Page 62 of In the Dark

THE SALON INSIDE PARADISE Grove was all glass and marble and soft lighting that made everyone look like the best version of themselves. It smelled like expensive florals and the chatter from women all around felt inclusive, like I was part of a group I’d always wanted to be in.

My cousins would have loved this place.

I wanted to love it too and enjoy the fact that I was there, but instantly my concerns were the financials, my pride, and my appearance. I didn’t belong in a place like this with my blue-and-blonde hair, my crop top and jeans, and a face pretty much clear of makeup.

Buck up. It’s one time to look the part.

I sank into the chair and stared at my reflection, trying to decide when my life had shifted from survival to spectacle. Or maybe it was both, considering I had to look like the perfect stupid wife for Callahan on our wedding day.

The stylist, Lena, according to her name tag, smiled extra brightly. “So, Mr. Knight told me you’d be coming in. When’s the big day?”

I took a breath and glared at him. “Just two months away.”

“Oh my goodness.” She unwound my hair and pulled it apart, taking in the colors and the length. “Well, we can get this all cleaned up for you.”

I licked my lips and glanced at Callahan. He’d taken the chair near the window and was, of course, sitting there typing away on his laptop already.

“Right. I’m just here to make sure I don’t look like a disaster at my wedding.” I was already trying to figure out the chunk of money this was going to take out of my bank account.

She ran her fingers through my hair, assessing, lifting sections. “Want to keep the blue?”

“Mi tía would say absolutely not,” I blurted without meaning to. Yet, the truth was I could see Perla’s face still after I’d showed her my hair.

“Ah.” Lena rolled her eyes and nodded. “¿Pero es tu wedding, no?” she responded.

“You speak Spanish?” A bit of anxiety at her doing my hair unraveled.

“Si. Y yo también tengo una familia muy controladora. ¿Deberíamos hacer felices a tu marido y a ti en lugar de a ellos?” (And I have an overbearing family too. Should we make your husband and you happy instead of them?)

I glanced at Callahan, who didn’t seem to be paying any attention to us, and I shrugged. From there, I told her, “Quiero la azul.” (I want the blue).

She nodded, and we fell into a conversation all in Spanish about how hard it was to plan a wedding. She told me she’d heard around Paradise Grove that I only had a few months, that it was way too much pressure, that she had contacts if I needed help. We talked about a dress, the absurd guest list, how my aunt was already arguing over details with my cousins like they were battlefield strategists. She was ruthless in how perfect she wanted everything.

“Well, your hair will be fabulous. I promise.” She turned me in my chair so I could see the style in the mirror. The blonde blended with the blue seamlessly, and my hair cascaded down in loose waves. “Le encantara esto.” It meant, “He’ll love this.”

“He won’t care.” I responded back in Spanish without thinking. We’d gotten so deep into the conversation that I forgot to censor myself. “It’s for everyone else. Easy classic style.”

I glanced at Callahan and couldn’t tell if his mouth twitched from what I was saying or because of something on his screen. It had to be the latter, because he didn’t understand Spanish.

Lena laughed softly. “Okay, classic bride. This is definitely soft. Polished for everyone with a bit of blue flare for you.”

She added some more curls, and every now and then, I caught Callahan watching me in the mirror. Not with irritation. But maybe more so curiosity, like he was trying to figure me out.

Or maybe he was just set on listening to me and making sure I was staying in line.

It unnerved me, his presence. It was steady in a way that I wasn’t used to. Men interrupted; my Uncle Paolo was imposing and demanding. The men I dated overcompensated.

He did none of those things. And Lena, she was well aware of him. I saw how her eyes lingered, how many of the women’s eyes lingered as they came in and talked with the other stylists and the lady at the front desk.

I saw a woman with honey-blonde hair beeline to his side to talk.

The pretty and professional Demi.

He murmured something quietly as he stood to hug her, and then he whispered something to her. She burst into laughter on his arm. It was a small interaction, but he didn’t turn to have her greet me, didn’t even look at me as he gave her all his attention.

Lena tugged a little on my hair. When I glanced up at her, she murmured, “No reacciones, chica.” It was a small bit of grace to show an outsider, especially considering I had a feeling she knew our arranged marriage situation, but it showed me a loyalty I wouldn’t take for granted.

Maybe Lena would be a friend in a world where I wouldn’t have many. I mouthed a thank you and kept my eyes on us rather than Callahan.