I glance back at Lucy, waiting for her to let out awow, or some other appropriate response to such a beautiful, rare car, but when I meet her eyes, she just asks, “Where are we going?”
A chuckle bubbles out of me, and I realize she’s nervous. About what though? Disobeying Dane? Whatever I’m going to ask of her?
“Get in,” I say, hitting a button on the fob to unlock her door. “And find out.”
Once in the car, I resist the urge to drive fast, which, I’ve discovered, is fun for me but usually scary for the girl in the passenger seat. Instead, I take things easy, cruising along the busy streets. It’s a relatively warm October day, and I have to take advantage of driving this while I can, before the snow comes and the streets are too dangerous for the Spider’s paint job.
When we get to the salon, Lucy gives me a suspicious look.
“It has to do with business,” I say, raising my hands up. “I swear.”
Reluctantly, she relents, and we walk into the salon together. It’s a luxury place with towering ceilings, black and chrome everywhere, photos of stunning, perfect models staring out with serious expressions. They don’t just do hair here—it’s a makeover type place, one that’s been the location for quite a few beast-to-beauty transformation reality TV shows.
Lucy, of course, is not a beast, but I do need her to look a specific way before we leave here. She looks uncertain, clutching her bag to her chest and walking through the place like simply touching something might start racking up her bill.
The third time the receptionist offers Lucy a glass of champagne, I nod, and she relents, saying a small,thank youas she accepts it.
“The stuff you sent over?” the lead stylist asks, breezing into our room and glancing at Lucy, who sits like someone headed to the gallows in her salon chair.
“Yep, that’s the plan. Thanks, Becca—appreciate it.”
She blows me a kiss, snapping a gown over Lucy with precision, “Anything for you, Nico.”
Lucy darts a glance at me, and Becca starts undoing her braids, massaging product into her hair.
“So, Lucy,” I mosey through the words, hoping the casual demeanor will keep her from clamming up. “How was the conference?”
Her eyes dart to me, her cheeks going pink. “It was good. I learned a lot.”
“Did you learn more about Dane over there?”
To her credit, she stays composed, aside from a single, quick swallow. “Yeah. We worked together well, I think.”
“I bet you did.” My words are dripping with meaning, and this time, she shoots me a panicked glance before returning her gaze to herself in the mirror. Becca is working fast, spraying product and rolling massive curlers into her hair. “I’m glad the two of you are getting along, he can be a tough cookie sometimes.”
Lucy lets out a low noise, and I let her have a little peace and quiet as they continue with the makeover. They take her out of the blouse and pants, put her in a creamy, thousand-dollar dress with wide, square panels. Her simple studs are replaced with pearls, and a string of those settles around her neck, too.
By the time Becca and her team are done with Lucy, she looks positively waspy.
“She’s perfect,” I say when Becca asks how they’ve done, and I don’t miss the blush that creeps over Lucy’s cheeks at the compliment. “Grateful to you, as always.”
It’s not until we’re back in my car that Lucy, apparently having kept it bottled up in the salon, bursts from the passenger seat, “What is going on? Why did I need a makeover to look like a freaking Kennedy?”
Laughter snorts out of me as I pull the Spider away from the curb. “Okay—that’s hilarious.”
“Seriously,” she presses, crossing her arms over her chest, which only draws my eye to the beautiful curve of her bicep. This is definitely a woman with a history of caring for her body. “What—why were you asking about Dane?”
I glance at her, raising my eyebrows. While it’s fun to tease her about the whole thing, I don’t want to cross the line into bullying. “Don’t worry, darling. You’re doing a great job.”
Lucy opens her mouth, like she might be about to ask more, or refute that, or press the issue of what happened between her and Dane directly, but then she snaps her mouth shut, apparently deciding silence is the best option.
Too bad for me—and for her. I’ve never been very good at silence.
“So, where exactly is Lancaster?” I ask, watching as her expression shifts slightly. There’s a hint of homesickness there, I note, despite the fact that she came all the way to New York City on a whim.
For the next thirty minutes, as we drive toward Chelsea Piers, I get Lucy to tell me about herself. Growing up in the middle of Nowhere, Missouri, she played several varsity sports. Cheer was her favorite, apparently, and it makes sense to me. Her balance, grace—maybe if she’d done debate, too, she could have polished the awkwardness away.
I learn about her many, many siblings—only one older than her, Mary, who is currently pregnant. Paul, who just started college. The twins, Therese and Thomas, set to graduate from high school this May. Augustus—the brother who looks mostlike Lucy, with his blonde waves and blue eyes, and the baby, Valentine.
