The Gorgeous Swap

Chapter 10

A/N Hey guys! Long time no see. I haven't been updating my other stories lately and it seems unfair to those reading this not to update. I'll try my best to finish this but for now, enjoy the long awaited update!

Recap:  Axom (Libby's stepbrother) and Summer (pretending to be Libby) are in Venice. Thames (Summer's best friend) and Libby (as Summer) are going to Venice for a trip. Summer's dad is obviously evil and has some evil plans for everyone. Hope that helped!

CHAPTER 10

- Summer Sylvester -

"They said to be at the lobby by seven pm in these," Axom said to me in our hotel room, gesturing to the clothing swathed in the velvety cover.

My mind went blank. Recently, my brain decided to begin the hobby of going blank every few minutes. Everything was so damn confusing.

"Wait. Erm..." I cleared my throat and tried to harness my inner Libby. The plane ride to Venice and the mere fact that I was in Venice was jumbling my thoughts. Be British, be British, be British. Right. Now that was sorted. "Ready for what again?"

Axom stared. "Elizabeth, you've been chattering about this gala for ages! You know. The gala with all the important entrepreneurs of the year, including our parents."

I pretended to look fascinated. But honestly, a gala? What kind of teenager gets excited for galas for the "important entrepreneurs of the year"? I'd rather be spending the night in a rave, downing some secret shots. Obviously Libby was too posh for raves. I imagined her in a red gown and heels, bouncing up and down to EDM. I cringed mentally. "Oops. Must have slipped my mind. Jet lag, you know."

"You are acting very strangely," Axom said, shaking his head. "You know where the local hairdresser is of course. So give them a call and set an appointment for this afternoon. I'll be meeting some friends at a cafe. Be ready a little before seven, all right?"

He said this all very fast. I swear, life had a time lapse effect sometimes.

"Of course I know the local hairdresser here," I lied. I obviously didn't know any Italians in my life. Except for that cute boy in preschool who was half Italian but that didn't matter right now. "Ta ta, I must be off to give them a call."

He nodded and left the hotel room, satisfied.

I waited a few moments before stuffing my face into a fluffy hotel pillow. Then I screamed until my throat burned. I finished with a muffled "crap" and then stood up once more.

"Okay, Sylvester," I said to myself. "Your mother is a prophetess who's in love with a turtle; your father is secretly some sort of evil Darth Vader. You're pretending to be British and now you're in Italy and you have a crush on your British doppelgänger's stepbrother and none of this is making sense."

I immediately felt better.

Right. All I needed to do was look for a local hairdresser. Easy. Talk to the concierge, ask for a map, fix my hair, be back by six pm, dress up for stupid gala.

Easy.

I walked briskly down the hall to the elevator, which I rode going down to the lobby. By then, a calm sort of peace clung to me as I made my way to the concierge. I could do this.

"Hello, Signora, how can I help you?" said the concierge, beaming at me. I relaxed. He was nice.

"Do you know where the nearest salon is?" I asked in my British accent.

"Mhm. Of course, Signora. Do you want me to phone them and set you an appointment?"

"That would be great."

I began to smile. This was easier than I expected it to be.

After a heated talk in rapid Italian on the phone, the concierge turned to me again. "Sorry, but they're fully booked."

My heart missed a beat. "Oh, er, where's the next nearest one?"

He consulted the map. "Many miles away from here. An hour's walk away."

"God," I muttered. "Oh well, thanks so much."

I walked away, panic rising. My hair was a mess and I couldn't go to a gala looking like a porcupine. I was completely and utterly screwed.

Then, there was a ting of a lightbulb. I had an idea. I walked back to the concierge.

"Hi again. Do you know where the nearest drugstore is?"

A drugstore, Summer? Have you gone crazy? Nope. Not yet. All in good time, dear readers. You'll see my rationale.

The concierge smiled and briefed me through a route. After expressing my gratitude I ran out and down the cobblestone streets until I found the drugstore.

I walked in, got a basket, and marched down the beauty aisle. I grabbed a set of plastic curlers, a can of hairspray, and a pack of hairpins. Then I marched farther down and swept boxes and packets of makeup into my shopping basket.

See where I'm going? If you don't, keep reading.

I presented my basket to the cashier who scanned everything and boredly gave me the price.

I froze. Shit. I forgot to bring money. I looked into the little purse Libby gave me during Victoria's wedding. I scrutinized the pockets and aha!

Visa GOLD!

I handed it to the cashier and got the hell out of there, carrying my cosmetics and other beauty stuff I never thought of buying until today to the hotel.

Now, I just needed to put makeup on and curl my hair.

Back in the hotel room, I dumped my brand new buyings onto the bathroom counter and stared at myself in the mirror.

This was just curling my hair and drawing on my face. How hard could it be?

Hard smacked me right in the face. This was very hard.

Chunks of hair were yanked from my scalp as I strugged to twist my hair with the curlers. Once that was on, after three quarters of an hour, I got my makeup and started scribbling away.

First of all, my mom never used makeup and second of all, I never used makeup.

My face looked like a kindergarten painting. I glanced at the clock. It was already six.

Axom should be back in any minute now. I was screwed.

SCREWED.

I scrubbed the makeup away and abandoned going down the fancy road. I dabbed my cheeks with blush and painted my lips and brushed my eyelids and curled my lashes and applied some mascara. Good bye to the foundation and contouring and the ten types of brushes.

I looked pretty decent, if I do say so myself. I released the curlers from my hair and pinned some curls back. Just as I was spraying them into place, the room's door opened. And in came Axom.

He entered the bathroom and stopped when he saw me and took in the messy array of beauty products and fallen strands of my hair lying on the floor.

I braced myself. "If I look like Joker, just tell me. The salons were full."

Axom cleared his throat and had on a small smile. "No... um... actually, you look great."

Those blue gray eyes were killing me.

I did what every other girl would do.

I blushed.

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Enjoyed that chapter? Phew, I finally updated. In fact, I'm not even @LivingInTheCity anymore. I'm now @pixaresque! That's how long I haven't been updating.

Anyway, hope you liked it! Vote, comment, follow!

- pixaresque