Page 64 of Do It For Me

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you.”

I blush.

“But it’s... you don’t have to—”

“I want to. Tell me if it hurts.”

He begins brushing my hair. I wince and squeeze my eyes shut more than once, but eventually, the comb glides effortlessly through the tangles.

“Now, do you want me to dry it with hot air or cold?”

“Dante, you don’t—”

He kneels in front of me. “I want to help you. I know how much you hate it, and if I can ease even a bit of your frustration, I’m happy to.”

I sigh.

“Warm.”

He stands and begins blowing my hair with the dryer.

“Why don’t you cut it?”

I shrug.

I won’t. My father always said a woman shouldn’t cut her hair. Men like it long, he said, and I’m supposed to be likeable.

Now that I’m falling for Dante, I don’t want to scare him away. I need to be pretty, soft, and considerate. I shouldn’t even complain in front of him. I must act happy. Always happy.

The cold air brushes against my face, and I smile faintly, though sadness tugs at the corners of my lips. This past week, I’ve been letting my hair air-dry whenever Dante wasn’t around.

If we ever have a daughter, would he dry her hair too? Would he sneak into her room when I’m not looking and touch her? Are fathers supposed to do that? Are they supposed to watch their daughters bathe? To touch them, like my father did to me?

I shudder at the thought.

Will Dante be like him, as a father or as a husband? I can’t bear the idea. I don’t want someone like my father, not for myself, not for a daughter.

Maybe if I only have sons, I won’t have to worry. My father liked boys. He spent more time with them than with us. They were even allowed to come back home after getting married.

Or will Dante be good, like my mother? Can a father be like her? She used to spend time with me every day, teaching me how to cook, how to sew, how to clean... She even wanted to teach me how to read, but she couldn’t. She only knows a few words.

“Help me”, “I love you”, “Please”.That’s all. Nothing more. She always said those were the important ones.

Tara, on the other hand, had a nanny who taught us both... until I walked in on her sucking my father off in the kitchen. But that’s another story.

“Are you okay?” Dante asks.

“Will you have mistresses?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “What? Why do you—”

“My father had them. I saw it. He told me it was normal, that my mum knew. I want to know if you will. My only request is that… you do it away from home.”

Dante cups my cheeks.

“I. Just. Want. You. No one else.”