I climb out of the back seat and walk to the trunk, but the driver waves me off. I start up the stairs, but before I can reach the front door, it opens.
“Hey, Harold,” I say as I push a strand of my now short hair out of my eyes.
We stopped by a salon, and I got a big chop. Viktor always wanted my hair to be long and feminine. Since this is my chance at freedom, I decided my closet makeover could include a me makeover.
I bought new makeup in darker colors. I contemplated darkening my hair, but I have ????’s hair, and it makes me feel connected to her. So, I chopped it into a bob that ends at my chin.
I fucking love it.
I feel like a new woman. A badass woman. But I haven’t gotten used to it falling into my eyes yet.
“Not Harold,” a deep voice purrs.
I pause halfway through the doorway and turn to face my husband.
But instead of meeting my gaze, his eyes roam over me. I hold my breath.
Viktor would have a heart attack if he saw me now. Not only is my hair short and my lips a deep burgundy, but I’m wearing black leggings and a matching black athletic jacket. I’ve fallen in love with the dark color. And I love pants so much that I’m not sure I’ll ever wear a dress again.
Dominic’s throat bobs as he swallows harshly. His eyes widen the further they roam, and by the time they’re back to mine, his cheeks are tinted pink.
“Katerina,” his voice comes out hoarse. He clears his throat then shakes his head. “You look different.”
I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. Instead of letting myself go crazy wondering the meaning, I hold up a hand to pause us.
“Good or bad different?” I demand answers. My makeover gives me even more confidence.
“You finally look as fiery and sexy on the outside as you are on the inside. You’re not a porcelain doll anymore.” He grins as he says it, and I can see the spark in his eyes.
“I was never a porcelain doll,” I counter, because fuck it, I wasn’t.
“I’m starting to believe that,” he muses with a grin.
“So, you’ll stop calling me doll?” I’m so done with that nickname.
“Will you stop reacting when I do?” My answering scowl betrays me, and he chuckles.
I humph and walk past him through the door.
I call out behind me, “There are many more bags in the trunk. Why don’t you go give the boys a hand and deliver them to my room?”
“Not a chance, tiger. They’ll be going inourcloset inourroom. I made space for you today.” The challenge in his voice is evident.
I don’t turn to face him, needing to hide my smirk. I don’t mind ‘tiger.’ And I’m not foolish enough to actually believe the clothes would actually end up in the other bedroom.
“You haven’t seen how many clothes I bought. It might not all fit in your closet.” His closet is huge. They will all fit. But I wouldn’t be his tiger if I didn’t fight back.
“Oh, it’ll fit, tiger. You just have to want it enough.”
I throw my head back and laugh at his poor innuendo.
I feel free.
And happy.
It’s such a foreign feeling.
If this is the start to my new life, then I don’t ever want to go back.
