The New Husband(32)

Simon flipped the magazine around and pointed to an article featuring a photograph of a pristine aqua blue sea. “And I take it back. Here’s a very well-written piece on great destination weddings.”

Simon said it slyly, implying that the content of the article, not the writing, is what piqued his interest. Nina crossed her arms as if in thought. “Are you asking me again, Mr. Fitch?”

Simon’s return volley was a cat-got-the-cream smile.

“I’m an extremely patient man,” he said, flipping the pages before he became keenly interested in something else. He turned the magazine around to show Nina a picture of a model, tall and thin, with porcelain skin and striking dark hair (close in color to Nina’s natural shade) cut in a medium-length bob, angled at the sides with mod-looking straight bangs. It was sleek and chic, textured in layers, a classic look that could have been in vogue in the 1960s or ’70s.

“This would be a great look on you,” he said, handing Nina the magazine. She studied the woman, thinking the model was twenty, if that, and a spaghetti strainer would look good on her head.

“I couldn’t pull that off,” Nina said definitively.

“Nonsense,” said Simon. “I think you’d look amazing, absolutely amazing, with that cut. I swear.”

He leaned forward, cupping handfuls of Nina’s hair in his hands, and then lifted them up to chin level, emulating the hairdo to some degree.

“Gorgeous,” he said, eyeing her with a hungry look, absorbing her, taking in each detail as though he were a painter analyzing his subject. “Absolutely gorgeous. Don’t get me wrong. I think your hair looks great. I’m just not sure it’s as flattering as this would be.”

He studied her some more, adjusting the length ever so slightly, perfecting his masterpiece. The desire she saw in his eyes sent tingles through her body, making her feel that perhaps she could be that twenty-something model.

“I like my hair,” Nina said, surprised at the slight catch in her voice. Did she like it as much as she thought?

“Maybe…” Simon paused, chewing on some thought. The box spring creaked as he shifted his weight. She smelled toothpaste and mouthwash on his breath. “Maybe you should do it,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Get your hair styled like this. Do it for your new job. A new look to celebrate a new beginning.”

Nina appraised Simon as though the flu, or bug, or whatever it was that had felled him, had also left him mad.

“That’s nuts,” she said. “And even if I did want to do it, there’s no way to get an appointment with my stylist. He’s booked weeks in advance.”

Simon grinned strangely. “Actually, it was supposed to be another surprise of mine, but—”

He got up from the bed, went to the dresser where Glen’s clothes once had been, opened the top drawer (socks and underwear, just as before), and took out an envelope. Inside, Nina found a gift certificate to Aiden James salon, along with a card indicating an appointment for Tuesday morning—the day before her start date.

“I asked Susanna and Ginny what to get you that would make you feel, you know, ready to take on the working world again. They suggested a mani/pedi, so I booked you an appointment for that along with a cut and color just in case you wanted it. So … the appointment is all set. What do you say?”

Nina was rendered speechless. The idea was so out of the blue, so completely outrageous, she simply didn’t have the words. Eventually, she managed a polite thank-you that did not convey much thanks.

“I think I’ll keep my hair the way it is,” she said.

Simon studied the magazine a few more beats before tossing it onto the floor as though he’d tossed the idea away with it.

“Yeah. It’s kind of last-minute and pretty radical. It would take a lot of guts to really go for it,” he said.

Nina rose from the bed quickly, because it was the only way she could slug him on the arm as he made his way to the bedroom door.

“You take that back,” she said.

“Take what back?” he said, turning.

“You make it sound like I’m weak or something.”

Simon appeared to take offense at Nina’s remark. “It is a big move. And I’m not surprised you don’t want to go through with it, is all. I’m not blaming you. But I think a change like that would help separate you from Glen, from that time in your life. It would be like a metamorphosis of a sort, a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis. Anyway, no biggie. Your hair looks fine. I’m going to get some ginger ale from downstairs. You want anything?”

Nina eyed him indignantly. Fine? Fine?! How dare he put it back on her like that. Why was her hair suddenly just “fine”? It was more than fine.

But Simon did not stick around to discuss it. He headed downstairs, leaving Nina alone to look in the mirror at herself, to lift her hair slightly, up to the same level Simon had done.

“A metamorphosis,” she said mockingly to her reflection as she adjusted the length of hair cupped in her right hand to make it more symmetrical with the length on the left.

Though she was still annoyed with Simon’s remarks, he did make her wonder. Would a new hairstyle change how she felt? Would it help her forget what had been done to her? Would it be like making a statement: I’m not the Nina from before. I’m not Glen’s Nina. I’ve got a new look to go with this new person I’ve become.