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Chapter Fifteen

Scarlet

Today has been a flurry of excitement and nerves. The gala is finally here. I’ve been unusually happy the past couple days, and I can’t help but think it’s because of my run-in with Cohen.

Everything seems so easy with him. Conversation. Laughter. Even the truth. I invited him to the gala on a whim, and although he wasn’t sure if he could make it, I secretly hope he can.

Knowing Piers would be in, I worked from home Thursday, trying to respect him and give him some space. Give me some space.

I did see him Friday, when he stopped by Underglobe, where I was working with the venue to finalize all the last minute details for the event. He was picking up Willow’s mask—a mask I asked Harrods to deliver as a favor to him.

While doing a walk though, we were never alone and spoke only business. I was much too occupied checking every twinkling light and inspecting each place setting as we sat up well into the night. Turning the Shakespearean exhibit into a magical garden paradise, complete with fairies, was not an easy task, but one well worth it. After one last walk through this morning before leaving it in very capable hands, it’s going to be an enchanting evening.

Now, to transform myself into a belle fit for a ball. Or a princess fit for a dark prince. Maybe even a sexy pirate. I bite back a smile on the ride home, thinking of Cohen.

I find myself doing that a lot lately. Something about him almost makes me believe I could have a happy ending.

Once upon a time, I dreamed I could be a fairy princess, rescued from my tower by a handsome prince. But my tower was a dingy closet and my prince never came.

I learned to save myself…then there was Piers—the closest thing to a prince I ever had, my best friend and first crush, the reason I’ve held on to this crazy ideal that we were meant for each other. I try not to think too much about what is becoming crystal clear to me after all this time. Like Wendy used to say, think happy thoughts.

This week started out so dark, but the clouds have parted, and I hold my breath on the ray of sunlight that has carried me through the past forty-eight hours. I just hope it can carry my through tonight.

#####

Showered, shaved, and moisturized, I feel refreshed. My skin has a slight shimmer to it from the cream I used and the smell of coconut fills the room.

Before slipping into my dress, I blow out my long blonde locks. I should have scheduled a salon blow out, but I already had a nail appointment to polish me up a deep, seductive shade of red. There was no time for the simple luxury of both hair and nails.

Looks like I’ll be playing hair stylist and makeup artist tonight.

The gentle hum of the dryer and warm air is relaxing as I work the locks into smooth curls. My mind wanders, as it does so often these days. I think about a time when my snowy blonde hair was the only thing I had to be proud of—the only thing my mum liked about me.

The smell of smoke invades my nostrils, and I’m transported back in time. My reflection in the mirror fades from one of me drying my long hair, to one of me crying and rubbing my head in shock.

This particular night, Mum was being nice, letting me try on her lipstick while she brushed my hair over and over. My scalp ached from her tugging, but I didn’t complain. I was just glad she was paying attention to me. Tonight was the first night she let me play dress up again. Since last time, when the black got on my face.

I looked pretty, and it made mummy very happy. But not Jasmine. She came home and was so angry. Mum started drinking. They started fighting. Yelling. Screaming. Crying.

I hid in the bathroom, looking at myself in the dirty, cracked mirror. Golden hair, like a princess, fell past my shoulders. My lips as red as the double-decker buses that zoom around town. I tried to escape, drown out the yelling and glass shattering by imagining I was riding on one of those buses.

Jazz found me. “I’m sorry,” she whispered before she held me down in the bathroom. I sobbed while she took rusty scissors to my hair, leaving my long golden locks scattered all over the dirty tile. Our mum beating on the other side of the door, her words slurring as she screamed at my older sister to leave me alone.

“I won’t let you ruin her like you ruined me,” Jazz kept crying.

Clip. Yell.

Snip. Sob.

When mom finally busted through the door, the damage was done, but she crawled on her hands and knees, picking up the locks, crying hysterically. All my pretty hair was gone. All that remained was patches and white fuzz.

I rubbed my hair in disbelief before running to hide in my room, under an old iron bed that held a dirty mattress while mum passed out on the toilet floor, covered in tears and hair. I’m not her special girl anymore.

I was so angry with Jazz. How could she do that to me? My little heart shattered at her betrayal. Hot tears washed down my face, but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t any black on my cheeks and there never would be. Mum will never let me play dress up again.

“I’m sorry, Scarlett.” She walked in and knelt beside the bed. I scooted closer to the wall, hurt and angry.

“I’m only trying to protect you. If she’s ashamed, she won’t take you out. She won’t show you to them. This only buys you time.” She sighed with a heaviness I didn’t understand. Sliding down the wall with a thud, she sat next to the bed. “It’ll grow back. And she’s too stupid to realize most of them don’t care about your hair, or even your face.”