“Shit,” he says, letting out a sigh.
I glance up, and even though he’s the bane of my existence, I can’t help but smile.
“One of each, that's amazing.”
He nods in agreement as his eyes roam over my face and hair, making me fidget under his scrutiny.
“Didn’t you have pink in your hair the last time I saw you?” he asks, bringing his hand up to pull one of the now purple streaks through his thumb and forefinger. If I had my wits about me and my brain was functioning, I’d slap his hand away.
I swallow and go for a half-truth. “I did, but I got bored.”
“It looks…” I expect him to come out with something that will piss me off, but instead, he blindsides me when he says, “Pretty. It suits you.”
Blinking up at him, I’m momentarily speechless, and then, as if he suddenly realises he’s still stroking my hair, his pupils dilate, and he lets it fall through his fingers and takes a step back.
Thank fuck for that. I can breathe again.
Frenemies I can handle, but whatever that was, whoa, not so much.
He clears his throat. “Okay, so can I get your number?”
“Wha-t?” I stammer in response, and now he has that arrogant smile back on his face, the one I want to slap right off.
“So we can talk details, arrangements for the reveal.”
Pulling out his phone, he unlocks it and hands it to me, and a notification appears to say he’s received a text from someone called Naomi.
I click on the box with the phone, and it brings up all his recent calls, and fuck me, does this bird call him often and at all hours? Why am I not surprised?
My thumb moves to the keypad, and I type in my number and then ring myself. Once my bag vibrates, I end the call and hand it back to him. Not bothering to put my name in. I’m not his secretary.
“Sweet, I’ll catch you later.”
He struts to his nearby Mini and climbs in. He might as well be in a go-kart, but his car suits his personality unsurprisingly. I shake my head and hurry to my car and whack on the heating as soon as I start the engine, only now realising how cold it was standing outside.
ChapterThree
VIOLET
I have to remind myself this job is just a means to an end. Soon, I’ll be doing what I love. Don’t get me wrong, it's not the worst job. Marco, the owner, has quite the reputation as a hard arse, but he just reminds me of a moody, giant Teddy bear.
Since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to be on stage. Max used to tease me all the time growing up, but he was always my biggest cheerleader. I miss practising my auditions in front of him. He was always the quieter one of us. I was always the loud, extroverted one. He could be too when it suited him, but he was a people pleaser, especially when it came to our parents.
My stomach sinks like it always does when my thoughts go to my brother. I miss him more than words can say. And at the same time, it’s been hard living in his shadow. My parents are great, but I always feel like I have to try harder and be better, and yet I know it’ll never be enough.
They lost their son, their only son.
I lost my only sibling and my best friend.
You can’t compete with a ghost, and I wouldn’t want to, either, but my parents, without realising, hold me there, always in his shadow. Everything is always a comparison with what he would have done. Every milestone and achievement constantly circles back to him. Sometimes the worst part is I wish it were me that was gone instead of him. And not in the ‘I wish I were dead’ kind of way. Life is a sacred gift and I know better than most how in the blink of an eye it can be snatched away from you.
But I wonder if it were me, could they have handled their grief better with him by their sides? He was always the voice of reason, he just had that way about him, a sensitive nature, a neutering one, qualities I think skipped the gene pool where I was concerned.
He was easy to love. Me, on the other hand, not so much.
It’s as though all the dreams and aspirations my parents had for both of us died with him.
They don’t mean to do it, and I think it's healthy to talk about him. I do. But not when it’s inadvertently directed at me.
