Page 68 of Sinful Escape

I glanced at my watch. I’d completed my mission in record time and still had nearly two hours before I was due to meet Roman. I made a beeline for the exit but stopped at the sight of a hair salon with a big gold Oscar & Oskar sign out the front.

It’s been eleven months since I’d had a haircut. I ran my fingers through my damp curls and on impulse headed into the salon.

“Bonjour, pouvez-vous me faire une coupe de cheveux ?.” Just in case my French wasn’t correct, I demonstrated hair-cutting with my fingers.

Within seconds, I was in a chair, and a young woman with luxurious straight black hair was fussing over me. Thank God, her English was excellent. I explained that I just needed a trim, and as my hair was still damp, there was no need to wash it again. With a serious expression and working the scissors at a frightening pace, she snipped away, asking question after question without a pause between my responses. She was so quick my hair trim was done within fifteen minutes.

“Would you like me to style it for you?” Isabella’s eager expression made her seem even younger.

“Ummm.” I had no idea what she had in mind, but banking on my recent adventurous streak, I said, “Okay, if you want to.”

“I’d love to. Your hair is so healthy; you obviously look after it.”

“Oh.” I blinked at her, confused. “Thank you.” If she was being sarcastic, she concealed it very well. The only hair products I used were shampoo and conditioner, and even those were the cheapest ones I could find.

With a giant glob of clear liquid squished through my hair, she made a side part and manipulated the bulk of my hair into a loose braid that started at my left temple and finished below my right ear. It was obvious she loved her job; she oohed and aahed through the whole process.

The braid kept the curls in check, and the hair that remained loose below the braid sat on my right shoulder and looked like intricate curls rather than my usual frizzy mess. With my jaw ajar, and my eyes hardly able to believe the result, I turned from side to side, admiring what Isabella had done. “Wow! That looks amazing.”

“You like it?” Beaming, she held a mirror so I could see the back.

“It’s fabulous.”

“I hope you’re going somewhere special tonight.”

“Yes, actually. I’m going to the Monte Carlo casino.”

She gasped and her delicate hand touched her chest. “Oh, I’d love to go there one day. Say, would you like me to do your makeup?”

I’d never had anyone do my makeup before, but after the miracle she’d performed on my hair, I agreed.

She spun me around, so I faced away from the mirror. That made me nervous.

Isabella was as delicate as she was assertive, applying liquids and powders with a variety of brushes. Mascara was applied three times, making my lashes feel heavy.

When she finally spun me back to the mirror. I gasped. “Oh my. Wow! My freckles are gone.”

My skin looked ivory. Flawless. The layers of green eyeshadow were subtle, yet they enhanced my green irises incredibly. Pierre’s comment about a woman hiding beneath a makeup façade echoed into my mind. Was I hiding the real me? Yes. But I couldn’t deny I liked what I saw.

When I finally stopped ogling and stood, Isabella opened her arms and wrapped me in an embrace. It was pleasant and unexpected yet seemed genuine. It was one of the things I missed the most about William. His hugs were special, like the two of us were as one, solving all the problems of the world. Boy, did he have me fooled.

Slapping that thought away, I squeezed Isabella to my breasts. “Thank you.”

“You look beautiful. I hope you have an amazing night.”

“I will.”

I left the salon feeling like a new woman. I had a skip in my step and for some inexplicable reason, I felt taller. I couldn’t wait to see Roman’s reaction when he saw me.

What was I thinking? By the time I saw Roman at the casino, he’d probably be surrounded by beautiful women, drooling for his attention. I’d be barely a blip on his radar.

Now I really hope I get his attention.

Jesus, I have totally lost the plot.

Adjusting my backpack on my shoulder highlighted another problem. My backpack was the pride and joy of my accessory collection. But it wouldn’t do for tonight. Not with my sexy new dress and stylish shoes. I needed a cute handbag to carry my passport and cash.

There were nearly as many accessory stores as there were shoe stores in Fontvieille. I went into the first shop I came across. My dress was black with a long gold zipper down the front and my shoes were nude. With that combination, I had absolutely no clue as to what color my bag should be.

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