Begin Again novel Chapter 33

Franco's was everything Eden would never have imagined—well, the exterior at least.

As she gaped at the concrete structure, located on the east side of Forrest Creek, the industrial part of the neighbourhood, she thought she might have taken a wrong turn somewhere, but her trusty GPS— with Siri's help, of course—had followed the directions to the T.

There's no way she was lost, no way she's at the wrong place.

But the flat-roofed, single-story building, with its murky windows and rusty steel door, was—Underwhelming. Disappointing. Not at all what Eden expected from a revered hairstylist.

The inside though was a different story, Eden could swear she'd stepped into the grandest hotel in town. The decor was exquisite, the furniture lush, and the service top-notch.

As a smiling hostess placed a complimentary mimosa in her hand and showed her to one of the few empty armchairs lining the room, Eden understood why the man charged so much even for a haircut. The overhead expenses to keep this place afloat had to be insane, and he had to cover up the cost somehow.

She'd barely had time to take in her lavish surroundings when the hostess returned with a clipboard and pen in hand, "I'm Naomi, Franco's assistant. Could you please complete this for our golden boy?"

It was a style profile questionnaire, designed to help Franco figure out what to do with Eden's "oh so gorgeous hair," as Naomi gushed, touching her locks.

Ordinarily, Eden would have slapped her hand away. She didn't like random strangers touching her. But she was still dazed by all the luxury she's swimming in.

Cassandra, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans, an old university hoodie, and combat boots, her helmet tucked under her arm, chose that moment to walk in.

"Sorry I'm late, the bike's giving me trouble again," her friend grumbled as she pulled her in a fierce hug, clinging to her like they haven't seen each other in years even though they'd spent last night bitching about Liam over Chinese takeout.

"Maybe it's time to let it go?" Eden suggested. Even though Cassandra had a fairly new Jeep, she still preferred her junk of a scooter.

"Would you let Aiden go as soon as he starts coughing?" Cassandra made a face at her.

"Not the same thing," Eden groaned and scrambled back to her seat when a fresh wave of customers rolled in and eyed her chair like it was the hottest commodity in town.

She understood Cassandra's reluctance though; her friend bought the bike herself after working countless part-time jobs, it's been with her since their first year of college.

"So, what do you think?" Cassandra asked as she perched herself on the armrest, her helmet resting loosely in front of her. There was no sitting room anywhere.

"It's insane," Eden said, her gaze gliding through the room, zoning in on Franco's clientele. They were all gorgeous, classy women and men dressed to the nines, and she knew they were all somewhat loaded. No way they'd even get an appointment with Franco if they were struggling to buy dog food.

"I feel a little overwhelmed. Why didn't you warn me about this place? Look at all that gold plating on the mirrors. It has to be real gold, right? And are those like real rubies?" Eden carried on, pointing at the gem-crusted chandelier on the ceiling, her eyes wide with awe.

"Stop it," Cassandra rolled her eyes, but a faint, amused smile tugged at her lips. "You're embarrassing me. And I wasn't asking about the place. Duh! I meant your new look."

"Right," Eden smiled sheepishly and returned her attention to the questionnaire.

"So? Have you decided yet?'

Eden shook her head, tapping the pen on the clipboard. She hadn't thought that far ahead and now that she's here, about to take the plunge, she was seriously starting to question her decision to switch up her look. And she had no clue what Naomi wanted from her; the style questionnaire meant to help narrow her options was only adding to her confusion.

"Maybe just a wash and trim," she decided, as she passed the mimosa to her friend. She was still off alcohol—for reasons still unclear to all of them—and there's no need to let a free drink go to waste.

Cassandra was horrified by the idea of a simple wash and trim, but she took the drink and gulped it down in one go.

Eden stared at her open-mouthed; it wasn't even 9:30 AM.

"What?" Cassandra shrugged, reading the look of horror in her eyes for what it is. "It's 8:00 PM somewhere."

"Right," Eden nodded, laughing at her reasoning; it's not surprising she and Lydia got along so well. They were two peas in a pod.

She stared at the form on her lap again and completed as much as she could while Cassandra dashed to the front desk.

Her friend was back moments later with an armful of magazines and newfound conviction, "if you're going to get a makeover, you gotta go all in. You can't be half-assed about it."

They spent a little while browsing through the different hairstyles and hair colours, and catching up. When the four of them are together, it's hard to keep up with everything going on in their lives, so it's nice to catch up one on one sometimes, as they were doing now.

"How are things with Skye?" Eden asked as she flipped through the pages of a Vogue magazine.

Skye is Cassandra's Norse god of a boyfriend with abs and muscles for days and the greyest eyes Eden's ever seen. He was sweet to a fault too.

"He's good." Her friend replied absently.

"But?" Eden nudged.

"His time's almost up," Cassandra shrugged but didn't offer more. Of the four of them, Cassandra's the pickiest when it comes to dating. The smallest thing pissed her off. Eden wouldn't be surprised if Skye forgot to put down the toilet seat or something pedestrian like that, and that's why he was now on notice.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eden asked after a long pause.

Cassandra didn't want to talk about Skye. Instead, she told her all about her cooking studio, confessing she's barely making any profit and was even thinking of approaching a few banks for a loan.

Eden could only nod and sympathise. Her finances were just as messy.

"Maybe we should skip this whole thing," Eden offered. A new hairstyle is hardly a priority.

"Don't be ridiculous," Cassandra smacked her on her head with a rolled-up magazine playfully. "This is from my piggy bank. My treat! Don't worry, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," Eden laughed and picked up another editorial from the stack, an Elle magazine this time.

She was starting to lean more towards a strawberry blond layered cut when Franco, dressed in an all-black ensemble—a mesh vest, the tightest leather pants Eden had ever seen and a pair of Marc Jacobs ankle boots—waltzed over, oozing sass and panache.

All the photos she'd seen of him did not do him justice.

He was even more stunning in person, there was not a single blemish on his smooth deep bronze skin. His thick, perfectly arched eyebrows were the envy of many women. And, if she didn't know his life partner, Mark, was in the room, fussing over some middle-aged woman's hair, Eden would have had no issue losing herself in his almond-shaped cognac eyes.

He was indeed a work of art, made even more perfect by his impeccable makeup.

"Cassandra," he squealed dramatically as he air-kissed her friend on both cheeks.

"Franco," Cassandra screeched right back, and they spent a few minutes prattling off in French.

Eden had read somewhere Franco had spent a few years in France—that's probably where the name came from because he did not look like a Franco— learning all the ins and outs of hairdressing. He'd even bagged a few gigs as a hairstylist at some of the world's iconic fashion shows. There was even a rumour floating around Rock Castle that he'll be taking his Midas Touch to Rock Union's Fashion Week.

"So this is your friend," Franco turned his attention on Eden at last.

The eyes she was tempted to drown in just seconds ago, were now narrowed in her direction, shrewdly taking in every little detail about her.

She squirmed and fidgeted in her seat as the hairstylist rubbed his chin thoughtfully, utterly oblivious to her discomfort under his piercing gaze.

He snatched the clipboard from her lap and scanned through her responses, nodding the whole time as he pushed his mohawk dreads to one side.

"Not bad," he said at last, and Eden released a shuddering breath at the first sign of approval.

"Come, ma chérie," he grasped her hand and dragged her to her feet, leading her to his styling chair.

Before Eden could even figure out what was happening, Naomi was at her side, wrapping a black cape over her chest and a matching towel around her neck. Scissors, numerous combs and hair grips appeared out of nowhere as Franco began to work his magic.

Eden turned to her friend one last time, silently pleading with her to rescue her; she's not ready to make such a drastic change.

But Cassandra gave her a thumbs-up, "You need this. You'll look and feel amazing!"

"Are you ready, darling?" Franco asked, his liquid eyes shimmering with excitement as he waved the scissors at her.

Eden wasn't ready and would have preferred to have the scissors on the counter, away from her hair. But, she found herself nodding as she held Franco's gaze in the mirror. And for the next two hours, she put all her trust in the stylist, silently praying she wasn't making a huge mistake.

After what felt like a lifetime of prodding, pulling, cutting, washing and curling, Franco finally allowed her to look in the mirror as he turned the styling chair around.

"There you go, as pretty as a Mona Lisa," he gushed, a gloating smile flickering on his lips. "You're welcome!"

Eden gawked at the mirror, a silent scream permanently frozen in her vocal cords, horrified at the bad luck that's befallen.

A scissors-happy Franco had gone on a cutting spree and chopped off more than they'd agreed on.

In all fairness, though, they never agreed on anything. Eden had foolishly chosen to trust him because he's a renowned hairstylist who's lived in France and spent years perfecting his art.

"What do you think?" Cassandra rushed to her side, her face beaming with expectation and Eden didn't have the heart to tell her she's not happy with the angled lob, not when her friend had spent so much money trying to make her feel better.

"I love it!" She lied, already planning her cry-fest on her bathroom floor when she gets home.

"It's beautiful." She added for no reason other than to convince herself that there were loads of hairstyles she can still do with her newly cropped locks, and short hair wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"I'm glad you love it," Franco cooed some more as he hugged her and traipsed off to go sprinkle more of his magic on unsuspecting victims.