Grace rustles through her closet and pulls out three dressbags. Hazel takes one look at them and decides this is the hill she wants to die on.
“If you put me in a dress, I’m not above stabbing you,” Hazel growls.
With her hands on her hips, Grace asks, “Why are you against dresses again?”
“Where do I even start? Oh, I know—they’re impractical. How am I supposed to kick someone without flashing my underwear?”
“Then don’t kick someone.”
“Oh, Gracie.” Hazel sighs dramatically and changes tactics. “Okay… if you can find something other than a dress, I swear on Lucifer, I’ll give it a fair shot.”
When Grace starts cackling like a maniac, I know Hazel’s already lost. The wicked glint in my sister’s eyes says she came prepared. She’s got Hazel right where she wants her.
The siren visibly pales when Grace holds up a sleek black jumpsuit with a delicate golden chain cinched at the waist.
Hazel puts on the outfit and immediately starts kicking and stomping to test the fabric’s limits. She even kicks down a vase sitting on a top shelf just to be sure.
When the jumpsuit doesn’t restrict her movements, she reluctantly agrees to wear it. The chain around her waist makes it easier for her to stash a fancy dagger in plain sight, which helps seal the deal.
Grace practically flutters her nonexistent wings when Hazel begrudgingly admits she wouldn’t mind having more outfits like this for when she can’t wear her signature pantsuit and armored corset.
I haven’t seen any of them in their traditional clothes yet, but the way Grace gushes about them has me intrigued.
After taking care of Hazel, Grace turns her attention to my hair, doing her best to be gentle as she brushes through my stubborn waves. She casually suggests cutting them, and it catches me off guard. The way I snap out a sharp“no”is so fast and purely instinctive, it surprises us both.
I feel awful when I see Grace flinch in the vanity mirror. For a second, I think she’ll walk away and never look back, but instead, she acts like my outburst wasn’t a big deal.
“Breathe, Nevaeh. It was just a suggestion. I’m not cutting anything now, just styling.”
I try to apologize for snapping at her, but Grace waves me off. Hazel, on the other hand, keeps tapping her foot impatiently, clearly waiting for an explanation.
Sharky is way too nosy for someone who doesn’t even share her chips with me.
With my sister’s fingers gently combing through my hair and Hazel silently sitting beside me, the words come a little easier.
“Visha loved using my hair against me. This is the first time I don’t have random bald patches from how hard she used to pull on them. I’m so close to finally having an even length. I just… I don’t want to lose it.” My voice trails off at the end.
“No one’s cutting it all, honey. I love your hair. I was only thinking of a little trim to make it healthier and give it a nice shape.”
That doesn’t sound so bad. Not bad at all.
“So, I don’t have to cut much?”
“Nothing more than a couple of inches.”
In the end, I agree. Healthier hair in a better shape sounds too tempting to pass up.
Grace squeals, “We’ll make a whole girls’ day out of it. Face masks, spa, and wine!”
“As long as there’s wine, I’m in.” Hazel smiles at Grace’s excitement.
Maybe a tipsy Hazel will be more willing to spill some merfolk secrets. She loves torturing me with her silence, but one day I’ll get it out of her.
Hazel is next in line to get her hair and makeup done. Grace promises to keep it simple and dusts on a shimmery powder that makes Hazel glow like a light bulb—inthe best way possible.
I stand beside my sister the whole time, quietly observing and trying to memorize every step so I can practice them later.
Before starting on her own makeup, Grace hands me a dress. The fabric is crumpled into a ball, so calling it a dress feels too generous.
