She has a mud mask on her face and her hair up in rollers the size of soup cans. I don’t expect anyone to be checking under my skirt.” I glare at my stepmother, who is already partway through her own exhausting preparations for the night ahead. “It’s an engagement party,” I tell Daniela. The fighting starts immediately when I demand to know why they’re waxing my bikini line. They come into my bedroom at three o’clock in the afternoon and spend the next four hours scrubbing, exfoliating, waxing, moisturizing, painting, and primping every square inch of my body. My stepmother Daniela sends her team of specialists to ensure that I’m in peak form, so Rocco and his family can be sure they’re getting their money’s worth. I’ve never been less excited to celebrate something.
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