Ralph Macchio Hair Novels & Stories

the man asked. Ralph shook his head. “No.” “You're about to.” The process took hours. The man sectioned Ralph's hair into small squares and began twisting each strand until it formed a tight, rope-like coil. The pulling was uncomfortable at first – a constant tugging at his scalp that made his eyes water, but Ralph didn't complain. He didn't say anything at all. He just stared at his own reflection in the dusty mirror across the room, watching himself disappear with every pull he felt on his head. Strand by strand, the man he used to be faded into someone new.

And even then, that team were not as good as this team of two men and a woman turning her into a dreamy princess. “It is a pleasure to be able to work on your famous hair.” The woman said as she rolled her hair into huge round curlers. She smiled politely at the hairstylist through the mirror. Racheal was not one of those people who did not understand the fuss over their beauty. She understood it very well. She had never seen any woman with her kind of hair, gold colour that was close to silver, it shone both under the light and in the dark. And although blonde hair was not usually thick, hers was. It was so thick she could not hold it together with just one hand. It was naturally wavy and h

Right? Ten minutes later, Ralph walked in, dressed and freshly showered. His long dark brown hair rustled here and there yet he looked as if he just walked down from heaven. Even the scar on his cheek added four moons to his beauty. Just like a scar on the moon. His forest-green eyes immediately found mine—cold and distant—and then he averted his gaze to share a look with Alexei. My heart skipped a beat when he took the seat next to mine causally placing bacon in his mouth.

Moments like these made me feel old when I desperately crawled into my memory, and then something triggered my brain because in an instant, Ralph’s face flashed before my eyes, and I froze. Ralph has this exact birthmark on his left arm, amidst a canvas of scars he acquired as a result of his glorious career as the right-hand man of a mafia kingpin. The birthmark always stood out, a little prominent on his sun-kissed skin, and I knew deep in my bones that the information I had was earth-shattering.

He let go of my wrist. Ralph. The name coming out of his mouth struck me differently. I felt like we knew the same person, but at the same time, we didn't. "Ralph?" "Oh no, please tell me you know who that is." He clapped a hand over his mouth. "Ralph. Golden blonde hair, hazel eyes, super hot, and handsome." Ralph, whom I knew, had raven-black hair and hazel eyes. It was just a coincidence, right? "Look, I really need to go now." I turned again to leave, but he spoke again.

The two of them came over, bouncing while I tried to swallow the food that was currently trying to kill me. I finally swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah?” I coughed more and they at least looked apologetic. “Sorry.” Hanna patted my back, but Micca just pushed her away. “Look at your hair!” Micca pulled on my newly shortened strands. “Does it look bad?” I grabbed a curl, tucking it behind my hair. “No!” She fluffed up my hair some. “I think it looks amazing on you. Your curls seem to have more life, more bounce. It looks fantastic. Who did it?” Micca looked around. “I’ve needed a haircut for a long time.”

Ralph was standing in the center of his private lounge area, doing his pre-race warm-up. He wore a close-fitting black racing suit; the tight cut perfectly outlined his tall, lean build—broad shoulders, narrow waist, clean and powerful lines. The muscle definition in his arms and calves was smooth, carrying the explosive strength and sense of power forged by years on the track. His jet-black short hair was simply tied back, a few loose strands falling over his forehead, slightly damp with sweat and stuck to his smooth skin, making his deep-set eyes, high bridge, and sharply defined lips stand out all the more.

He owed these people nothing! He was well dressed for the occassion in his royal regalia as the customs demanded for the Alpha Prince, but he had chosen to not style his hair, he wasn't looking to impress anyone even though he knew that many would still find him to be very attractive. Half of his silver hair was held in a ponytail while the lower half cascaded over his shoulders. He kept his eyes fixed on a particular girl who had caught his attention with her loud makeup, her skin was much too white and her cheeks was much too red, one could not tell if she was blushing naturally because the excessive makeup made it seem like she was always blushing.

“I know a guy.” “Are you sure about this?” the stylist, a guy named Marco with purple hair and super sharp eyeliner, asked for the third time. “Once I cut it, it’s gone.” I looked at myself in the mirror. At my long, boring hair that I’d been hiding behind for years. “I’m sure,” I said. Marc smiled. “Okay. Let’s do this.” I watched in the mirror as he gathered a section of my hair and sliced through it with scissors that looked like they cost more than my rent. The long strands fell to the floor, and I felt my stomach fall along with it.

Alonzo and I were finally down. "Let's start!" aniya. The others immediately followed when they heard what Alonzo said. Melfer with that soothing stare of me, make me tilted my head. I tore the strand of my hair that was scattered. The makeup artist didn't fix me because they said they liked mine better.