Page 82 of For Dear Life

“Don’t disobey me, Violet.”

“We,” I repeat through clenched teeth.

“Do stay safe everybody,” Dorian says and smiles before walking away.

Rowan opens his mouth to say something to me, but pauses as I turn my sour face his way. None of the guys need any hint as to my mood.

The chances they’ll say the wrong thing to me are almost as guaranteed as the chance I’ll ignore Dorian and continue my investigations.

28

VIOLET

The mall. I swore I’d never visit the place again and now I’ve had two engagements here in one day. My bad mood following Dorian’s authoritarian behavior became decidedly blacker when Leif jokingly suggested retail therapy with Holly might calm me down. Grayson and Rowan wisely remained silent as they all left the café before my storm cloud burst on them.

Leaving me to my retail trauma with my dear friend and roommate.

Holly bounds ahead with her usual bouncy enthusiasm and I trudge behind until we arrive at a third set of escalators heading further into the heart of my personal purgatory.

Thirty excruciating minutes later, I’m still here, now standing in the narrow aisle of a store stacked with linens and assorted homewares.

“I heard that many sensible people shop online,” I say pointedly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” asks Holly.

“Where’s the fun in this? You’ve spent half an hour comparing colors and trimmings on these... whatever. There’s a minuscule difference in shade and texture, even with vamp eyesight.” I huff and look around. “Can we go now?”

“Soon.” I pull a face as she rubs the material against a cheek.

“And how does this item fit the Goth theme that Violet Blackwood has mind-controlled the committee into using before she conducts her massacre at the dance?” I ask.

Of course, the news I’m involved rippled around the academy faster than the speed I could run from all this.

“Everybody knows that’s a joke.” Holly rubs her fingers between two separate but almost identical fabrics.

“Perhaps I should dictate the theme since there’s only one shade of black,” I say pointedly.

“Oh, but think about the different laces you’d need to choose from,” says Holly with a sly smile. “Plus, the candle colors. Style of the skulls. Everything coordinated.”

Blowing air into my cheeks, I look the other way. Floor to ceiling shelves between the wall and the piled linens are stacked with glasses, everything from slender flutes to fish bowl size, some painted in gold or silver, and others with glass etched into intricate patterns. If Holly starts searching for more ‘inspiration’, I’ll be forced to raise the volume of my protest.

Holly looks up, material draped over her arm, having finally chosen her table-runner sample.

“Surely Marci’s advice would’ve assisted more than mine,” I say, grabbing Holly’s cheeks in one hand and turning her face away from another shelf distracting her.

“There’s something else I need your help with choosing.” She slaps my fingers away.

“Not the glasses!” I ask in horror. “There’re dozens of options. Please. Enough. You’ve paraded me as a ‘helper’ to back up our story; I want to leave. I’ve arranged to meet Rowan and Leif.”

“No. Not glasses.” That expression. The way Holly’s eyes gleam, her mouth slightly curled as if avoiding a full smile. Exactly how she looks when believing she has an edge over me. “A dress for the dance.”

I balk. “You don’t need me for that. Good grief, I’m pleading with you not to take me into another store. I have no sense of fashion and could not assist your search in any way. Ask Marci.”

“No, silly. For you.”

“I don’t need one. I’m not attending.” I mentally calculate the quickest route from the mall.

“Violet. You’re a committee member. Of course, you’re attending.”

---