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Felicia snags a glass and I cast her a significant look. I still remember what happened that first night at Havoc House when she ended up on a table downing shots of Havoc Delight until I saved her.
“Careful with those,” I caution. “We’re going to be here all day.”
“I’m not that much of a lightweight anymore,” she assures me with a small smile. “Plus, I’ll be sitting down.”
The attendant leads us into an airy room at the back of the salon that’s obviously meant for private events. A few manicure and pedicure stations are set up on one side with a bay of salon chairs facing a mirrored wall on the other side. The window faces the street but is covered in a satiny sheen that probably blocks the view from outside.
Maisie and Serena are already sitting in stylists’ chairs, hair wet as they wait to be blow-dried. They both reluctantly greet Anya, but barely acknowledge that Felicia and I are standing there.
“The massages here are amazing. I feel like a new woman” Olivia comes out from behind a curtain, dressed in a thick robe. Her gaze immediately moves to where we’re standing in the doorway. She raises an eyebrow, lips pursed in obvious displeasure. “Oh, you guys made it.”
“Thanks again for the invite,” Anya replies cheerfully, acting willfully oblivious to the total lack of welcome in Olivia’s tone. “A massage sounds amazing. Is it Swedish?”
“Hot stone. But I don’t know if there will be time to fit everyone in.” She looks at me like I’m a stranger before turning back to Anya with a tight smile. “We only made a reservation for four.”
I take a swig from my champagne because it’s the only thing that will give me strength. “Not a problem. I’m not a fan of being touched by strangers. Enjoy.”
Anya disappears behind the curtain while Olivia brushes past us to take a seat in the last stylist chair.
Felicia drains her glass and sets it down on the counter. “Maybe we should ask for the bottle.”
We just got here and I can already tell it’s going to be a long afternoon.
Felicia and I are the only ones not getting our hair done, so we sit together in the pedicure chairs, slightly away from everyone else. I’m assuming that she doesn’t want any of the very white women here messing with her intricate braids, and I don’t blame her. Letting a new stylist do your hair is about as risky as screwing a stranger without protection. A round of antibiotics will clean up most venereal diseases. Hair takes years to grow back.
She peers at the display of nail polishes. “What color are you thinking?”
“Black.”
“You are not walking out of this salon looking like a goth reject.” Felicia picks up a bottle and holds it out to me. “How about a deep maroon?”
I take the bottle without bothering to look at it. “Maybe I just want something that matches my mood.”
“These girls definitely aren’t working hard to be welcoming.” Felicia picks up a bottle of fire-engine red polish before setting it back down. “I’m almost impressed with your sister’s commitment. That much attitude has to be exhausting.”
“It’s a new thing she’s trying out. Sometimes you need to change your hair color and other times you need to act like a raging cunt toward the person you shared a womb with.”
“I’m surprised you’re not calling her out on that crap.”
“It’s easier for me to just ignore it.”
“If you say so.” Her gaze roves over me, obviously assessing. “But that isn’t what’s really bothering you, is it?”
I glance over at Olivia, who has been studiously ignoring me since we walked in the door. Thinking about her just makes me feel tired. “No, it’s not.”
“My brother is an idiot. He has always been an idiot. Trust me. He’ll come around eventually.”
I’ve spent the past week going to class and doing my best to pretend Drake Van Koch doesn’t exist. We haven’t even laid eyes on each other in days. I know I’m deliberately avoiding him, but it still bothers me he might be doing the same thing.
My lips quirk into a small smile. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
“Depends. If you’re hoping that this will be the last time he does something dumb, then I hate to be the one who bursts that bubble. But if you’ve already forgiven him for playing that video, then I’m pretty sure that was rock bottom as far as his bad behavior goes. I encourage you to make him grovel for as long as you can manage, though.”
“I’m wondering if groveling is going to be enough, at this point.”
I hate that he lied and I’m struggling to reconcile that with the guy who offered to give up everything for me.
If I can’t trust him, then love won’t be able to save us.
