“Did you do a live video today?” I ask, my head tilting to the side as I take in her look. “I like these colors on you. They really bring out the blue in your beautiful eyes.”
Her cheeks pinken and she looks down into her plate of spaghetti before she nods.
“Astrid.” My tone makes her eyes meet mine once again, and she knows I want a verbal response. It makes me uneasy to be commanding with her, since Brandon forced her into a life of subordination, but sometimes the Dom in me rears up in subtle ways.
“Yeah, I thought I’d try out the new pallet that just came in. It has these new shades of browns and greens that haven’t been in the previous pallets. Just wanted to play around with it a little,” she explains. “But you don’t want to hear about my silly makeup stuff, do you? I mean, you’re out there doing really important work. My job is—”
“Something you love, goddess.” I finish for her instead of allowing her any more self-deprecation. “It makes you happy, and you’re tremendously talented at it. As I’ve told you time and time again, never put down something that brings you pleasure.” There’s a tense moment of quietness. When I see her relax enough to take a bite of her food, I wait until she swallows to ask her another question. “How long did it take you to achieve this look? It seems more intricate than the last one you did. I see what—” I narrow my eyes and lean closer to count the colors. “—five… six different shadows?” From all my time of getting her to hold an actual conversation, I’ve learned more about makeup than I ever thought a forty-something-year-old straight man should. But I’d learn anything if it were Astrid teaching me, if it got her to talk.
“It’s actually only four, but with the blending and stuff, it gives an ombre appearance,” she replies, closing her eyes and lifting her perfectly manicured brows, pointing to different colors with her fingertip. “The black is called naughty minx, the brown is called melted chocolate syrup, the green is called morning wood, and the beige is called cream pie—” She cuts herself off with a gasp, opening her eyes wide and looking at my face in horror. My nostrils are flared, trying hard not to laugh, when her face flames.
I pull my lips in between my teeth, the hair beneath my bottom lip touching my mustache I bite down so hard, but I’m sure she sees the hilarity in my eyes.
“Who the hell names eyeshadow colors after such dirty shit! No wonder there were so many laughing emojis on my live video! I thought I had like… a booger or something,” she exclaims.
And theeere’s my girl. Every day, it’s the same thing. Tension until she finally relaxes enough for the real Astrid to break through and take over like the Incredible Hulk bursting out of the quiet and timid Bruce Banner.
I finally let go, laughing my ass off as she shakes her head and allows herself to giggle, pressing her fingertips to her lips as her eyes twinkle.
“I’m surprised it took you that long to catch on to the names. You usually never miss an opportunity to throw out a ‘that’s what she said,’” I tell her with a grin.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “Must’ve been too excited to play with all the new colors. Plus, I always get awkward on live videos anyway. It’s weird to talk to yourself out loud, even seeing I have like two or three hundred people watching what I’m doing.”
My eyes widen at that. “Your numbers are up.”
She shakes her head once more. “Just since yesterday. They’re promoting this new pallet like crazy, and then add in the sale and I got like four hundred new followers in my private makeup group on Facebook overnight. That’s why I did the live video. Thought it’d be smart to take advantage.”
“Very smart.” I nod. “You really have a good mind for all this. And so extremely talented. You’re breathtaking without all of it. I tell you that every day. But I look at it as… a form of art. Your makeup is your paint and your face is your canvas. You are an artist.”
She blushes. “I mean, they are called makeup artists. But I was never formally trained. Just watched hours and hours of makeup tutorials on YouTube when I wasn’t allowed to….”
Before she can go to that dark place, where she’ll spend hours unable to come out of the hole inside her mind, in which she’s still trapped inside her California home she lived in with her ex, I speak up, pulling her out of it. “I mean, yours looks just as good if not better than the ones formally trained. But if you really wanted to go to school for it…”