The Prototype

71. The Unspoken

TEMPEST

The walk-in closet glowed beneath the flood of sun pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warm Milan light spilling across the marble like golden syrup. My bare feet glided over it, damp from the shower, leaving soft imprints on the floor that disappeared almost as fast as they came. The entire space—just like every other space Marcellus shown me—reeked of luxury. The sleek recessed lighting, the dark oak cabinetry, the rows of shelves trimmed in brushed brass, the scent of leather and lavender lingering in the air.

My sage green robe clinging to my skin like breath, the hem teasing the tops of my thighs every time I moved. My skin still carrying the flush of the hot water, a warm, dewy sheen hugging every curve. Steam clinging to me like memory, but the weight in my limbs long since burned off, replaced by energy still humming through me from the decadent breakfast buffet we'd devoured together earlier—all still sitting sweet in my blood, fueling every movement.

I placed my shower bag back inside the suitcase, then turned toward the vanity.

The lights above it glowed soft and golden as I approached the mirror, the scent of gardenia and polished wood trailing behind me. Everything I needed already laid out, my skincare bottles lined up like ritual tools, waiting. I eased into the chair and dipped into the coolness of my favorite cleanser. Fingers worked in slow circles, sweeping away the last remnants of the shower steam. My skin drank it in, then came the mist of toner, sharp and citrusy, followed by the serum that melted into my cheeks like silk. My moisturizer came last—rich and whipped, making my skin feel like velvet under the pads of my fingers.

Once my face settled beneath my touch, I picked up speed. Foundation pumped out in small dots, smoothed first with a brush, then tapped in with a damp sponge until it became skin. Concealer brightened the shadows: under my eyes, down the bridge of my nose, across the high points of my face. The sponge danced it in, lifting, softening, adding dimension back where the foundation flattened. Powder swept in next, pressed instead of dusted, locking everything down with a finish that blurred without dulling.

Contour followed—deep, warm strokes cutting into the hollows of my cheeks, tracing the edges of my nose, sharpening my jaw. Bronzer came next, skimming over my temples, cheekbones, and along the sides of my neck, adding back heat. My lids soaked in the golds and coppers I layered across them—molten pigment in matte and shimmer strokes.

Blush bloomed over the apples of my cheeks, flushed like I'd been kissed there, then pulled outward toward my temples in sweeping strokes. A liquid highlighter tapped in with fingertips, chased by powder to set it, catching the light like glass held just under flame. Lashes curled, painted in jet black, fanned thick and wide before I added soft falsies that lifted them even higher, adding quiet drama without drowning the rest.

I reached for the setting spray, holding the bottle steady as I misted my face in even sweeps. The coolness hit instantly, sinking through the layers, locking in the work I'd done. My skin gleamed—not shiny, but alive. Sculpted, lit from within, powerful. But it wasn't finished. Not until I chose the outfit for the desired lip.

Lifting from the vanity, I walked toward the full-length mirror and shelves. Fingers found the tie at my waist and pulled it free, letting the robe fall open. My naked, damp, oiled skin caught the light, heat and moisture still clinging from the shower. I started from the ground up—moisturizer first, working it into my calves, gliding over my thighs, massaging behind my knees where the skin stayed tender. Next came the body cream—thicker, richer—smoothing across my hips, my stomach, the soft underside of my breasts, disappearing into my skin with steady strokes. Body butter followed, dense and indulgent, melting over my shoulders, arms, collarbones, and the arch of my back. It clung, softened, glistened. The final layer before the glow—sunscreen. Cool, creamy, faintly floral. I massaged it into my chest, my neck, the length of my arms. No inch was left untouched.