“Wait!” I exclaimed as she moved to put it back. “Let me see that.”
Sofia glanced at her latest find with a look of doubt but shrugged and handed it over. The material was thinner than I anticipated, and I gently slid it off the hanger and eased into each sleeve. It fit my shoulders perfectly, but I wanted to see what it looked like on. After locating a full-length mirror, I turned in a circle, inspecting myself from every angle. The jacket had clearly been designed for a man—it was boxy and unflattering on my curves. Sofia’s reflection appeared in the mirror behind me.
“Do you think you could take this in at my waist?” I asked, pointing to where I wanted a little definition. “Maybe add some lace on the cuffs?”
She took a moment to inspect the tailcoat. “Sure, but I don’t get it. Who are you dressing up as?”
“Can’t tell,” I said, tossing her a smirk. “It’s a surprise.”
Chapter 11
I’d just finished lacing up my Doc Martens when someone knocked on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I called, covering my shoes with the length of my skirt and straightening up.
Violet stepped inside wearing a blush jumpsuit, strappy nude heels, and a necklace with enough carats that she’d probably topple over if she leaned too far forward. Her pale hair was pulled back into a sleek high ponytail, and her makeup was minimal. She glanced toward my bed as if expecting me to be curled up with a comic, then scanned the entirety of the room. When she spotted me standing beside my vanity, her eyes widened slightly.
“So it’s true,” she said, her gaze drifting over the outfit I’d chosen for tonight. “Dad said you’d decided to come, but I didn’t believe him.”
“What gave it away?” I asked, picking an imaginary piece of lint off my sleeve. Any second now, Violet would comment on my black nail polish or the tiny silver pentacles hanging from my ears.
“Your outfit,” she answered, not picking up on my sarcasm. “You look really pretty, Indie.”
“I—ah, thanks,” I replied, her compliment catching me off guard. For the premiere, I’d chosen a black long-sleeved top tucked intoa pleated floor-length skirt that swished around my ankles when I walked. The satin material was a brilliant emerald green, which matched the stone set into the choker around my neck.
“So,” she said, fiddling with her necklace. “What made you change your mind?”
I sighed. Of course she had to ask the one question I couldn’t answer. More likely than not, Violet would be pissed if I admitted the only reason I was coming to the premiere was to support Xander. “Well,” I said, a bit uncomfortably. “Should be fun, right?”
She frowned. “Right…”
We both knew I hated these kinds of events, so I tried again. “This is the last one, so I figured I should be there.”
“Okay.” Uncertainty laced her reply, but she let the subject drop. “I’m heading out in ten. Do you…maybe want to come with me?”
“Sorry, but no.” My answer was swift and firm, but I didn’t mean any offense by it. Tagging along with Violet meant walking the red carpet. “I’ll catch a ride with Dad.” Although his life revolved around Violet’s career, Dad was never one for the spotlight himself. He avoided the press as best he could, which meant he’d be slipping in through one of the side entrances for noncelebrity folk. “He hasn’t left yet, has he?”
“Of course not. He’s in his office, like always.”
I blinked. For the second time tonight, Violet’s words had taken me by surprise. Never before had she acknowledged Dad’s workaholic nature. At least not in my presence.
“Well,” she said when I didn’t respond. “I need to touch up my makeup before leaving, so I guess I’ll see you there.”
“Yeah, see you,” I said, lost in thought as she closed my door.
Later that night, I clambered down from the back seat of a Cadillac Escalade, careful not to step on my skirt. Dad slid out after me. When he hired a private car service to chauffeur us around for the evening, I’d assumed it was so he didn’t have to deal with LA traffic or worry about driving home following the after-party. Once we were on the road, however, I realized it was so he could focus his full attention on work. Any attempt I made at conversation was brushed off. As the SUV pulled away from the curb, I hurried up the steps toward the theater without waiting for him.
“Hey, kiddo,” he called. “Wait for your old man!”
I didn’t stop, but he caught up to me before I reached the entrance.
Oblivious to my irritation, he opened the door with a flourish and a smile. “After you.”
“Wow,” I said, staring up at him in mock shock. “I’m so flattered you realized I’m here.”
Confusion creased Dad’s forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“Dad, you spent the entire drive on the phone.”
