Chapter 29 #2
“Are you sure this isn’t just the wine talking?” Piper asks, though there’s amusement lurking at the corners of her mouth.
“The wine might be doing the ordering, but I’m driving the cart.” I move on to clothing sites, adding items with reckless abandon. “Besides, don’t act like you didn’t completely change your wardrobe after that jerk Richard dumped you.”
“That was different,” she protests weakly.
“Was it though?” I shoot back. “Your credit card probably still has PTSD.”
She laughs, conceding the point. “Fair enough. But hair dye is a big commitment.”
“So is sleeping with a Mobster, but here we are.” The joke falls flat, but Piper’s gentle smile softens the edge. “How long have you known? About what the Russos really do?”
She takes a long sip of wine before answering. “I didn’t know as early on as you do,” she sighs.
“And you’re okay with it?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m okay with it,” she corrects, eyes flashing. “But I love him. And loving someone means accepting all of them, even the parts that terrify you.”
As I consider her words, I fall silent. What she said isn’t true for me. I’m not repulsed or scared of Matteo’s darkness. Not at all. A part of me knows he’ll never hurt me. And… if I’m completely honest with myself, I think I’ve always known it.
Even when he broke into my home and I was scared, excitement overshadowed any fear. And when I learned his last name, I still didn’t run. I mean, I did. Literally. But the more I think about it, I think it was just the shock and how real it suddenly became.
Piper lets me sit alone with my thoughts, and I completely lose track of time. So when the doorbell interrupts my spiraling thoughts, I almost jump off the couch.
“That was fast,” Piper mumbles.
“Express delivery is a beautiful thing,” I reply, already scrambling off the couch.
The delivery person looks slightly alarmed as I sign for multiple packages, probably because I’m grinning like someone who’s either found religion or lost their mind. Maybe both.
I dump the boxes on my living room floor, tearing into them with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old on Christmas morning. Clothes spill out; a leather skirt that puts the mini in miniature, booty shorts, crop tops, and a few dresses.
“Oh, my God!” I exclaim, refusing to admit I might have gone overboard. “It’s all so pretty.”
“Wow,” Piper says, fingering a sequined top that catches the light. “You weren’t kidding about wanting drama.”
“Go big or go home,” I reply, already digging for the hair dye box. Finding it, I brandish it triumphantly. “Ready to help me commit a crime against my follicles?”
Piper eyes the box dubiously. “Are you absolutely sure? Blonde has always been your thing.”
“Blonde was old me’s thing,” I correct, already heading for the bathroom. “New me’s thing is whatever she damn well pleases.”
My bathroom transforms into a war zone of beauty products. Piper helps me section my hair, both of us growing progressively less coordinated and more giggly as we drain another bottle of wine.
Dye splatters across the white tiles and sink, drips onto my shoulders, and somehow ends up on Piper’s cheek.
“It looks like we murdered Barbie in here,” I laugh, surveying the carnage.
My scalp tingles from the dye, or maybe from the anticipation of transformation. I catch my reflection in the mirror—blonde hair hidden under a shower cap, cheeks flushed from wine and excitement, eyes brighter than they’ve been in days.
“You’re insane, you know that?” Piper says, but she’s laughing too, the tension that’s been wound around us all day finally breaking completely.
“Certifiable,” I agree cheerfully. “But at least I’ll be insane and pretty.”
The timer on my phone chimes, signaling its time to rinse. While Piper remains seated on the closed toilet, I strip and get into the shower.
Hair dye swirls down the drain in hypnotic spirals. It feels like I’m washing away the girl who sat on a bathroom floor crying over a man, the girl who let herself be used, the girl who pinned away her feelings instead of facing them.
I wrap a towel around my hair and another around my body, stepping carefully over the scattered evidence of my transformation. The mirror is fogged with steam, and I wipe it with my palm, revealing my new self.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, touching the wet strands peeking from my towel. Even soaked, the color is something.
“You look amazing,” Piper breathes from beside me.
The new color makes my eyes look bigger, my skin more luminous. It’s as if the dye has leached into more than just my hair—it’s seeped into my bones, my blood, my resolve.
“I feel different,” I whisper. “Stronger, somehow.”
Once I’ve dried off, I wrap my robe around my body and plug in my blow dryer. The mechanical roar filling the small bathroom. As hot air blasts my new hair, I watch it transform into sexy as fuck dusky pink. It’s exactly what I wanted.
There’s so much I should be unpacking and dealing with. Which I’d like to think the Raven in an alternate dimension is doing. Because this version of me, the one on planet Earth ain’t doing that.
Okay, so it’s not full-on denial. It’s more like… I want to feel instead of think.
“‘Cause if you hate it, then you should put a piiiiiin in it,” I sing to myself, reinventing the lyrics to Single Ladies while working the round brush through my hair. “If you hate it then you should put a pin in it!”
My voice bounces off the bathroom walls, slightly manic. I haven’t slept in way too many hours, and everything has the hyper-real quality of a fever dream.
The light through my windows has shifted, afternoon bleeding into early evening as we move to my bedroom.
I try on outfit after outfit, each one more daring than the last. Piper sprawls across my bed, offering commentary that grows increasingly candid.
“Too slutty,” she declares when I emerge in a particularly revealing top.
“Perfect,” I counter, striking a pose. “Slutty is the goal.”
“I thought empowerment was the goal.”
“Who says they’re mutually exclusive?” I twirl, watching pink hair fan out around me. “I can be a sexually liberated feminist icon. It’s called multitasking. Like Lady Gaga.”
Piper chokes on her… well, nothing. “Lady Gaga?”
I frown, realizing that’s not who I mean. “No, you know the one who rode her horse naked.”
“You mean Lady Godiva.”
I shoot finger guns at Piper. “That’s the one.” Despite what I just said, I’m not feeling this outfit at all.
Humming, I lay out the dusky pink latex set on the bed. The microscopic booty shorts and the matching halter top with the ridiculous little collar and zipper running straight down the front.
“Bingo!” I exclaim. “I think this is the winner.”
I step into the shorts first, wiggling them up over my hips. The latex bites and squeaks as I tug them into place, the tiny zipper running right over my crotch daring anyone to even breathe the word subtle.
When they finally sit where they’re supposed to, my ass is technically covered. Barely. I shimmy my hips for good measure, loving the way my ass looks.
Next comes the top, it’s so tight no bra is needed. I slip it over my head and pull it down, arranging the sharp collar so it frames my throat before I drag the zipper up between my breasts. The latex cinches everything in, forcing my tits up so high it feels like a health hazard.
Once done, I turn in front of my full-length mirror, examining myself critically. The two-piece hugs every curve like it was poured on, the dusky pink matching my new hair so perfectly I look curated.
I look like a feverish pink fantasy someone dreamed up after too much tequila and a Barbie marathon. Or fetish. Definitely a Barbie fetish.
The latex reflects the light in obscene little flashes, every movement sending glossy highlights sliding over my skin. It’s plastic, it’s impractical, and it’s exactly the kind of armor I need.
“That’s definitely the winner,” Piper whoops excitedly. “We should go out and show off the new you.”
I turn and give her a sly smile. “We should, shouldn’t we?”
“Soooo,” she says slyly. “What are we thinking?” she asks.
Instead of fighting to get the outfit off, I put the robe back on and head back to the bathroom with Piper hot on my heels.
“The Leone Room, of course,” I reply sweetly as I begin to do my makeup.
As I add a pinch of pink blush to create a shimmer, I can’t help singing the chorus of Barbie Girl. My laughter has an edge to it that would probably concern a therapist, but I don’t care. This is how I cope—turn bad decisions into a show tune, turn danger into a dance number.
I finish with a nudeish colored lipstick, sexy but not threatening. No red today. Red is power. Pink is plastic. Pink is perfect.
Piper whistles low when I do a last turn. “If this is the new Raven, I’m not sure the world is ready.”
“They’d better get ready.” I check my reflection one last time, barely recognizing myself with the pink hair and the confidence radiating from every invisible pore.
“So, the Leone Room,” Piper smirks evilly. “I’m in.”
“Good,” I nod. Then I head for the living room where I sit down on the couch while putting on the new boots that also arrived. “You should text that husband of yours and ask him to meet us there.”
Piper chokes on her wine. “I’m sorry, what? You want to… nope, you know what, I’m in.” She playfully slaps my ass. “I think I should get changed. Do you mind if we stop by our apartment?”
I forgot my bestie and her husband have an apartment here. Well, not just an apartment. He bought an entire building because she’s scared of heights or something. That’s romance goals.
“Absolutely.” I nod, already grabbing my purse. “I’m not hiding from him, Pipes. That’s what the old Raven would do. Pin it down, pretend it never happened.”
“And what does the new Raven do?”
I smile, the expression feeling dangerous on my lips. “She shows up looking like this, while flaunting her perfect ass.”
Piper stares at me for a long moment, then slowly raises her glass in a toast. “God help Matteo Russo,” she says solemnly. “He has no idea what’s coming for him.”
Before we leave, I make sure to grab the knife my dad gave me. With nowhere to put it, I hide it in my boot.
When we’re in the elevator, Piper’s face splits with the evilest smile I’ve ever seen. “Did you know Enzo knows a lot of the people working at the Leone Room?”
I just shake my head.
“Well, he’s asking how big of an entrance you want to make.”
That gets my attention. “Why would Lorenzo help me?” I ask, surprise coating my tone.
Piper just rolls her eyes. “I think he just wants to screw with Matteo. Apparently it’s his birthday tomorrow.”
I beam. “In that case, let’s make it a spectacle if one is available.”