Margot’s POV

Three cocktails in, and my legs felt lighter than they had all week—not in a dizzy or disoriented way, just… carefree. Relaxed in a way I hadn’t felt in months, or more like years. The fruity buzz hummed in my veins like a gentle summer song, making everything around me seem just a little brighter.

The light caught on the glasses as we clinked for the third time, Sarah giggling into her drink like she hadn’t had a reason to laugh in days, and Cara lounging back with the grin of someone who had finally been given her due.

“I needed this,” Sarah said softly, twirling the pink umbrella from her drink between her fingers. “I forgot what it felt like… to just sit and feel normal for five minutes.”

“You’re telling me,” I muttered, sipping the last of my watermelon daiquiri, the rum warming my chest. “This place is… something else.”

Cara raised a brow at us both. “So. Salon next, ladies?”

“Yes, please.” I exhaled, already fantasising about treatments I could only ever dream of before…

Sarah’s face lit up. “I used to love getting my hair done,” she said dreamily, her voice distant. “I had this tiny little salon near my apartment back home. The woman who owned it always remembered my name—even my colour formula. She’d talk my ear off about her grandkids the whole time, but I lived for those appointments.”

Cara and I exchanged a quiet look, one that didn’t need words.

“That sounds amazing,” I offered gently, meaning it. “We didn’t really do… stuff like that.”

Sarah blinked. “Oh, really?”

Cara nodded, matter-of-fact. “Hair was more of a survival thing than a luxury where we’re from.”

“The only time someone ever did my hair,” I added with a dry laugh, “was when Cara did it for me.”

“Or vice versa,” she said, nudging me with a small smile. “Bobby pins and hope. That’s what we worked with for school.”

Sarah chuckled lightly, but her eyes softened with understanding.

Chapter 88 – The Salon

“I wonder what treatments they’ll recommend, though,” Cara mused as she stood, stretching her arms above her head. “I mean, I’m open to anything except eyebrow threading. That stuff sounds like torture.”

“I think we should get a mani/pedi, too,” Sarah grinned, standing with us. “We might as well lean in. Live it up while we can before going back… there.”

We all nodded at her enthusiasm; something about seeing her so light-hearted made me want to follow her anywhere, but I knew the thought of going back to her innate—Newman—bothered her.

We made our way back toward the elevator, feeling just a touch more confident than when we had arrived. Our clothes didn’t feel so stiff. The air didn’t seem so tight. We were just three girls heading to the salon like any others our age might do on a Saturday.

The doors dinged open once more, and we stepped inside. Cara hit the button for the salon floor with exaggerated flair. “To the land of lotions and gossip!”

The ride was quick, but in that brief moment, we passed knowing looks between us. There was a certain kind of unspoken excitement pulsing through our trio now, a shared buzz that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the fact that, for once, something good might actually be happening for us this week.

As the doors opened again, my breath caught. The salon was buzzing with activity. A soft, floral scent met us instantly, lavender and something calming, and beneath that, the undercurrent of fresh shampoo. The entire room glowed in soft golden light, walls covered in hanging plants and serene artwork of oceans, skies, and open fields. But it was packed. Women sat in nail chairs chatting, others were wrapped in towels and seated beneath hooded dryers, and the hum of blow dryers filled the space in waves. Every direction was motion, every corner filled with life. My stomach twisted a little at the possibility that there might not be any space for us left—at least not today.

“What if we’re too late?” I murmured under my breath.

But then came, “Hey girls! Here for some TLC?!” The voice came from the welcome desk, where a woman with a perfectly shaped Afro and a megawatt smile waved us over like we were old friends. Her energy hit me like sunshine, and I couldn’t help but gawk at how pretty she was.

We crossed the room toward her, weaving through laughter and the sounds of clinking metal trays and whispered beauty secrets. The name on her gold tag caught my eye as she greeted us with a wink: Diana.

“Three of you, yeah?” she asked, fingers flying across the screen in front of her, nails long and decorated in an intricate floral design that honestly belonged in a museum. “What you after? Hair? Nails? Toes? Facial? The whole shebang?”

Her rhythm, her confidence, her no-nonsense sass—it made us laugh instantly.

“Uh… yeah, sure, all of it?” Cara grinned, already charmed.

“If we can,” Sarah added quickly.

Diana grinned. “We can get you three in the back for hair first. I’ve got a few spots just opened. Then, by the time your roots are revived and your ends are blessed, we’ll have some mani/pedi chairs open. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” I said, sincerely. “Thank you so much, Diana.”

Her face lit up when I said her name. “That’s what I like to hear!” she clapped her hands once and motioned us forward. “Right this way, queens. Come get your crowns polished.”

We followed her through the main space, past the wall of treatments and buzzing dryers, until we reached a back room with eight extra salon chairs—three of which were currently empty and waiting for us.

“This is the VIP row,” she teased as we sat. “Stylists will be right in. Y’all relax. You’ve earned it.”

We each thanked her, watching her disappear with a wink and a spin on her heel.

Cara exhaled loudly and sank back into her chair. “If we’re rating staff here, then she’s a solid twenty out of ten.”

“Agreed,” Sarah said, eyes wide with admiration. “I want her energy bottled.”

I looked around at the shelves of shimmering product, the polished countertops, the soft music, and occasional bursts of laughter in the distance. Somewhere deep inside me, a knot loosened just a little more. Maybe it was the cocktails. Maybe it was the warm lighting. Or maybe, it was that for the first time in a long time, I was just a girl with friends at a salon—something I had always longed to be, waiting patiently to be pampered…

“Okay, so while we wait, tell us what the deal is with you and Coban?” Cara asked, as I tensed at hearing his name.

Damn… there was no escaping my best friend.