Her nose wrinkled slightly. "Oh... really?"
A spark of irritation jumped up inside me at her tone.
"Yes," I said carefully.
She tilted her head, examining me like she was mentally styling me. "I actually think it would look better if you wore a wig."
The room went quiet.
Maria's head slowly turned toward Christina.
I blinked once.
Twice.
Now, normally, that suggestion wouldn't bother me.
I wore wigs all the time.
Being a Black woman with kinky hair meant wigs were practically a lifestyle accessory. Protective styles, convenience, versatility—I had an entire collection.
But something about the way Christina said it...
Maybe it was the tone.
Maybe it was the slight wrinkle of her nose.
Or maybe it was the fact that the suggestion was coming from a Caucasian woman with bone-straight hair who had probably never had to think about protective styling a day in her life. Whatever it was, irritation prickled along my spine.
"I like my hair in a bun," I said calmly.
She waved a hand again. "But imagine a long straight wig with this dress," she insisted. "It would look so elegant."
Maria spoke before I could. "A sleek bun is also elegant."
Christina smiled tightly. "I'm just making a suggestion."
I took a slow breath. Did I want to argue about hair tonight? No. Did I want to make things uncomfortable? Also no. Especially not when this whole situation existed because of Callahan.
Or Cal.
Or... Han?
Hannie?
God.
I really needed to pick a nickname for him.
I sighed.
"Fine," I said. "I'll wear a wig."
Christina clapped happily. "Perfect!"
Maria looked like she wanted to throw something.
The rest of the evening passed with slightly less commentary on my body, though Christina still insisted on discussing accessories, makeup, and shoes as if we were preparing for a royal gala rather than a birthday dinner.
