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“Get the fuck out of here,” I roar, my voice vibrating with the anger pulsing through my veins.
“But we’re not done—” The stylist’s words cut off when my attention falls on her.
“Leave.”
She rushes out of the room, not bothering to grab her things. Which is lucky for her because I’m seconds away from tearing everything in here apart.
“Calm down, Damon. We know what we’re doing.” My mother goes to place her hand on my arm, but I catch her wrist.
Tension rolls through me, and it takes several beats before I let her go. “Get the fuck out of our house.”
Her eyes widen on me in shock. “But?—“
“Get. Out.” My head cocks to the side. “Do not make me say it again.”
The only thing saving her is Misty’s soft eyes on mine. They’ve started to glisten, with tears pooling on her lash line.
The front door slams shut, the intruders gone seconds before I kneel in front of my life. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she flinches.
“I told…I told you I didn’t belong.” Her voice cracks, and it takes my heart with it.
“I’ve never wanted you to be anyone other than who you are. I can assure you my mother will pay for this.” My teeth grind together as I suck a breath through my nose. Rage beats at my chest, burning to escape and rampage at anyone who hurts my girl like this.
She looks down at the linoleum floor. “I’m not sure why I’m crying. It’s not like I didn’t know what would be expected of me.”
I run a thumb along her cheek, catching a tear. “The only thing I expect from you is to tell her to fuck off.”
Her glassy green eyes snap to mine, and she gasps. “I can’t just tell your mom to fuck off.”
I chuckle and rock back on my heels. “You can do whatever you want to do. You’re my wife.”
She rolls her eyes, but I grip her jaw, keeping her attention on me. “It won’t happen again.”
Misty searches my face, then gives a hint of a nod.
I want to wipe away her hesitation. To force her to see that she’s exactly who she’s supposed to be, but we have time for that.
She lets out a breath and reaches up to run a strand of baby blonde hair through her fingers. “Funny enough, I’ve tried to get my hair this light a few times. She actually did a good job at it.”
I roll my neck, the tension of the day slowly seeping from me. “You wanted to be blonde?”
“Ha! No. I wanted to go soft lavender, but if there’s any yellow in your hair, it turns like a gross, mucky brown.”
“Do you have any left?”
Her head tilts. “What?”
I take the strand from her and let it slip through my fingers. “Of the lavender dye. Do you have any left?”
“Yeah, but…” She looks behind me. “You kinda evicted the stylist.”
I stand. “I’ll do it. Where’s the bottle.”
Her mouth forms a pretty O shape.
“Misty?”
She gives her head a jerk. “Seriously?”
