17. Riley
SEVENTEEN
Once again,I awake to an insistent knocking at the door. I”d slipped into a deep sleep, one of those naps where it feels more substantial than actual nighttime slumber. I was dreaming, even; a murky, dark dream involving a soul-shattering kiss from a shadowy man.
”Coming,” I call out, stumbling out of bed.
I open the door to find a veritable platoon of people standing there, smiling.
”Uh.” I blink away the sleep that”s still pulling my lids down.
Cassie”s standing in front, looking somehow even more chipper than when I saw her last. When was that? An hour? Three? Twenty minutes? I feel like Alice in Wonderland, as if I”ve fallen into a rabbit hole and ended up in a place where nothing makes sense.
”We”re here,” Cassie cries, brushing past me.
I helplessly let the small crowd inside and stand in the middle of the sterile room, staring at them. Someone rolls in a hanging rack filled with gowns. Someone else carries in what looks to be a suitcase.
What. The. Hell?
”Did you shower?” Cassie asks.
”Earlier?” I rub my eyes.
”Go on. Go shower and shampoo. We”ll get everything ready.” She practically pushes me toward the bathroom. Someone stuffs a fluffy robe into my hand.
Like a zombie with a head full of cotton, I shuffle into the bathroom. I”m still in a daze as I shower, wash my hair, and dry off. The memory of snooping around Gabriel”s bedroom comes rushing back to mind while I”m toweling my hair. I stare into the mirror and a woman with a haunted, guilty expression looks back.
I”m not looking forward to the inevitable conversation with Gabriel.
As I slip on the robe, I once again consider leaving. No, I”m determined to see this through. Too curious to run away. With a fortifying breath, I walk out of the bathroom to find the bedroom transformed into a salon.
There”s a swivel-style office chair, an open trunk containing shoes, and a clothing rack stuffed with gowns. There are bags and trays and actual suitcases filled with makeup on the counters, and soft jewelry holders strewn on the beds. It”s all so absurd and surreal, but I can”t deny it”s something else, too.
Exciting.
”Excellent! Now comes the fun part,” Cassie says, clapping her hands. ”Sit here and let everyone work their magic.”
I plop in the chair and everyone—three men, a woman, and Cassie—clusters around me. They eyeball me while touching my wet hair, poking and stroking the skin of my face. At one point it feels like they”re going to check my teeth, like a horse, and I twist away.
”Okay, I”ve got a plan,” one of the men says. His name is Ricky, and he”s a short man with wavy blue hair, black eyeliner, and a dark beard. He leans down, so his face is near my ear. ”Do you mind if we do a few highlights?”
He asks the question like I”m somehow incapacitated, or slow.
”You mean, make me blonder?”
”Yes.”
I haven”t had the money for anything but a quick trim at the cheap chain salon in my neighborhood, much less actual color. I”ll have to pay Gabriel back for this, of course, or pay Ricky directly. I can”t let the subject of a story pay for such expensive things.
I should say no, and I open my mouth. ”Sure, that”s okay,” I say quickly, before I overthink.
Ricky directs his assistant to mix the hair color, and the woman who isn”t Cassie pops open one of the giant suitcases. It contains more makeup than a department store counter.
”Now, just close your eyes and we”ll make you beautiful. Relax, girlie.”
Feeling apprehensive, I shut my eyes just as someone turns on some upbeat dance music.
”It”s a party!” Ricky cries. ”I”m going to make you blonder and even more beautiful!”
I stifle a sigh as I feel hands work their way into my damp hair. Someone murmurs that we should open a bottle of champagne.
”I”ll take a glass or three,” I say out loud, which gets claps from the stylists or whatever they are. I”m going to need some liquid courage for this.
If it”s a party, why do I feel so apprehensive?
”Everything has”—Iflip through the rack—”sequins.”
I”ve never worn anything with sequins before. I”m standing at the rack in a robe—I still haven”t seen my hair or makeup—and am trying to pick a dress.
”You don”t like sequins?” Ricky squints, as if I”ve just confessed to a crime and he isn”t sure how to handle my punishment.
”It”s not that.” I pull out a dazzling black dress and study the sequins up close. ”I don”t have many occasions to wear stuff like this. No occasions, actually.”
My version of sexy evening wear is the scoop-neck, turquoise-colored, body con dress I got for eight bucks at a discount store in New York. I wore it in the city whenever I went on a first date or to a club. Come to think of it, I haven”t put it on since coming to Florida. Where is it, anyway? Have I even unpacked it from those boxes in my closet?
Ricky makes a tsk noise. ”Well, we”ll remedy this tonight. What”s a formal charity event without sequins?”
”Indeed,” I respond with a touch of sarcasm while he pulls out the black dress.
”Take off your robe.”
”What?” I clutch the lapels, bringing them closer to one another.
”I have to see if you”re going to need shapewear. Honey, this is a tight dress.”
”Isn”t it stretchy?” The last thing I want to do is get naked in this roomful of strangers.
He scrutinizes the fabric. ”A little. Let”s see what it looks like with the thong.”
Ricky snaps his fingers and his assistant brings over a bag with a fancy lingerie brand name on it. ”Here are a few different thong options. I guess you can change in the bathroom.”
He thrusts the dress and the bag toward me. I reluctantly accept them. ”What about a bra?”
”You won”t need one with this dress.”
Oh, great. Going out in public with the city”s most infamous mobster-bachelor with my tits swinging in the wind. ”Okay, well, what about a dress where I do need a bra?”
”Umm.” Ricky turns back to the rack and flips through. He shakes his head. ”We don”t have any.”
”Lovely,” I mutter, and shuffle into the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and groan.
”What the hell is this,” I yell.
The door pops open, and with it, Ricky”s blue-haired head. ”What”s wrong?”
I point at my face and my mouth drops open. It”s difficult to even form words.
”Honey, you look gorgeous. The platinum blonde is so much better than the dishwater blonde. And a red lip and smoky eye is classic.”
”Yeah, classic if I”m trying to gain subscribers. Because that”s what I look like. A cam girl.”
”Pfft. Shut up. You”re going to knock Gabriel Greco”s socks off.” I hear the pop of a champagne bottle—our second—and a whoop from the small crowd of people in the bedroom.
”Not what I want to hear,” I mutter, pushing him out of the doorway. I shut and lock the door. My hair is big. Blonde. Falling past my shoulders in wavy, sexy curls. My lips are an almost sinful shade of scarlet.
I”ve never looked this hot in my life. It”s kind of fun, the type of look I”ve always wanted but never went for because it was too impractical for my regular life. Too flashy. Imagine covering a police news conference looking like this.
I snort aloud.
Shrugging off the robe, I select a black thong from the bag—there are several; I choose the one without bling, bows, or baubles—and put it on. It”s a far cry from my practical cotton bikinis, and I turn to look in the mirror at the fabric that”s lodged itself in my butt crack.
Lorna would laugh her ass off if she could see this.
Then I carefully step into the dress. It fits perfectly, hugging every curve of my body.
I twist and turn to see myself in the mirror. Somehow I thought the side cut outs in the fabric would expose rolls of back fat, but this magically contains all of my wobbly bits.
”Hunh,” I say aloud.
”Let us see,” Ricky calls from the other side of the door.
With an eye roll, I yank open the door. I”m met with shocked gasps.
”Amazing.” Ricky moves to me, adjusting the spaghetti straps. ”Your boobs look divine.”
”I was hoping not to show too much skin.” But all the other dresses had even more plunging necklines and were short. This was the only long dress on the rack.
”No. This is it. This is the one,” Ricky cries.
”Okay, enough.” I know they mean well, but all this attention is putting me in a foul mood.
For a moment I think Cassie”s going to burst into tears, she”s so excited. What”s with these people, anyway? They”re incredibly sweet, which doesn”t square with Gabriel”s overall vibe.
Someone instructs me to slip into a pair of black high heels.
”Come look, come look.” Ricky ushers me over to the full-length mirror, which is on the inside of the armoire door. ”This dress was worn on the red carpet in Hollywood by Olivia Rodrigo.”
”Really?”
”Yes. Don”t you just love it?”
I have to admit, I look pretty good. If not way too sexy for the circumstances. Something hums low in my belly at the thought of Gabriel seeing me like this.
”Um, Ricky, can I have a word with you?”
He squeezes my arm. ”Sure, honey, let”s go over here.”
He walks to the far end of the room, near the windows, and I totter behind him.
”What”s up?” He peers at me, concerned.
I raise my hand to sweep my hair off my forehead, and he stops me. ”Don”t touch the hair.”
”Okay, okay.” I lower my tone. ”Do you know Gabriel?”
He presses a hand to his chest. ”Of course.”
”What”s he like? Is he...” suddenly my questions seem silly and hollow.
”I cut Gabriel”s hair and he is a gem. Truly my best customer.”
”Really?” I blink stupidly.
”I know people around the city say a lot of things about him. That he”s in the mafia,” he whispers the last word. ”And that might be true, but he”s one of the best people I know. I mean, I wouldn”t want to get on his bad side. But if you”re in his inner circle, you”re golden. He even gave me a huge tip when he found out my mom was diagnosed with diabetes and needed money for her insulin.”
”That”s sweet. Does he often do this for women?”
”Do what?”
I wave at my hair, face, and dress. ”This. Makeover.”
He shakes his head. ”Never. But I”d take it as a good sign he”s interested in you. Enjoy it. You look beautiful, Riley.”
My heartbeat whooshes in my ears as I nod. ”Well, thanks for, ah, transforming me.”
”I”ve put my card on your nightstand. When you want a touch up, come to me. Maybe Gabriel will pay for it.” Ricky winks.
”Yeah, that won”t be happening.” I briefly calculate if I can afford expensive hair treatments on my reporter salary.
”Riley!” It”s Cassie, calling me from the other side of the room. She”s holding a small black purse. ”Come!”
I walk toward her.
”Mr. Greco”s waiting in the foyer. You can meet him there. Don”t want to be late!” Cassie strokes my arm, a motherly touch, while handing me the purse. She probably senses my hesitation. ”Here, take this. I put the lipstick inside. Go on. You look beautiful. Have a lovely time tonight. Go, go. We”ll clean up here.”
I say goodbye to everyone and thank them for their time and herculean effort to transform me into a sexpot. They drain the rest of the champagne and tell me to have a fun night.
”Hey,” Ricky calls out. ”Have a happy Valentine”s Day. I wish I could see Gabriel”s face when he sees you, his V-day gift. Rawr.” He follows with a little growl and a swipe of his hand, like tiger claws.
My face freezes in a mask of horror. I forgot what day it is. Now I feel even more apprehensive.
Careful not to trip on my high heels, I walk steadily but slow out of the room and down the hall. My heels striking the tile make an echo that bounces off the walls, and my heart is beating twice as fast.
I don”t want to worry about what Gabriel will think of my stupid makeover, don”t even want to consider it. But I am.
My heart feels like it”s going to punch its way out of my chest the closer I get to the foyer, and when I do, I spot Gabriel.
His back is turned, but it”s obvious he”s in a black tuxedo.
With precise, languid moves, he turns. In an instant, his gaze takes in all of me: my breasts spilling out of the dress, the cut-out fabric exposing my ribcage, the skirt that hugs me tighter than my family ever did.
His eyes widen, and the corners of his mouth tug upwards.
I”m not certain about anything involving Gabriel Greco, except one detail.
He definitely approves of how I look.
That shouldn”t please me so much, but it does.