“Actually, now that I think about it, there’s a strong case for Robyn chopping her hair. She’s in the middle of a whole self-discovery arc. I could wear a wig for the first few scenes—it would make sense.”
He smiles at me. “The most important thing is that you’re happy.”
“I am. The other great part is nobody knows we’re back on set and filming this week. As long as the crew keeps things under wraps, I can probably hide my hair for a bit. They haven’t leaked anything from last week, so I think they’re trustworthy.”
“We could just have you wear a beanie until Amara’s intro speech tomorrow. Mornings are getting colder anyway.”
I like the fact that he’s looking for solutions.
“Oh my heavens, I can’t wait to feel the cold air on my head. And this is going to take so little shampoo to wash.” My heart drops. “What if Diamond Essence hates it? I’ve been with them for ten years.” I pause, shaking my head. “That would be silly, right? Short-haired people wash their hair too. I’m sure Heather can handle it!”
Does he know how much he’s helped me understand that I crave control? I’m calling the shots to make this movie successful—my idea, my choice, my rules.
“I like watching your mind at work,” Dante says.
“I’m excited.” Energy radiates from my body, making me feel like I could probably lift a car. “Everything feels like it makes sense.”
“You know what else makes sense?” he says softly. “How right this feels.”
My heart palpitates. “The haircut?”
“Everything about—” He clears his throat. “Everything about this new look. It suits you perfectly.”
“Tilt your head forward,” he murmurs, one hand cupping my chin to guide me. His thumb brushes against my jaw, and I let go. I close my eyes, surrendering to his steady hands grazing my scalp, the quiet brush of his shoulder against mine as he checks his work, the faint rasp of his voice that tickles my neck when he murmurs instructions.
The rest of the world fades away until there’s only this—the quiet rhythm of his movements, the tender way he turns my head this way and that.
It feels like trust.
We’ve only known each other for two months. I’ve played every role in every rom-com script: slow burn, enemies to lovers, and the insta-love couple. The last was always the hardest heroine to play. I’ve spent countless hours wondering how anyone could feel so strongly about someone in an instant. But maybe it’s not the amount of time that matters.
Maybe it’s just the person.
“I don’t regret it,” I whisper. “Any of it.”
“Good.”
When he runs the clippers up the nape of my neck, the vibration tingles down my spine. I bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.
“Almost done,” he says.
A few more careful snips, his fingers ghosting along my hairline, and then he’s combing his hands through the finished cut, styling it. Each touch feels like he’s rewiring something essential inside me. When his knuckles graze my cheek, I melt into the contact without meaning to, earning a low chuckle thatmakes my toes curl. My heart might burst from all the things we’re not saying, but that makes it more perfect.
Dante steps back, and my stomach lurches with anticipation. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, holding something unspoken that makes my chest tight.
“There.” He nods, voice low and measured in a way that makes me feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something vast. “You look…” He pauses, and his jaw works, like he’s wrestling with words too heavy to say out loud. “Devastating, actually.”
The once-chaotic mess is now a soft, tousled pixie cut that frames my face in ways I never knew hair could. It’s shorter than I’ve ever worn, exposing the vulnerable curve of my neck.
I feel naked, seen, terrified, and thrilled all at once. My trembling fingers reach up to touch it. Dante watches me in the mirror with an intensity that makes it feel like I’m invincible.
Before I can process what’s happening, he dips down, running the clippers along the side of his head.
“What are you doing?” I blurt.
He doesn’t answer, just keeps methodically getting rid of those divine curls I’ve spent embarrassing amounts of time daydreaming about sifting my fingers through. The back of his head is clean now, deliberately reminiscent of my hair. The parallel makes my throat tight.
“Now…” He grins, putting our faces side by side in the mirror. “We match.”
