Intertwined
Inside, I was ushered into a sanctuary of muted lighting, gleaming mirrors, and glass shelves lined with pristine bottles.
“Mr. Ricci.” The salon director herself appeared, bowing her head slightly. “We’re ready for her.”
Renzo leaned down, brushing his lips against my temple. “Enjoy. I’ll be waiting.”
The spa itself felt like stepping into another world: archways softened with pale cream curtains, the air perfumed with lavender and eucalyptus. The moment i walked in, attendants seemed to orbit around me, their voices hushed, their movements precise.
I lost track of time as warm stone, soft oils, and whispered reassurances carried me somewhere blissfully distant.
Bab Populer