“Trixie thinks a girls’ spa day is in order, so I’m not really sure what constitutes a sexy spa outfit,” Margaret says with a giggle.
I am actually starting to feel a teensy bit better with these two fussing over me. It’s comforting to know I have people I can count on.
Back in my room, Beatrix has a pair of multicolored harem pants with mandala patterns and a chunky black sweater laid out on my bed.
“Loose and flowy is best for spa days,” she announces as she helps me dress.
Soon enough, they have me out the door and into Margaret’s Mercedes crossover. I still don’t know why she needs something this big, especially in these narrow streets. We listen to upbeat femme rock on the drive because Beatrix says I need to reclaim my bad-a side.
The spa is well outside the city, getting into the pastureland surrounding the suburbs. The air out here is fresh and clean. This must be some spa to have valetservice, and right as I’m about to stress over the cost, both women link their arms through mine, and Beatrix leans in.
“This is our treat today, Aurelia. We are going to be pampered and spoiled, and you aren’t going to worry about anything other than finding your spark again.”
She boops me on the nose, and we all giggle as we step into a world of aromatherapy, trickling fountains, and soothing music. It’s quiet in here, but not that oppressive quiet that makes you feel suffocated. It’s quiet, like a walk in the woods or an old library.
The receptionist recognizes Beatrix immediately and fumbles through a curtsy. “We have a private suite all ready for Your Highness and guests,” she says breathlessly.
I wonder if she’s new because it seems that Beatrix is a frequent visitor, but this girl is acting like she’s never catered to someone like the princess before. She leads us to a bathroom-slash-locker room that’s comfortably warm and smells like sandalwood. The attendant shows us around the area, pointing out robes and slippers for each of us, hangers and lockers for our things once we’re changed, showers for later, explaining the order of rooms through the door on the opposite side of the way we came in. I give her a friendly smile as she bows again, blushing a bit.
Margaret and Beatrix chatter about services and the schedule for the day while I peruse bottles of expensive handmade lotions and other skincare products. Theprincess takes my arm again and leads me along in our plush robes through to the service area.
“After what we have planned for today, you won’t need any of those, I promise.”
I guess these two helping me shower earlier was a prelude to the rest of the day because the three of us have been sparsely clothed or often totally nude all day.
Our first stop after another quick shower was the steam room, where Beatrix insisted we bring just a towel to sit on. She assured me the area was completely private, and it’s only us in this part of the spa. Apparently, this place caters to people like her and Margaret, and has quite the handle on managing privacy and security for total relaxation.
We down a couple bottles of water while we walk to the next room for a full body wrap. We giggled and chatted while we were coated in mud and wrapped in shiny blankets, all while floating on a kind of waterbed. By the time the spa therapists were done, Margaret was drifting off to sleep, and I wasn’t far behind. Those forty-five minutes were the best sleep I’ve had in a while. The thermal blanket was like being wrapped in a warm hug, and the gentle roll of the hydrobed rocked me like a baby.
Another quick shower, and it’s time for massages. I’m feeling more and more comfortable in my nudity as the day goes on. Now I’m lying on a table with myfriends on either side while three men work our bodies like potters’ clay. Warmed oils, hot stones, and panpipe music lull my mind to a dopamine-fueled haze. No one speaks, but somehow my guy knows exactly where I need the most work and just how to press without hurting me.
I’m not ashamed to sneak a few glances at the Spanish hunk with the magic hands and immaculately chiseled jaw. Not too long ago, I would have been mortified to allow a man to see me in such a state of undress. This new me is perfectly content to allow him to rub his hands all over me. I try to push away the Friedrich-sized ache settling in my chest as he works my thighs, gripping and rolling and kneading, reminding me of the way the prince would grasp my legs when he went down on me.
The masseuse begins on my glutes, and while it feels rather intimate, the soreness that’s settled into my legs and bum from my punishing runs is slowly ebbing away with the perfect pressure of his ministrations.
We’re stumbling messes as we slip back into our robes and go for our last treatment, facials. Beatrix insists we’re never too young to start on anti-aging treatments, even if I am a solid nine years younger than her.
I’ve felt so wonderful all day, pampered and cared for, and the general atmosphere of the whole place has me at utter peace. I’ve barely thought about Friedrich all afternoon. I recline in a heated leather chair as the specialist uses various scrubs and creams on my face.My mind and body are completely relaxed. As she massages my temples, a sudden tidal wave of emotion breaks down the walls I put up around the prince’s spot in my mind. Everything I haven’t allowed myself to feel since I watched him disappear in the rearview mirror floods me, and I can’t keep the tears at bay any longer.
