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102
PAIGE
My new room back in Misha’s mansion is a little smaller than the gigantic master suite I used to share with him. Which is to say, it’s still big enough to do cartwheels in, and plenty big enough for a tea table where I can entertain guests without worrying about Misha crashing the party.
“I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair,” I say suddenly.
Cyrille and Nikita have both slipped into a comfortable silence, sipping their tea and scrolling on their phones. But they both perk up at my announcement.
“Like a trim?” Cyrille asks.
“Or a full-on makeover?” There is hope in Niki’s eyes. “What were you thinking?”
“I’ve always worn my hair long. I was thinking I’d go for a short, shoulder-length style. Maybe even bangs.”
Cyrille’s eyes widen. “Bangs are… a commitment.”
“I have this amazing hairdresser,” Nikita says. “Her name is Naj and she could get you in really—”
“No, no,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “I was actually thinking I’d do it here. Myself.”
Cyrille looks like she might be in shock, and even Nikita’s enthusiasm seems to wane. “You’re going to cut your own hair?” she asks skeptically.
“I used to do it all the time. I don’t see why I should spend sixty dollars on a haircut that I can do myself.”
Nikita nearly spits out her tea. “You only spentsixty dollarson a haircut?”
The two of them exchange another glance, and I roll my eyes. “Seriously, guys, can you stop with the looks? I’m not unhinged. And I don’t need a one-hundred-dollar haircut. Or whatever it costs!”
My salon was connected to a hairdresser’s college. All of the stylists were students who needed practice. I keep that bit to myself, though; I’m not sure Nikita would survive hearing that information.
I get up from the tea table and go to the bathroom. Nikita and Cyrille trail along, looking highly concerned.
“Most women who cut their own bangs over the bathroom sink tend to be… going through something,” Nikita offers up with as much grace as she can muster.
“Well, Iamgoing through something! I’m trapped back in a loveless marriage and pregnant with two children who are probably going to need therapy before they can walk. That qualifies as ‘something,’ does it not?”
Cyrille and Nikita exchange another look, but this one is different. “Speaking of which, how are things since you’ve been back?” Cyrille asks tentatively. “Have you and Misha talked much?”
I deflate like a popped balloon. “We haven’t talked at all,” I admit. “I mean, he comes to my room every so often to ask me if I’m craving anything, if I want something specific for dinner or whatever. If I’m comfortable. But we haven’t really had a real conversation, except about work.”
“Work?” Cyrille repeats incredulously. “Are you thinking about going back to the office already?”
“Already?” I say with a laugh. “It’s been over two weeks since I moved back and I haven’t stepped foot outside of the house. I’m going to go insane if I’m stuck in here much longer.”
“Bedrest is more important than going to work,” Cyrille advises.
“Which is why work is coming to me. Dr. Mathers cleared me to work from home,” I say, giving my sisters-in-law a victorious smile.
“Is Misha okay with that?” Nikita asks. I don’t know why she bothers asking, since I’m pretty sure she already knows the answer.
“It’s not really his decision; it’s mine.”
“Fair enough.” She sighs. “How are you going to manage working from home, though? Do you have a competent assistant you can trust?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I wanted to hire someone myself, but Misha doesn’t like the idea of random strangers parading through the house. So he told me he’d hire someone for me.”
“Not thrilled about that, are you?” Cyrille points out.
