Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Eshe| What the what?

Eshe swilled in the chair, mirror in hand and poised to look over her shoulder. Her hair, blown straight was long, silky and freshly trimmed. Part of a monthly ritual she honoured for the last five years without failure to keep everything growing and healthy. Finding a stylist she'd trusted had been difficult—most struggled to understand bi-racial hair and she'd endured many who'd picked, pulled and prodded her head to death.

Every snapped strand adding another layer of untameable frizz to the wispy flyaway's minion army that'd made her adolescence sheer, torturous hell. Then she'd stumbled across Polynesian 'hair whisperer' Moena, and practically fell to the floor like a bible thumper praising Jesus in a Baptist church; the woman was a genius with understanding curls and texture.

Moe circled around on short, thick legs, scissors looped on one finger and comb at the ready, her patient and assessing eyes looking for the smallest flaw. Not that she'd find any. Moe's work was nothing but flawless. Exemplified in own her thick, glorious waist length mane that was gloss and black without a hint of silver, even at fifty-three.

"So, when do you get to see your photos?" Moe asked as she swooped in to smooth her hands over Eshe's crown with a dollop of serum.

Eshe shrugged. "Probably never. I'm sure they're all terrible."

Moe scoffed. "Not bloody likely, this face? If they have an iota of sense they'll snatch you up. Face like yours should be seen all over the world." The chair swiveled around with one sharp turn, and Moe settled her hands on Eshe's shoulders. "You're a true, natural beauty—and I don't mean just what's out here. But what's inside of you. So much l inside of you that is truly special and it pours out of you. You're magic."

A warm ruse of emotion and the tingle of nerves spiked across Eshe's skin, her lips twisting into something between a smile and a grimace as she pushed out of the chair. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me for being honest." Moe helped her out of the smock and draped it across her arm. "Be sure to tell me soon as you get the word, we'll head out for drinks to celebrate."

Murmuring her thanks, Eshe gave her a quick hug and as Moe shuffled off to greet her next client, over the roar of blow-dryers and the hum of voices, she heard her phone chiming in her purse.

Rooting out both her cell phone and wallet, Eshe answered blindly without checking the screen. "Hello?"

"Babe!" Cait's voice sang out, bright and sleepy at the same time. "I've been messaging you for ages, why didn't you call me back?"

Eshe wedged the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she fussed with the card reader passed over by the salon receptionist. The two hundred pound charge flashed on screen and she tacked on another twenty-five for Moe's tip. "I'm at Vanity."

Cait hummed in understand. "How's Moe?"

"Good. She's a grandmother again. Little boy this time. Matiu."

"I was thinking, about Shay's upcoming UFC thing—it's two weeks from now."

"God, already? Can't believe Mateo is going to be King of Spain."

"I know. Crazy weird." Eshe shook out her shoulders, loosening them. She'd never given much thought to Shayne's family connections. Royalty. Such a strange word and one that certainly didn't connect to Shayne in any way and yet facts were she was second in line to the throne now.

A princess.

Eshe smiled as she imagined Shayne's expression as she was formally introduced by during the proceedings by both her actual name and title: Princessa Seina Soledad Melo Diez Carabantes Fitz-James Stuart. It was a hell of a mouthful.