His Mafia Queen

A Reluctant Transformation

​​RILEY

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.