Holy cow. I settle into luxurious leather. The chauffeur says I can have whatever I want from the built-in bar. I thank him, then whip out my phone and text Yuna.
You said CAR, not limo.
A limo is a type of car.
Okay, can’t argue with that logic. I was expecting an Uber. This is seriously beyond amazing.
All women need to spa in style.
Wow. Thank you.
My pleasure.
I run my hand over the seat. I don’t think my face has been this soft since I was five. Oh, man. What have I gotten myself into? Court told me Yuna’s the daughter of the Hae Min Group’s chairman, but is this what people like her think is “not that much money”?
Is the spa going to be like some misbegotten love child between Versailles and Hollywood? The idea is slightly terrifying. And intimidating.
When I arrive, the place is extremely luxurious—understated elegance and poshness designed to make you feel relaxed and pampered the moment you step inside.
The air is scented with soothing herbs and citrus, and the reception area is wide and airy, with cream-colored stones and tiles. The leather seats are the most beautiful pearly pink I’ve ever seen. Yuna and Ivy wave from a couch. They’re both casually dressed and chatting over what looks like some kind of fruit water.
“I thought you needed a spa buddy,” I blurt out, totally confused, but relieved that Ivy’s here as a buffer in case Yuna’s totally insane.
“I do,” Yuna says with a cheeky grin. “How are you, Pascal?”
“I’m good. Hi, Ivy.”
Ivy smiles. “Hey.”
I sit down gingerly next to Ivy, my butt perched on the edge. I’m still unsure why Yuna needs to have me here, in addition to Ivy. Unless I’m misremembering things, Yuna and Ivy are super-tight besties. “Soul sisters” and all that.
“Okay, so here’s the deal. You have to do the prenatal package and send pictures to my mom,” Yuna says to Ivy. “She’s sent me, like, four thousand texts since last night. Look.” She flips her phone over and shows the screen to us.
And Yuna isn’t exaggerating. Ivy just laughs.
I stare at the screen. “Good lord. How can anyone send that many texts under twenty-four hours?”
“Mom was probably dictating to her team of assistants while getting her feet rubbed.” Yuna makes a face. “She really wants Ivy to take care of herself, since these will be her first ‘grandchildren.’”
“You’re going to get the full treatment, too?” Ivy asks.
“Yes. I need it.”
“I could just use a mani and pedi,” I say.
“Well, that’s a given. I mean, you should do those since you’re here, not that your nails need help,” Yuna says, her tone rapid and slightly bossy, but in a cute way. “But you should get the works. The massage, detox, everything.”
“Um.” My head is rapidly adding up how much all those are going to cost. I was expecting mani-pedi, nothing more. It seems crazy for her to spend this kind of money on me, who is virtually a stranger to her.
“Do it. Yuna’s paying. Actually, Yuna’s mom, probably,” Ivy says with a warm smile.
“But…” How do I say that we aren’t close enough that I feel comfortable letting her pay for God only knows how much.
“Court said you have a big interview tomorrow,” Yuna says. “Massages work better than prayers. I get one every time I have an important event coming up.”
I raise an eyebrow. Every time? Really?
“It’s true,” Ivy says. “When we were studying music at Curtis together, she always got massages before auditions and big concerts.”