Twenty-nine floors up in the gleaming marble grandeur of the Grand Suite’s enormous powder room overlooking the sun-soaked, late-evening city skyline, the air is lightly scented, fragrant. There I preside, a woman in her boudoir, dolling up for the night, partaking in all that a woman does before a highly-anticipated date. Oh, you know the type. The type that sends delicious shivers up and down your entire body hours leading up to it.
We were back in the suite after a very decadent late-afternoon tea and chocolate buffet ever so tastefully laid out on the panoramic thirty-eighth floor of the hotel, getting ready for the night’s dinner and drinks even higher up on the fifty-seventh floor of another sky-scraping tower. It was a special night, after all, and like all special nights, we wanted to make the very most of it.
I slip my dress on, a classic black number I love. I love how it fits, accentuating all the right areas. My heels are by the door, lounging languorously beside his black leather oxfords, waiting for the night to begin. I tiptoe slightly, leaning over the vast marble counter and look into the crystal clear mirror whilst applying just the slightest bit of gloss onto my lips. I run it ever so lightly over my twin bows, a soft, delicately tinted sheen trailing smoothly behind.
I shift my eyes back to the marble counter as I set my tube of lipgloss down, only to notice him standing by the entrance of the powder room a few feet away from me, his much taller frame leaning against the side of the cold marble wall, looking at me with warm, deep brown eyes, bits of an affectionate smile playing at the corners of his lips.
‘If I could wake up to this every morning — you getting ready. Mm.’
It’s always a beautiful thing to know someone appreciates you as much as you do them.