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My lips thinned when I realized he was basically trying to do damage control, but I could make it easy on him. I smiled what Hope once called myI don’t care aboutthis smile. My smile couldn’t be real, not when I hurt, but did I even have a right to be hurt? Since I didn’t, but the pain existed anyway, I would give them both the fake smile and be done with them.
“It was so nice to meet you, Sylvie. I’ll leave you and Michael to talk, and maybe I’ll use your hairdryer later. Thanks for the offer.”
I turned and left as Michael addressed me. “You won’t, because she’s leaving with it and anything else she left here.”
I closed the door to my room and stormed over to the mirror. Her assessment of me wasn’t wrong, sadly. I did almost look like I’d been through a war. What seemed so much like me being rumpled from great sex gave off deranged in the glaring light of day and without the magical glaze over the moment. How often did he see her for sex, I wondered? Did it matter? It wasn’t like I was a nun before we got together. At least he liked sex. Before yesterday, I only took lovers because I was dying to feel something, anything.
I ran my hands through my hair. It was so long. The same length as when I’d been a little girl, and it only got that length then because I didn’t like to bother with it. I just let it grow and grow until it was so long, I never had to think about it.
Their voices came through the door, but I ignored what they were saying and instead put on a bra. I tied my hair up, placed shoes on my feet—the same ones I’d been wearing in Russia—and left the room again. With a quick turn, I headed for the front door.
“Bridget, where are you going?” Michael called as I opened the front door. As I suspected, Roy still waited where Michael had left him.
“Out!” I responded. “Roy, is it safe for me to go to town? Is there anyone nearby who might want to kill me? I need to do something and get some things.”
Michael’s friend and employee blinked rapidly before he looked over my shoulder into the house. Finally, he nodded. “Sure. Nothing happening currently.”
“Great. Then please take me to town.” It was my turn to glance over my shoulder. “Enjoy your visit, Michael. Again, great to meet you, Sylvie. Now if anyone asks, you can say you’ve been in the room with all of the Radford girls.”
I closed the door behind me.
* * *
Roy had beennice to me thus far, despite the fact my shopping expedition clearly made him very nervous. He kept looking at his phone. Did I make the wrong choice? I left Michael in the house with a woman he’d obviously slept with—one who’d come, I had to believe, specifically to let me know that she was fucking him first.
I didn’t always speak girl well, but I understood Sylvie perfectly.
“Where would you like to go?” Roy finally asked me when I could see buildings in the distance.
“Is there a hair salon?”
He blinked. “I don’t…know?”
I hoped there was one. I was sick to death of being reminded of how off I was physically, especially compared to the rest of my family. It shouldn’t matter, and I mostly didn’t care. But I could put a stop to it relatively easily, so I was going to do just that.
We found a salon with a tech with availability. She also said I could get waxed, if I wanted that. I might do a manicure and a pedicure, too. I hadn’t decided yet.
“You look familiar.” She was a little older than me. Probably she’d know who Layla was, if she came in, but I was the wrong sister.
“I have that kind of face. Sometimes people think I look like Layla Radford. I think it must be the hair.”
“Oh.” She brightened up. “Yes. You do. That socialite. Sure. What can we do for you today?” Her name was Sunny, and her hair matched the name.I bet no one ever said she looked almost like she’d been through a war and needed a blow dryer.
Why hadn’t Michael said anything? Of course, I hardly gave him the chance to say much. And I also didn’t know what he said when I fled to the bedroom.
Roy stood outside the salon, and I spotted Stephen down the block and across the street. Michael had sent out the whole group to watch over me.He’s nothing, if not thorough.
“Cut it off.”
She nodded, lifting a heavy lock in consideration. “Cut it how short? I can see there’s a curl to it that you don’t see because the length weighs it down. You’re going to have curls, if I cut too much of it off.”
That was perfect. Even if I looked like little orphan Bridget, I wasn’t leaving this salon today letting anyone say that I was a bad version of my sisters ever again. Maybe Layla’s hair waved a little? But I would be my own person, starting with this.
I’m cutting my hair. I texted my sisters. I hadn’t spoken to them in days.It may be a mistake but that’s what I’m doing.
“My shoulders,” I told the hairdresser.
I might live to regret the moment, but it was my mistake to make.
