Page 27 of Torrid Love
“Well, it’s her loss. You’re my golden child,” Isobel says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I roll my eyes into the phone even though she can’t see me. “I’m sure you’ll change your tune once you and Rory start having babies of your own. Speaking of which…”
She lets out a long sigh. “We’re still trying.”
“It’ll happen.”
“I’m doing my best to be patient and remain optimistic. Some days I manage better than others, but it’s frustrating and disappointing.”
“Itwillhappen,” I repeat.
“I hope so. I’m ready,” she sighs again. “By the way, love the new look,” she changes the subject. “I couldn’t remember what you looked like as a blonde.”
“I thought maybe the shock of going from jet-black back to being a blonde again would help get a slight wave in my hair from the over-processing, but no, my hair is still straight as an arrow. I know I’ve said it before, but I have hair-envy every time I see you.”
“Trust me, this hair can be a curse. When I’m in Miami, I’m reminded that being mixed race can be a liability when you’re dealing with that much humidity. If I don’t pull it back tight and gel the hell out of this mass of curls, I look positively crazy,” she laughs.
“Right.”
“I do,” she insists.
She’s lying.
Isobel’s mom is one hundred percent Californian going back God knows how many generations. She’s a stunning blonde with blue eyes. Her dad is as Brit as they come. He’s a really handsome black man from London. What a mix. As a result, she has perfect hair. It’s bouncy and full of volume. Nothing like mine. And she’s absolutely gorgeous. Her most attractive feature is undoubtedly her confidence. Her beauty transcends her looks. She’s never needed the approval of anyone. I admire that about her.
“Says the always put together beauty queen.”
“You’re too kind.” She pauses. “I’m glad you’re willing to embrace your natural hair color again. It’s been so long. Too long.”
My heart jumps into my throat. The pain is still there—the constant companion I can’t seem to shake off. It’s so palatable, for a few agonizing seconds, the memory robs me of my speech.
“Hey, it’s over. It’s the here and now. You’re safe,” Isobel says.
“I know,” I croak.
“The change is good,” she says.
“It was time. I was tired of hating my natural hair color.”
“Honey, I’m sorry the trauma still weighs on you––”
“It will always haunt me––ingrained in my DNA like a program I can’t rewire.”
“But at least you’re not allowing that painful episode to shackle you forever. After all, your hair color had nothing to do with what happened to you, Dom. Your hair could’ve been blue––or all the colors of the rainbow––and it would’ve been enough to trigger the monster.”
I shudder at the terrifying memory.
She’s repeated this many times throughout the years. Sometimes I believe her. Most times, I don’t.
“I hear you. I’m stronger now. That’s why I’m taking control back.”
“Well said, honey. Don’t ever let the pig win.”
“Enough about my shitty past. I want to hear all about the latest rights you’ve acquired at UTV.com for new programming you’ll end up turning into blockbusters.”
CHAPTER 7
Roderick
