I sat more upright. “I’m Joanna. It’s nice to meet you.”
She leaned over and cupped my chin in her hands. “You’re such a baby. Are you even old enough to have a broken heart?”
“It’s the diamond microdermabrasion. It took ten layers and ten years off my face.”
She laughed. “Good to know, as that’s my next treatment.” Zosia pulled herself out of the mud pool and used a towel to wipe herself off. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? My soon-to-be ex is off in the Maldives with his new girlfriend, and I’m here working on our relationship. The press has it wrong, you know. I don’t give two shits about the money—the bastard can keep every last cent. What I want is closure. After twenty-nine years of marriage, I think I’m entitled to at least that. Don’t you?”
One of the spa technicians leaned down and whispered, “Ms. Kitt, might I suggest you shower off? Your hair treatment and makeup application start in a half hour.”
I nodded and reached for the towel behind me. “For whatever it’s worth, I do think you’re entitled to at least that,” I said to Zosia.
She smiled and squeezed my arm. “See you later, Joanna.”
I rinsed off and sat down in the stylist’s chair, where he breathed new life into my dull, dry hair, while his assistant taught me how to achieve the most perfect no makeup-makeup look. When he was finished, the stylist reached around the chair and handed me a T-shirt that said, I am currently under construction, thank you for your patience. A large grin broke out across my face.
“There it is, the pièce de résistance,” the makeup artist said. “A smile. You’re a model, right?”
I laughed. “No, I’m only 5’2.”
“Actress, then?”
“I was. A long time ago.”
“I knew it, someone with your bone structure belongs on the stage.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
“Kind nothing. I call ’em like I see ’em. Okay, now for the big reveal. Ready?” The stylist swiveled my chair around, so I faced the floor-to-ceiling mirror. I tilted forward to study my face, hardly recognizing my reflection. Not because I looked different, but because for the first time in weeks, I resembled my former self again. The stylist leaned in so we were cheek to cheek. “See, you don’t need a dramatic haircut or overhaul. Nothing makes a woman more beautiful than the belief she is beautiful.”
Chapter Thirteen
I walked into the hotel’s massive dining room and scanned the space for an empty chair. This was the first time in as long as I could remember that I would be eating a meal completely alone. Usually, I had my phone or book for company, but tonight, I was wholly unarmed. I spotted a seat by the large bay window overlooking the ocean and started walking toward it when I heard my name being shouted from across the room.
Zosia waved her hands around in the air. “Joanna darling, come sit with us.”
I turned my head and immediately recognized the woman sitting across from Zosia at their small table as mega popstar Emmy J. Every week, Emmy J’s face graced the cover of one tabloid or another, her name linked to one famous actor or musician. Her life seemed to be a revolving door of men, never dating any one person for more than a couple of months. Each tragic relationship seemed to give rise to a hit song or album, her fans almost relishing in her heartbreak.
Most recently it was reported she was dating Matthew Ryder, a famous director known for big-budget superhero franchise movies and, according to Us Weekly, she was expecting a proposal from him any day. I had to assume things with their relationship went south, otherwise why would she be at a breakup retreat?
I slid into the seat next to Zosia.
“Joanna, this is Emmy,” she said, pointing to her friend. “Joanna and I met at the spa earlier today.”
I placed my napkin on my lap and tried not to look as intimidated as I felt. In what alternate universe would I be having dinner with Zosia Barry and Emmy J?
Emmy put down her fork and extended her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Joanna.”
I smiled politely. “You too.”
A server came over to our table and passed each of us a menu.
“Good evening, ladies. Can I get you started with a cocktail?”
“I’ll take a rosé,” Zosia said.
Emmy nodded her head. “Oh, that sounds good. I’ll take one too.”
The server turned to me. “How about you?”
I decided I’d take it easy on the drinking while I was at Boot Camp. I tapped on my glass. “I’m good with just water, thank you.”
“This place is soooo much better than rehab,” Emmy said after the server was out of earshot.
I blinked hard.
“She’s kidding,” Zosia said.
“I’m kidding,” Emmy repeated. “Fortunately, men are my only vice. I always seem to pick the wrong ones.”
“Maybe the wrong ones pick you?” I said.
“You know, I never really thought about it like that. Wow, only a few hours into the Boot Camp and already I’m making progress,” Emmy said, winking at me.
The server came back with the wine and set it on the table. “Ladies, may I take your dinner orders?”
I glanced down at the paper menu and read through the list of appetizers. Each one sounded better than the next—market radishes served with local seasoned butters, house-made ricotta with cranberry compote and grilled focaccia bread, roasted kabocha squash toast with fresh burrata and a honey drizzle.
“Our chef offers menus that let the ingredients speak for themselves. He utilizes our vegetable and herb garden in almost every dish and then works with other local farmers and farmers markets to source local produce, cheeses, seafood, and meats.”
Zosia leaned into the table and lowered her voice. “The chef here is supposed to be a huge deal. He trained under Thomas Keller and Dan Barber.”
I was far from a foodie, but I did recognize both of those names as two of the most celebrated farm-to-table chefs in the world. Over our engagement weekend in Napa, Sam managed to get us a reservation at The French Laundry, Thomas Keller’s world-renowned, three-Michelin-starred restaurant, where we had the most incredible meal of my life. I never considered food to be art until I experienced French Laundry’s nine-course tasting menu, famous for not using the same ingredient more than once in any dish.
“I’ll have the roasted squash toast to start and the Bay Scallops as my main,” I said.
“Wonderful,” the server said, collecting the menus.
A few minutes later, Louisa Brier came to the center of the dining hall and tapped her microphone to get the room’s attention.
“I’m so pleased to welcome all of you to the Retreat House Breakup Boot Camp.”
The smattering of applause quickly started dying down as the realization of why we were all gathered together sank in. While the spa was amazing, the food outstanding, and the accommodations top-notch, there wasn’t a single person in that room who wouldn’t have gladly given all of it up in exchange for their heart to be fully intact again.
“Everyone looks refreshed and rejuvenated from their Breakovers and ready to face the next two weeks head-on. I wanted to make a couple of introductions to some of the folks who will be instrumental in your healing. First, the head of our yoga and meditation program, Jillian Davies,” Louisa said, pointing to a table in the front of the room. A super toned redhead in a black body suit and skintight white jeans stood up and gave a quick wave.