Page 45 of Blood and Beauty (Owned by The Don)

I walk past him and out my front door, eliminating any possibility of ending up naked beneath him once more.

* * *

We ended up at some high-end salon in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. The chandeliers are crystal and I’m pretty sure the sinks are porcelain. In other words, I am completely out of my element once again. Dante saunters in like Greek God and I follow suit like the frumpy maid. I protested the whole time, but of course he always has the upper hand.

A woman greets us once I’m seated in a salon chair. She is tall and blonde and everything I’m not. Dressed in a tight, black power suit that accentuates her every curve and gives an eyeful of ample cleavage. She’s a supermodel and talking to Dante in a low, flirtatious voice as he tells her I need both a cut and color for today.

She giggles at him, twirling her perfect blonde curls and eyeing him up and down. I feel a wave of jealousy crash against me like a hurricane and I hate it. There should be no reason for me to be jealous, we’re nothing to each other but two people out for the same man. We’ve just happened to fuck a couple of times.

Dante mutters something to her that I can’t hear, and it makes the hairdresser laugh an all-out girlish laugh, her hand touching his bicep while she does it. I begin to grow impatient and speak over them.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’re in kind of a time crunch. I’d like to go over styling options while he goes elsewhere.” I try to hide the bite in my voice, but it’s unmistakable. The woman gives me a glare and Dante holds his hands up in surrender, backing away to go sit in the lounge.

She brushes my hair, and we go over the possible color options. The color swatches vary from shades of brown to blonde, with a wonderful array of copper in between. I don’t see the point in dying my hair, I’ve told him the entire way here that I could just wear hats, but it was an argument that I lost easily. I sigh and flip through the swatches, my eyes finally landing on the most beautiful shade of red that I’ve ever seen.

It was a dark, coppery red and it drew me in instantly. It almost resembled a dark amber color, immediately reminding me of Dante’s eyes when his pupils are dilated. My eyes are glued to it for minutes, and the hairdresser eventually speaks up. Her voice is even and not filled with bitterness like it was five minutes ago. I am a sale, after all.

“I think that would look great on you. It’ll be easy to lift your natural hair to that pigment as well.”

I take a few minutes longer and finally agree to it, and the hairdresser mixes chemicals in a bowl right after. While she paints the red goop onto my hair, I eye her through the mirror. A name tag rests on her right breast and readsDahlia.Even her name is perfect. I close my eyes in surrender and let the hour pass as she paints and snips at my hair.

Once she is done blow drying and putting my hair in place, I allow my eyes to open. I really want to hate this woman, but she really is a magician for hair. Feathered and voluminous bangs line my forehead. They taper down in long, silk layers that stop at the top of my breast. Every strand is perfectly curled and in place.

The color is what really draws my attention. I’ve never dyed my hair before or imagined it any color other than my natural dark brown, but this makes me look magnetic. The dark amber brings out the green of my eyes and my golden skin tone. I can’t help but get lost in my own reflection, and it makes Dahlia laugh behind me.

“Like it?” she asks. Before I can answer her, Dante approaches, stopping right behind me, his eyes fixed on me in the mirror. I suddenly feel nervous, wondering if he likes it too. Which is the most ridiculous thought I’ve had in a while. I actually care to know what he thinks.

“A wonderful job per usual, Dahlia. Thank you, you can run my card on file and tip yourself nicely.” She nods at him, her smile still flirtatious. She leaves us to run the bill, his eyes never leaving mine in the mirror.

“Do you take most women here to get their hair done?” I hate that I’m hoping his answer is no. He’s silent for a while, his eyes traveling from mine to my hair.

“Just the one that disobeys me.” He walks away and I smile to myself.

He likes it.

19

Esmeralda

We leavethe salon and hop into Sergio’s SUV.

It is similar to the one he drove me in once before, but this one had windows you could actually see out of. The ride is quiet, but short. Within a few minutes we’re stopped at a store that is the size of my entire apartment building. It is filled with large windows and expensive dresses in the displays. Dante follows me inside and I gaze in wonder.

So many shelves of designer shoes and clothes are before me. This is Ricky’s heaven, I’m sure of it. I let myself become mesmerized instead of intimidated. I don’t have the energy to fight Dante on this anyway. A woman that looks to be in her mid-fifties walks toward us, jewelry dripping from her wrists and neck. Her smile is warm, and I feel more comfortable here than I was at the last place.

“Dante, it’s a pleasure to see you. I have that custom tux you ordered on its way for pick up. What brings you in today?”

He pulls out a platinum card and hands it to her, and my eyes widened at the sight.

“This is Esmeralda, Marianne. She’s going to need a new wardrobe to order today. I trust that if anything she wants is not in her size, you’ll have it ordered right away.”

She nods at him, turning to me and offering me another warm smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Esmeralda. Please, make yourself at home while I prepare a dressing area for you.”

There’s an entire area? Not just a room? What is this life of mine now?

She starts to walk away, but Dante’s voice stops her halfway through.

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