Violet
“What if this guy’s a sociopath, huh? What happens then?” I demand.
“Calm down, I’ve heard he’s really nice.”
“Oh ‘you’ve heard’ have you? He could be a killer just waiting for the right opportunity for all you know.”
Lucy pauses from applying the makeup to my face and rolls her eyes.
“You watch way too much C.S.I.”
I huff out a breath. “You’re not wrong, but that’s not the point… what if he’s a murder rapist, hmmm? You want that on your conscience?”
“Stop being such a drama queen and show me what you think you’re going to wear.”
“What do you mean, what I think I’m going to wear? I’m perfectly capable of putting clothes on my body, thank you very much.”
I know as well as she does that she’s just successfully distracted me from my irrational fears, but for now at least, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
“Baggy t-shirts and jeans don’t count as clothes, Letty.”
“I wasn’t going to wear a t-shirt,” I grumble as I slide off the chair.
I pull out a long-sleeve blouse and a pair of black pants from my closet and wave them at her.
She screws up her nose in a look of distaste. “It’s a date, not a funeral.”
She might only be joking, but I’ve worn that exact outfit to a funeral before, so she actually has a point.
I shoot her daggers anyway as I rummage through the closet again, this time emerging with a denim skirt and a green knit, high-neck jumper.
“Oh, good God no… not the snot colour jersey.”
I throw the clothes onto the chair in the corner and groan in frustration. “You find me something then.”
We both know she’s going to get her way in the long run anyway – she always does.
“I’ll do you one better.” She grins wickedly, and I seriously fear for myself in this moment.
I may have survived more operations and treatments than I can count, but Lucy’s hare-brained schemes still scare the life out of me like nothing else.
Her and her ideas are the reason I’m preparing for a blind date right now.
Her husband, Emmett, is no better than she is. The guy I’ve been forced into meeting tonight is someone he knows from work apparently – so he’s as much to blame for this mess as she is.
“You know, I would have thought that being seven months pregnant would have slowed you down, even just a little bit.”
She turns and sticks her tongue out at me over her shoulder. “Not a chance.”
She pulls out a shopping bag, and I’m instantly nervous at the sight of it.
Lucy is always pointing items out on clothing racks at stores and telling me how good things would look on me.
She’s sweet, and if it wasn’t for the big scar that runs down the centre of my chest, she’d be absolutely right.
If it wasn’t for the marks on my skin, I probably would have tried on the plunging-neckline dress she’d pointed out to me two weeks ago.
But that’s not me. I’m scarred, I’m flawed. And I’m okay with keeping those parts of myself hidden. Lucy, however, doesn’t seem to see my scars when she looks at me, and while that’s a blessing in itself, right now, it has the potential to be a curse.
She waddles over with the bag and holds it out to me.
I reach for it as though it’s a bomb that could go off at any minute, because, quite frankly, it is.
“It won’t bite.” She laughs as she shoves it into my waiting hands. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
“Does it have sequins?” I wince.
“Nope.”
“Glitter?”
“Nope again.”
She sits herself down in the chair I sat in while she painted my face on.
“Plunging neckline?”
I brace myself for the answer.
“Just open the bag, Violet.”
I peek inside and am greeted by the sight of deep blue, soft fabric – so far so good.
I hold my breath and pull the garment out.
It’s a dress, with long sleeves and a full coverage front, a tie at the waist and by the looks of it, the length will fall around my knees.
It’s perfect.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe.
“You don’t have to sound so shocked.”
“I am shocked. I was seriously expecting at least a leg split or some awful attempt at getting my tits out or something.”
She laughs long and loud, clutching her swollen belly as she does.
Pregnancy becomes Lucy, she’s the most radiant and gorgeous pregnant woman I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t worry, I’m not blind. I see your face every time I point out those types of outfits – I know they’re not your thing.”
“Then why do you keep suggesting them to me?” I cry in outrage.
“Because they’d look beautiful on you, Letty. Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean I can’t.”
I feel the blush heating my cheeks – I’m not good with any form of compliment, I never have been.
“And besides…” she winks at me, “you haven’t seen the back yet.”
I spin the dress around and grin. Now this type of plunging I can deal with.
The back drops down low and drapes at what I assume will be near the top of my bum.
I have no scars and nothing to hide back there and it’s almost as though this dress was made just for me.
“It’s amazing, thank you.”
She waves her hand in front of her to indicate that it’s no big deal at all, but I’m not having it. She’s thought a lot about this outfit. I know she so desperately wants tonight to go well for me.
I don’t date. Like, ever.
I’m not even entirely sure how I ended up agreeing to being set up on a blind date in the first place, my sly best friend and her equally as cunning husband must have caught me in a moment of weakness, but I’m here now, and looking far more respectable than I usually do – so I figure I may as well go and make the best of it.
“Seriously, Luce, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now put it on,” she demands, glancing at her watch as she speaks, giving me a clear indication that I need to hurry up.
“Brown ankle boots,” she hollers after me as I rush into my walk-in closet.
I emerge wearing the correct items of clothing and Lucy sighs in satisfaction.
“Perfect.”
“Promise you’ll be right next door?” I plead with Lucy and Emmett as we pull up outside the restaurant.
“I swear on my life,” Lucy replies. “Now get out of the car and stop being such a chicken shit.”
I’ve insisted they wait until either one of two things happen – one; I bail and need them to get me the hell out of there, or two; I hit it off with this guy and find my own way home.
I don’t even feel bad about hijacking their evening for my own benefit – the two of them got me into this mess, it’s the least they can do as far as I’m concerned.
“He’s a good guy, Vi,” Emmett reassures me in a manner far nicer than his hormonal wife.
“Okay, I can do this,” I reply in a less than convincing tone.
“C’mon, woman, you’ve literally survived dying, and yet you’re scared of a date?”
Lucy’s right.
I know she’s right, but that doesn’t stop the heart that still feels foreign to me from beating erratically in my chest at the very thought of getting out of this car and walking inside.
“I can do this.” I’m slightly steadier sounding this time so I open the door and step out while I’m still able to find the courage to go through with it.