Ivy laughs. “I really like you, Violet. You’re easy to talk to.”
“Thank you,” Violet says, and there’s something in her tone—something steady and grounded—that makes it sound like that matters more than it should. “I really like you too.”
Great. My brother’s stalker turned wife is bonding with my… What is Violet? A friend? Something more?
Everyone continues eating, talking, and laughing.
Meanwhile, my brain has left the building.
Unable to take any more, I make a mistake.
I touch her arm.
Mr. Pickles immediately swats my ankle.
I jerk back. “Ow! What the hell?”
Violet glances down calmly. “He’s protective.”
“He’saggressive,” I correct, glaring at the traitor calmly sitting on the floor like he didn’t just assault me.
Mr. Pickles blinks slowly, completely unbothered. And unrepentant.
I rub my ankle, wincing slightly.
Sebastian loses it.
Ivy’s trying not to laugh and failing miserably. “Just when we thought the two of you were friends,” she manages.
“He’s demented,” I say dryly.
Mr. Pickles hisses at me.
“Now you pissed him off,” Sebastian adds.
“When don’t I?”
Violet reaches down, her fingers lightly brushing through the cat’s fur. He leans into it immediately.
“He just has good instincts,” she says.
I stare at her. “He made me lose a bet.”
“What bet?” Ivy asks, looking back and forth between us.
I shake my head, sitting back in my chair.This is ridiculous. The universe is conspiring against me.
“Oh, the horror of having to go to dinner with me,” Violet teases.
“Dinner?” Sebastian freezes with his glass halfway to his mouth. “He seldom leaves the house. And certainly not to go to a busy restaurant.”
“I leave here,” I say, defensively. “I just don’t like crowds… or most people.” I glare down at Mr. Pickles. “Or judgmental black cats.”
The cat hisses, then rubs against Violet’s ankles.
“Wow! You’re going to dinner with Violet?” Ivy’s eyes are wide. She bounces excitedly in her seat. “Your first date and I get to witness?—”
“It’snotmy first date,” I snap.
