BOOK SYNOPSIS
Arianna Banks never committed to anything, whether a relationship, a job, or her education. Carrying a damaged reputation because of an atrocious childhood incident, Arianna’s poor self-image has been her downfall . When her parents die unexpectedly, awash with grief, she wonders what her purpose is. She makes several changes, including quitting beauty school to work at a charity call center. Convinced she is doing important work, Arianna isn’t prepared when a coworker named Marc Arnold challenges her to achieve her dreams through her suppressed passion for writing. Coming off a nasty breakup, Arianna grows closer to Marc, but she tells herself she won’t be at another guy's mercy. But Marc isn’t ready to give up on her. Now Arianna must choose to walk away or invite him in. But inviting him into her heart means sharing who she really is, ugly scars and all. In the midst of navigating her heart, Arianna excels at her telemarketing job, but does she choose what’s familiar or dare to pursue her heart’s song, as Marc encourages her?
Arianna is the great-granddaughter of Lorna and Tristan Blake from the Lorna & Tristan Series.
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“What did you do to your hair, Arianna?”
I looked up from examining my nails.
Being the receptionist at the mall salon was a mindless job, but I could’ve done without this distraction. Her judgmental voice transported me right back to high school.
“Mandy Snyder.”I tried to keep my face pleasant and my tone professional, but my butt squirmed in my seat.
Mandy raised a sculpted eyebrow. “You’re still working here?”Her glare told me what I was: dirty and used, a feeling I’d known since I was eight years old.
“I try to be unpredictable. You must be here for a root touch-up. Looks like it’s been a while.”I smiled.
She touched her hair, where the dark brown clashed with the platinum blond.
“No, an eyebrow wax.”She scoffed. “I’m seeing Desmond at 2: 00.”
I checked the computer screen and confirmed her appointment. “Ah, there you are. Have a seat. He’ll be right with you.”
“Oh, and sorry about your parents.”She pivoted, walked away, and took a seat in one of the plush ivory chairs in the waiting area.
I breathed in and exhaled with forced calm. She sounded anything but sorry. I tried to focus on the white floor tiles, their brightness almost blinding under the fluorescent lights. Mandy Snyder’s false sincerity was another reminder that my life was in a downward spiral.
I had the payout from the plane crash, but what good was money when it couldn’t bring back my parents?
I fussed with the ends of my fire engine-red hair. Mom would’ve hated the color. The recent piercings in my left eyebrow and labret, basically right below my bottom lip, ached dully and itched. My hand scratched at the fresh soreness I had induced on my brow. Pain shot through my head, and I bit my lip as I withdrew my hand.
I tried not to seethe as Desmond Rousseau —our salon’s flamboyant French hairstylist —escorted Mandy back. Her parents were probably covering the bill every two weeks when she visited the salon.
Last time Mandy saw me, my hair was its natural dark brown. And my parents were alive. Not that Mandy was any nicer then.
Fishing my phone out of my purse and making sure no one was watching, I smiled at the unread text alert. Maybe Brad had finally taken ten seconds to text me. I opened it, scowling at a department store coupon. I’d signed up for the texts to get five percent off a purchase for my mom last Christmas. I replied, stop.
Yes, stop. Can't life just stop, go back to the way it was?
As I was about to toss the worthless piece of battery-draining tech into my purse, a voice said, “I hope that’s not a phone I see, Arianna.”
Curse you, Brad. Why couldn't you have at least been the reason I'm in trouble?
I stuffed the phone between my thighs and looked into the face of Gwen Hall, the ice queen. A low-cut blouse and a skirt that barely hid her underwear clad her stick-thin figure. Her five-inch Jimmy Choo knockoffs clicked with the same cold as her voice on the faux-marble flooring as she came to a halt at the reception desk.
I wanted to tell her where she could shove her plastic derriere, but I painted on a smile worthy of a fake model. “No, Gwen. Of course not.”
“Hmm.”She glared down at me. Her Botox-injected face clashed with her hollow neck. Gwen didn’t need the extra five inches to be intimidating at her five-ten height, but she didn’t scare me. “Don’t let me see you at it again. How do you expect to finish beauty school and work here if you can't do your job."
She turned away. I frowned at the back of her inverted bob, the auburn hue one of our new fall shades.
“You’d better stick to it this time, Arianna,” my mom had reminded me on multiple occasions. “There was that attempt at a veterinary assistant degree, and then you thought you’d try real estate. How many majors have you declared?”
I had a measly associate of arts degree from Cuyahoga Community College and little to show for it. Living with Nana now that my parents were gone wasn’t how I would’ve seen myself at twenty-five. Still, I didn’t want to disappoint my late mother.
She’d breathed down my neck with her opinions over the years. Now, what I’d give to feel her breath on my neck, to hear her criticisms. Retrospective sight is slipping on a pair of sobering glasses. My mom had been concerned. She’d seen the way I dressed and had always encouraged my individuality, but I was old enough now to know: I could’ve been a better daughter.
Mandy was back, snapping me out of my thoughts. She didn’t look any different as she forked over her credit card.
After the receipt printed, I asked her to sign. She tossed the pen at me when she finished and turned with a flick of her hair.
“Have a nice day,” I called after her. “See you next time for your root touch-up.”
She didn’t look back.
AUTHOR INFO
Cynthia Hilston is a stay-at-home mom of three young kids, happily married, and lives in the Cleveland, Ohio, area. Writing has always been like another child to her. After twenty years of waltzing in the world of fan fiction, she stepped away to do her debut dance with original works of fiction, although she still dabbles in fan fiction.
In her spare time –what spare time? –she devours books, shamelessly watches Hallmark movies and When Calls the Heart, pets her orange and black kitties, looks at the stars, drinks wine or coffee with good friends, and dreams of what other stories she wishes to tell.
SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS...
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PURCHASE LINKS...
UK: amazon.co.uk/Arianna-Cynthia-Hilston-ebook/dp/B09FN4X5NS/
US: amazon.com/Arianna-Cynthia-Hilston-ebook/dp/B09FN4X5NS/
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