“No,” I repeated, firmer this time. “I love you, but I’m not putting on real pants, interacting with strangers, and pretending I enjoy loud music when I could be right here watching destiny unfold. So I’m going to do us both a favor and hang up.”
“Don’t you dare-”
I ended the call before she could finish her sentence and immediately hit play, satisfaction settling into my bones. It’s not like she could blame me; she knew better than to call me after I sent a message in my family group chat saying I'd be having a K-drama marathon.
They leaned in even more, just when he was about to lift his hand to frame her face, my phone vibrated. I’m not embarrassed to admit, I screamed into my pillow.
I paused the drama once again and snatched up my phone. “This better not be about the party again,” I groaned.
“Eva,” my sister said, sounding unreasonably cheerful for someone who had just committed a crime. “You didn’t let me finish.”
“There was nothing you could possibly say that would change my mind.”
She snickered. “Your favorite romantasy author is going to be there.”
“Wait, what?” I was sure I had misheard her because there was no way she had said what I thought she did.
“You heard me.”
“You invited me to a party,” I said slowly, enunciating every word as if she might not understand English, “where my favorite romantasy author will be present, and you didn’t think that was important enough to mention?”
“I thought it was implied.”
“It was not implied,” I snapped. “It was omitted. There is a difference.”
She laughed harder. “You would’ve freaked out.”
“I am freaking out now. What’s the difference?”
Her laughter grew louder. “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“An hour?” I screeched.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I am dramatic. You know this about me.”
“Love you,” she said sweetly, already pulling away from the conversation. “Be ready when I get there.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone for a full three seconds before jumping out of bed. I stood in front of my floor-length mirror, trying my best to map out my next steps. I ran a hand down my bonnet, then froze.
I’d showered less than two hours ago.
Relief washed over me so hard I had to sit down. This was clearly a blessing that I couldn’t waste. I was freshly bathed,moisturized, and only mildly spiraling. Okay. The crisis was downgraded from catastrophic to almost manageable.
I crossed the room, flinging open my closet door with purpose. This was not the time for indecision. I needed something cute but effortless. Something that said Ididn’t try too hard, whileI had absolutely tried very hard.
My eyes landed on the black sweater dress Elena had gotten me for Christmas. It was perfect. The fabric was soft, hugging in all the right places without clinging, the neckline modest but flattering. It was the kind of dress that made me feel like the main character in a cozy-but-sexy small town romance. I slipped it on and studied myself in the mirror.
With fifty minutes left, I grabbed my makeup bag and settled at my vanity. As I applied foundation, my thoughts spiraled anyway. What if I said something stupid? What if I quoted their book wrong? What if they hated small talk? What if they were one of those authors who secretly judged readers who loved a specific character too much? I blended my concealer with a little more aggression than necessary.
“Relax,” I muttered to my reflection. “You are a somewhat functioning adult. You’ll be fine.”
My reflection looked unconvinced.
I softened my eyes with warm browns, added a touch of shimmer because it was a special occasion, and carefully lined my lips. Half an hour passed in a blur of brushes and internal pep talks.
