” she says, disconnecting.
Antoine arrives a few minutes later to help with the dress.
“You didn’t peek, did you?”
“No. Of course not.”
And I didn’t, though I was burning with curiosity. Especially after Angie’s reaction.
“Well, let’s get you wrapped.”
“Wrapped?” What does that mean?”
I meant dressed. Come here and shut your eyes.”
I do as he says. I feel a length of fabric wrapped around me like a shroud.
“Are you sure this is a dress?” I attempt a light tone, but now I’m really worried. What is this garment? A toga?
“Almost finished. You’ll see in a second,” he says, pinning the dress in a few places. “Now, voilà. You can turn around.”
I step toward the mirror and gasp.
What was all the fuss about? It appears a normal, conservative dress that falls to the knees and hits me squarely at the neck.
“I had the sensation you were wrapping something around me…”
He struggles to resist a smile. “Sensations can be deceiving. You have me on speed dial. Call me in case of any little emergencies.”
And with that, he takes his leave.
Emergency? What did he mean by that?