Chancing Ash: Second chance millionaire romance arranged marriage by Tina Skay

Author:Tina Skay [Skay, Tina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-01-17T00:00:00+00:00

Roya

Two Years Ago

When I thought the most painful part of the preparation for the engagement was over, Mrs. Mehr called to let us know she was coming to pick us up to go to the beauty salon. Even though I wondered why I was going to a salon three days before the party, I consoled myself with the thought that this would be a meet and greet session during which the woman would ask my preference for makeup and Mrs. Mehr would repeat Pary’s recommendation for a dewy makeup and that would be the extent of the visit.

As the Mercedes carried us to the destination, Ash’s mother made a point of telling us the exorbitant amount she’d forked out to have the manager, Zeeba, apparently an award-winning makeup artist and the one who had created Shirin’s gorgeous look for her wedding, work on me. “You make sure you follow all her instructions to look your best on your day,” she said. I tried not to worry about these supposed instructions. I thought to myself that I’d probably be given one or two skin product recommendations then I’d be off the hook.

After the introductions were over, Ash’s mother excused herself and left, leaving me and my mother with Zeeba, the manager and my makeup artist. My mother sat on the chair in the waiting room and picked up a glossy magazine. Zeeba patted the chair in one of the stations.

Once she adjusted the height, she turned on the harsh lights around the mirror on the wall then started staring at my face. I tried to look away from her tire-sized lips and oversized eyelashes, which were clearly irritating her eyes since her eyeballs were bloodshot, the thick veins making me almost pee my pants. As she stared and those monster eyelashes batted, I gripped the chair arms harder.

She turned my face up, down, right and left to examine it under her magnifying glass with a large white ring light and that’s when the interrogation started.

“What’s your daytime skin routine?” Zeeba asked.

“Don’t have one,” I answered in a meek voice. Zeeba tried to scowl, but the muscles of her face didn’t obey perhaps because of the injections I assumed she was receiving.

“Night time routine?”

“Nope.”

“What do you wash your face with?”

“Water.”

“You wear sunscreen?”

“No.”

“What type of face mask do you use?”

“What’s that?”

“Anti-aging cream?”

“I’m nineteen,” I said in a trembling voice and waited for her reaction. She lifted her face from the magnifying glass and stared at me, sending a shiver up my spine. I was too scared to turn around and plead with my mother to intervene.

Just when I thought I’d pissed her enough that she’d stop the interrogation and finally tell me the various ways I’d broken rules of feminine care, she bombarded me with similar questions about my hair. As my negative answers piled on, her irritation became more apparent.

“So you’re telling me you don’t use conditioner, you’ve never moisturized your hair and have never done a scalp or oil treatment?” she asked angrily.

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