Page 23 of Fragile Twisted Vows

“I’m Gabriella. I’m going to be your stylist for today,” she says warmly before looking up at Bruno who bends down to plant a very passionate and seductive kiss on her lips.

I back away instantly, feeling both embarrassed and invasive.

“Enough with you!” She giggles as she swats his chest and playfully pushes him away.

“I’ve got work to do,” she says as she winks at me and pulls me over to the chair near the fancy looking hair drying stations and hair color wall.

I can’t help but wonder what a relationship like that must feel like. One with both passion and play, one with complete adoration. I haven’t really had the best examples of relationships except for Jenni and her soon to be husband. My parents weren’t really much of an example and clearly Damien and Megan both hated each other.

Damien…

God, I’m going to marry my sister’s ex-husband and I’ve never even really had a boyfriend before. I’ve had one kiss and that was in grade school. A boy felt me up my freshman year during a game of seven minutes in heaven at my friend’s birthday party and that was it until…that night I try to forget.

The night that Damien refuses to address.

“So, what are we wanting?” Gabriella asks as she throws the salon cover over me and pulls my long, messy hair from its bun.

It’s down to my butt now. I can’t remember the last time I had it cut. My mom never really took me to the stylist. Just wanted me to keep it brushed, braided, well-kept and out of my face. Mutable, palatable, hidden. While my sister got to have the sleekest bobs and most expensive manicures. In fact, the women in my family all have really short hair. It’s why I’ve liked mine long. They’ve always been for the old, sophisticated money look while I prefer messy buns.

“Highlights would be nice,” I say, always wanting lighter hair since I’ve been surrounded by dark brunettes while mine has been this light, mousy color.

“That would be pretty. We can always do a balayage,” she says and I frown at her.

“What’s that?” I ask but she’s already pulling out her phone and showing me the most gorgeous, wavy chest length brown and blond ombre style.

I nod instantly.

“Yeah, that. Exactly that,” I say and she chuckles at me.

“So simple and easy to please. I like you already,” she says as she brushes my long, matted hair out.

At least someone does.

“I’m gonna go mix the colors in the back. Do you want some coffee while you wait?”

“Yes, please,” I say as she smiles and nods.

Before she walks away, she opens a drawer to her station and hands me a large sized, cherry red bag that looks like a designer’s makeup traveler case.

“Bruno mentioned you guys would be getting some…new attire today. I just figured that a man wouldn’t know how to get you the right makeup or hair care, so I’ve packed some essentials from Mac as well as a curling iron, straightener and product. I’ll show you how I use it and everything. I gave you the same palette I’m using now too, so if you want any tips or tricks with it, I’d be happy to share,” she says with warm, kind eyes.

For the first time, I feel genuinely seen. This woman, who I don’t even know, just gave me something I’ve never had the guts to ask my own mother for. Everything has always been handed to me with heavy instructions on how to use it.

I’ve never…had this before and it’s overwhelming honestly.

I try to hold back my tears as I smile tightly and say, “Thank you,” as she nods and turns to walk away.

I allow myself to sit quietly in the chair, peace finally finding me as I sniff back the tears that threatened to fall.

But it doesn’t stay long. Because I find my reflection in the mirror before me and when I look into the eyes of the mousy, brown-haired girl in the mirror, I realize that already, she looks different.

Already, she is different.

eight

Damien

“She signed all of the paperwork and submitted it at seven sharp last night. I filed it at the courthouse today. Everything is finalized,” Adrian says as I lean back in the boardroom chair, gazing out of the window at the city as I circle the rim of my coffee mug on the conference table.

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