Resentment

Dinner in Montecito

Neverland Ranch, Santa Monica, CA, 1st Sept 1997

8:00pm

Afia had decided she wanted to smell gorgeous this evening.

She listened, eyes closed, as she sat at her marble vanity, dispersing heavy puffs of her Tom Ford Neroli Portofino.

Almost six hundred dollars a bottle.
Michael had chosen it.
He'd bought nearly all of her perfumes.

She made a face, lifting her head to glance at her reflection.

Light makeup was her decision, with a smokey liner, and a brown lined lip.

Afia rose a brow at herself, pouting at her reflection as she considered what colour to fill her lips in with.

Red or brown?

Brown looked good in flash, red good in low light.
Paparazzi would be there...

Afia settled on a burgundy colour that appealed to both her choices, and placing the expensive perfume down, she opened up her lipstick tube to roll it on.

She hadn't noticed that Michael had stopped pulling a pair of loafers on to watch her intently.

His lips were pursed together, as he tilted his head, to see just how she'd spread it across those plump lips.

It was so elegant, thoughtless, natural.

Michael wondered if she could do it with her eyes closed. She was just that good at making it look easy.

Michael had decided to abandon his red dressing gown, in favour of a black jacket, complete with silver embroidery on the breast and over the arms.

A red armband as per usual.

He'd for some reason, decided he was going to outdo Afia, and had applied a mascara that put his wife's lashes to shame.

Afia stared back at him through the mirror, and wondered if Karen Faye had once again slyly stuck a pair of falsies on him.

Karen fucking Faye.
Probably another reason that Afia's marriage was surely on the rocks.

Michael blinked, and dragged his eyes from his wife's glaring reflection. He began to concentrate once again on his expensive footwear, leaning forward to adjust his socks.

Afia watched him, as he sighed, and then breathed, plucking up the courage to speak.

"Neroli Portofino.." Michael almost squealed, in his pathetic attempt at an Italian accent.

He shook his head immediately after, regretting how terribly it sounded.

Afia rolled her eyes inwardly, and breathed, "Your favourite..." She pressed her lips together again, and continued pouting at her reflection.

Michael nodded slowly, stretching his lips into a straight line, which should of been a smile.

What part of this was normal?
What couple could go from nearly killing one another, to preparing themselves for dinner?