Unapproachable Makeup Novels & Stories

Her sister insisted that she had to look the part of a billionaire heiress. Charlie was allergic to makeup, but her skin didn’t react to brands like Le Mer and Chantecaille, so she ended up with a faint application of lipstick and blush—something she never wore in school. At most, she would wear lip balm and fix her brows.

I’d been smoothing invisible wrinkles when I’d finally noticed that Aaron was smiling down at me. “Nervous?” he’d asked. I’d given him an embarrassed smile and nodded. He’d squeezed my hand. “Don’t be. You look gorgeous and tonight will be fine.” I’d glanced down at the evening gown he’d picked for me. It was a shimmery dark purple with silver embellishments. It was body hugging, floor-length, strapless sweetheart neckline with a thigh high split on both sides. I did look beautiful in it. It gave me curves where I knew I had little to none and gave me a confidence boost that I knew I didn’t even need.

It seemed she had other plans. I took a deep breath, cleared my throat and spoke. "Good morning Ma'am. Welcome to Maya's Cosmetics. How can we help?" I made sure to showcase my set of thirty two teeth with a well-practiced smile. "What is good about this morning?" My breath caught in my throat. Not today. Please. "I'm here about the app. Why would there be features that would put me through stress? Do you think it is right for a lady of my age to come out here because I need beauty products? Why isn't delivery swift and efficient? What do you have to say about this?"

“Sounds like an Ophelia Lane look.” He claps his hands once, beaming. “Perfect!” His makeup team puts together a neutral makeup look, browns and nudes swished about with eyeliner and highlight to pop those cheekbones. We’re an hour in before someone knocks on the dressing room door. Daphne approaches the door and opens it, gasping suddenly. I want to twist in my seat and see what’s wrong, but two women are working on my makeup. “What is it?” I question, worry starting to climb up my throat.

Perplexed, he replied, "That, my love, is my new collection of makeup products. My customer gave me these gifts because she was so moved by my God-given ability to make her late husband appear to be sleeping during his wake. As soon as Ella learned about the new makeup, she rushed over to the counter to see them. She took the makeup out of the paper bag and sniffed each one separately. "Wow, they smell so incredibly nice. Now I know what brand-new makeup smells like." Ella closes her eyes as she savors and inhales the fruity aroma of each cosmetic. "Your old makeup smells like formalin," she added. "Don't worry, dearie. I will be using these babies on you at the next masquerade ball," Bruce

Rhea I spent thirty minutes on my makeup. Thirty minutes blending and contouring and applying colors I’d never bothered with before. The result was subtle, natural enough that it didn’t look like I was trying too hard, but polished enough to make an impact. I wanted to hurt them. Wanted Brandon and Jackson to look at me and feel the same helpless, consuming want that had been eating me alive since this morning. Wanted them to ache with the knowledge that they could look but not touch. Not here. Not with everyone around.

Just that crisp shirt, half unbuttoned, and the effortless kind of authority he carried like a second skin. Together, we looked like something out of a noir film. Like royalty. Or something darker. Something stronger. We were giving Mafia and Corpo — the kind of love that didn’t apologize. That claimed its space. The makeup artist had come to the house earlier in the day, flown in from another city, someone Martha had personally vetted. She gave me a soft but seductive look smoky lids, glowing skin, a rich nude lip that made my smile feel like silk. When I looked in the mirror, I felt like a goddess. Not just because I looked beautiful but because I felt it.

“One more thing, peaches. We need to stop at that Ulta. You need some decent palettes, a little blush, and a couple signature lipsticks. That’s all, I promise.” “That can’t be covered by the discretionary fund.” “My treat. Please?” So we come out of the makeup store with a brown neutral eye palette and a mauve and pink eye palette, a deep raisin, almost black, lipstick and a dark rose-colored neutral lipstick, some incredibly expensive mascara, black, nude, and red nail polishes, and a blush palette, with a set of makeup brushes. “I feel like Pretty Woman,” I tell him when we get in the car, overwhelmed but happy.

My make up look consists of a little dab of foundation, concealer, powder and lip gloss. I take a deep breath before stepping out of the room, downstairs. As soon as I step into the living area, I see the staff regard me with looks of pity. I hold my head high, to conceal the tears forming. I refuse to let Marcello make a fool of me before the world. Granted, the deed is done and we are only left with the option of remedying it.

By the time we were done, the woman standing in front of me looked nothing like the woman who had walked into that shop earlier. And even if it was only for one night, it felt good. Liberating. To feel badass and sexy Even if it was just for a charity event. “Okay, babes,” Anna said later, lining up makeup brushes like a professional artist. “That’s all you need to know about the makeup. Keep it minimal. Your outfit is doing all the talking already, apply it like this, and you’ll be good to go.”