Page 86 of When Worlds Collide
I took a seat at the little vanity in the bedroom, while Jihoon was relegated to the bar stools that ran alongside the breakfast bar in the kitchen. We had one makeup artist each, although they kept running back and forth, consulting in hurried conversations between the bedroom and the kitchen.
Jihoon and I would be wearing masks, so the eye makeup needed to be especially dramatic – apparently. My mask matched my dress and was so elaborate it looked like a movie prop. Possibly it had been, in another life. Jihoon had swiped itfrom an ENT closet, along with the one he’d be wearing – which was far simpler than mine.
My mask was made of fabric entwined with whorls of hammered metal the same shade as my storm cloud dress, delicate crystals outlining the eye holes like glittering liner. It wasn’t heavy, but it was inflexible, and so it had to be woven into my hair with all manner of clips as well as the ribbon tie. I wouldn’t be able to take it off without help, which meant it also wouldn’t fall off of its own volition.
I tried to relax under the expert ministrations of the stylists, which was harder than it sounded. The experience was very alien, and I just tried to be as compliant as possible. Every now and then, I would catch glimpses of the stylists regarding me in a way that wasn’t strictly professional. It was never unkind, but if I was pressed to name the expression, I thought it might have been ‘assessing’. But who could blame them?
One of the most famous artists in Korea – if not the world, currently – was living with some totally unknown foreign girl. That had to be worth a solid scandal or two. But, Jihoon trusted them, so I did, too.
Jihoon’s hair took very little effort, and yet somehow more than I would have expected, considering that when Junsu was done, it looked like a more artful version of how he usually wore it – which was to say; he ran his hands through it a few times and called it a job well done.
For me, my hair was left down. Considering my dress was strapless and left my shoulders bare, this was probably a good thing. Junsu curled it, and kept gushing about how healthy and thick it was. I was secretly glad he was seeing it as it was now, and not that one time at Uni where I’d tried to bleach it using a box kit. It had only recently recovered. Never again.
I had naturally dark hair, maybe a few shades lighter than black, but I opted to highlight it periodically with different shades of brown, usually something with wood in the name. Mahogany, cherry, oak; whatever the stylist suggested.
So, despite looking naturally windswept, yet effortlessly elegant after nearly an hour of Junsu’s dedicated ministrations, my hair was a positive nest of hidden clips and pins and enough hair spray to ignite a jet engine.
When the one makeup stylist was done with Jihoon, she’d come over to join her colleague, and together they prepped, primped, plumped, and painted my face.
I’d seen that a lot of makeup trends in Korea right now emphasised subtly. This was not that.
I had no visible pores and my freckles had disappeared. My lips were a dark, almost brown shade of red and my eyes… I didn’t even know what the terms for it were. I knew eyeliner and mascara, but I had no words for the smoky, sculpted, shadowy artistry that took place on and around my eyelids.
The makeup artists seemed pleased, but in the kind of way that to them, this was a job well done, as opposed to anything extraordinary. I, on the other hand, was in awe, and I expressed this as well as I could with my limited grasp of their language.
At some point during this process, the bedroom door had been closed and Jihoon had been banished, so now only the style team and I occupied the room. The whole thing had taken on an air of expectation, a fizzy sort of atmosphere that turned the speculative expressions of the team into something more conspiratorial, gleeful. It felt like we were sharing a secret, and oddly, I was the secret.
I felt like I was in the Princess Diaries, and… I’d be lying if I hadn’t started to enjoy it.
Junsu carefully placed the mask on my face, and tied it around my head, but managed to so effectively hide the ribbon ties in curls of hair and jewelled clips that it couldn’t be seen.
The next task was to get into the dress and shoes. I was able to pull it on myself, but I asked the makeup artists to help, which they obligingly did, cooing expressively, patting the fabric down and constantly fluffing out the expansive skirt. When at last I stepped into my heels – a pair of peep toe stilettos, I was finally allowed to look in the mirror.
It was most assuredly me, but it was me in a different kind of life. A life that was perhaps a little extraordinary. I wanted to make some kind of smart comment, but at that moment, words failed me. I felt beautiful. I felt like the kind of woman who would be invited to a fancy industry party, and not just because I was on Jihoon’s arm.
Thinking of Jihoon made me turn towards the bedroom door. I wanted to see his face when he saw me in this.
I moved towards the door and peeked out. Jihoon was standing in the living room, his back to me, hands shoved into his pockets of his wine-coloured tuxedo jacket. Behind me, the small team responsible for me looking like the Goddess of the North Wind made cooing sounds and Junsu hushed them.
I walked out of the room, my heels clicking on the wooden floor.
Jihoon turned round.
And froze.
His mouth slackened. His gaze flitted across me in a frantic sweep, like he couldn’t decide where to look first. I obligingly paused.
His eyes eventually moved up to my face, slowly, reverently, like he’d forgotten how to blink. When his eyes met mine, it was like I could feel him; the gentle graze of his fingers trailing up my bare skin, the ghost of his breath on my lips the momentbefore he kissed me, the warmth of his strong body behind mine as I woke up in the morning in the cradle of his arms. It was a surreal experience, but then he cleared his throat, breaking the connection.
“Well?” I swished my skirt a little, for dramatic effect.
“Kaiya-” he cleared his throat, and then tried again, saying something in Korean I couldn’t understand. Behind me, I heard the two women squeal, so I assumed it must have been something good.
I smiled broadly and closed the distance between us, reaching for him automatically. He took my hands, pulling me in close enough that I had to crane my neck to look at him.
“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”
Even after all these months, my heart still squeezed, delight warming me from the inside out.
