Eleni
Two hours later, bags fill the back of my car, my deep blue manicure is just dry enough that I’m able to drive myself home, and my hair feels so light that I keep shaking my head back and forth just to feel the curls bounce. Gianna’s hairdresser only took off a few inches, enough that it hits my shoulders instead of my mid back, but he added layers that “frame my face,” whatever that means, and I feel like a million bucks. I pull into the driveway wearing the first outfit Gianna picked out for me with just a few minutes before dinner at seven.
I race inside and start hunting for Dante. Not in the kitchen. Not in his office. Eventually, the sounds of TV lure me to the living room, where he sits sprawled on the couch, looking bored.
“Hi,” I say.
He glances up, then sits fully uprig
