Forbidden Mate

Chapter 3

A/N I got some comments about the time period and stuff, (re read last chapter about the whole 'shipping' thing, it's really funny) I imagine it to be in 1988 or 1989. Young Mate in 2013, Lost Mate in 2016 and Mismatched Mate in like 2021 (but the real story started about 2037)

Miranda

"Ow. Ow. Ow. O-Yeow! That one really hurt!" I screech as Roxana plucks my eyebrows.

"Calma girl! We want you looking fierce for that hunk tonight!"

"What hunk? There is no hunk? There is no guarantee I meet my mate tonight."

"Then you gotta look fierce for all the hot guys that'll be there. I heard a couple Americans and English males are coming!"

"Great, you can entertain them while I'm being entertained with dinner." I remove the tweezers from her hands and rub my sore eyebrows.

"Is your hair almost dry?" She touches random curlers in my hair.

"I think so. I don't feel any more moisture."

"Hmm. Better safe than sorry."

"What's next?" What horrible torture am I destined for?

"Manicure and pedicure. Soak your hands."

Roxane is a very good friend to me, and her talent with beauty is what made my mother assign her as my stylist for big events. Considering I'm only 17, the only big events are holidays. Clearly, Roxane is going full out for my first major social event.

It started this morning, at the crack of dawn. Roxane, insisting on a tight body, jogged 15 miles with me. Or at least 5 miles with me, she stopped around there and said she'd meet me in my room.

Back home, she had a shower waiting for me with a razor to shave, and then a bathtub full of silky scented water. My skin pruned, but quickly went back to normal as I let her brush my thick hair a thousand times. Literally, she kept count, mumbling under her breath.

She trimmed the very tips of my hair and rolled it into thick curlers. Then she convinced me to let her wax my upper lip and my eyebrows. She went back in with the tweezers to perfect them and is now working on polishing my nails.

"Do you want a specific color? Or stick with safe glitter?" Oh god.

"Can't I just get that normal nail?" She raises her eyebrows at me, unsure of what I mean. "The one with the very tips painted white?

"Ohh, French. Sure, but you sure you want to play it safe?"

"Definitely." Play it safe? What the heck does that mean?

"So just let your hands dry; they will pretty fast, but be careful not to let them chip. You know what? I'll just add another top coat, to be safe." I watch her quietly apply more clear coats to my fingers and examine my nails. Simple. Like me.

"Oh god, this is going too slow!" She glances at my alarm clock. It's noon. And I haven't eaten. "We haven't even started on our makeup or your pedicure!"

"My heels tonight are closed, I don't really need a pedicure." I explain.

"They are? Oh, thank god!" She screws the nail polish closed and lifts a black carrying case.

"Then we work on your make up!" Out comes a white towel, and on top, brushes of every size, powders, creams, palettes, tubes, and an assortment of little black rolls.

"Can I go natural?" I all but beg.

"Let me see your dress again." I rush into my closet and unzip my dress from the plastic carrying bag, letting the black fabric and jewels shimmer in the light. (So I went with the dress no one voted for...)