Page 25 of The Honest Affair

Still, as I turned my chin back and forth, examining the way the salon lights reflected off the new shades, I could see he was right. When I’d asked for him to dye it black, Marco had shaken his head and said absolutely not. Blonde I’d always be. But I could still look different.

I nodded. “Point taken. Now, chop it off, please.”

Marco sighed, then, standing behind me, grasped two solid locks of hair on either side of my face and pulled them to my chin. “Really?”

“To here.” I held my hand to my chin, indicating I wanted twelve inches or so gone. “At least.”

“Are you sure? Your long hair, it’s so lovely. Like a pri…”

At my suddenly fierce expression, Marco trailed off. I could tell he wanted to say princess, but didn’t. He had caught my wrath for that particular comment more than once over the years.

“To the chin,” I ordered. “Or else I’ll ask Sara to give me a pixie.”

Marco’s mouth dropped in horror as I gestured to one of the other stylists in the salon whose chair was currently empty. “You wouldn’t! Don’t even joke about such a thing.”

He gathered my wet hair into a ponytail at the base of my neck, pulled it straight, and picked up his scissors. It took only a few moments, but eventually, the tension gave as the blades sliced through the last few strands. Snip, snip.

I smiled genuinely now, enjoying the way the jagged edges of my newly shorn hair bounced around my chin. Gone was the princess, icy or not. In front of me was someone else entirely. I was eager to discover who she was.

* * *

It’s not for him,I tried to tell myself as I fingered yet another red dress in the Oscar de la Renta boutique at Bergdorf’s. I wasn’t attracted to the boldest color in the spectrum simply because a certain devastatingly handsome Italian was planning to attend this little soirée. Or the look on said Italian’s face whenever he saw me in this color. No, no connection at all.

I pulled a short red velvet minidress off the rack and held it up against my body while I looked at one of the mirrors mounted on the walls.

Do you ever wear red?Matthew’s deliciously lazy voice echoed through the back of my mind.

“No,” I told it sharply. “And certainly not for you.”

“N?”

I jumped and opened my eyes to find a familiar face peering at me from the other side of a slender white mannequin. “Caitlyn?”

“My God. I thought I heard you talking to someone, but it wasn’t until you turned around that I really recognized you. That hair!”

She scampered around the other side of the mannequin, revealing a wrinkled shopping bag in one hand and her Birkin in the other.

Reflexively, I touched the edges of my hair. “Oh, yes. I, um, just got it cut.” I looked around, suddenly wishing I had taken Tony up on his offer to accompany me up the escalators. Eric’s chief of security was waiting for me by the concierge desk, where he could watch both entrances. “I—Caitlyn, what are you doing here?”

She glanced at her bag, then back at me. “I—well, shopping, I mean, okay, yes, I have to return something. But please don’t tell anyone.” Her words were a quick stumble, and her embarrassment was palpable. “It’s nothing, really, just an absolutely hideous sweater Kyle’s mother bought me for my birthday, and I absolutely hate it. Since when do you buy off the rack, by the way?”

“Oh, well…” I shrank, suddenly even more uncomfortable. “Given the circumstances, I thought I should try to save a bit of money.”

I could hear Matthew’s snort in the back of my mind. Yes, I was aware of the irony of saying that any shopping on Fifth Avenue characterized saving money. But considering the couture I usually wore to events like these cost sometimes ten or twenty times as much as I would pay here, Bergdorf’s was downright frugal. And it wasn’t as though Eric would want me mingling with his business associates in dime store garbage.

“Eric must give you a nice allowance.” Caitlyn’s voice was just slightly tinged with sourness.

I scowled. “I don’t know if that’s any of your business.”

She held up her hands in surrender, and it was then I noticed a few other things that were off. Her nails were unvarnished, short at the tips instead of long and polished. Her hair, too, was growing out, with her dark roots evident, ends split and dried.

“It was just a comment,” she said. “Everyone knows you’re living with him and…her.”

“I’m staying with Eric and Jane because they asked me to, if you must know. It’s quite nice. She is quite nice.”

I used the same slanted tone Caitlyn had used to refer to Jane. Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed, but she seemed to give up the fight, slumping with a heavy exhale.

“Good for you,” she said quietly. “Good for them.”

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