Page 18 of Painted Truths

He stops when I put my hand up, palm facing him. Then, taking a deep breath, I rise from my perch on the arm of the sofa and gesture for him to stand too. Once he does, I throw my arms around him, fitting my shoulder underneath the nook of his arm the same as always.

“Thank you so much.”

The words, while heartfelt, just aren’t enough. I’m so overwhelmed by this unwavering belief my best friend has in me. I don’t remember ever having anyone believe I was capable of anything other than Holly, and those memories are so old and faded they don’t feel real half the time.

He stands frozen for about half a minute before slowly and lightly draping his own arms around my shoulders. I’m so grateful for this little group of friends who have helped me more than I could have ever hoped for. I feel a little choked up, so I continue to hug my friend for another minute or so until I have managed to pull myself together.

Drawing back and looking up at him, I smile as his face mirrors mine.

“So, when do I start, Gaffer?”

Smiling indulgently at me, he shakes his head. “Less of that, you insubordinate wench.” Both of us descend into fits of laughter.

We chat for the next thirty minutes about my duties and salary, which isn’t entry level, but he insists that it is before he has to leave for work.

“How does dinner tonight sound? We can catch up properly then, yeah?”

“Yes! Definitely. I’ve missed you so much. The girls don’t like Italian; it’s positively blasphemous!”

He laughs. “Well, with a surname like DeMarco, it’d be excessively blasphemous to dislike the food of my people.” He hugs me one more time, then makes his way to the door. “I’ll send a driver around 5 pm and meet you there.”

“I can walk, you know. Or Uber!” Pinning me with a stare, I hold my hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. You win. I’ll take your driver and see you then if you insist. I have a hot date all afternoon anyway.”

His eyebrows raise in question until I wink at him pointedly, and he tuts in mock exasperation, knowing precisely what hot date I’m talking about. Then, as he pulls the door closed after him, his final words find my ears as the door clicks softly shut.

“When will you give up with this James Cole slash McHottie obsession?”

Tossing a cushion at the closing door, I shout, “My Cole obsession has nothing to do with him!” But all I can hear are my best friend’s soft chuckles before the door clicks shut behind him.

Idiot! This 12 Monkeys obsession has nothing to do with Henry what’s-his-face, I swear.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

CHAPTER SIX

Olivia

I spend the rest of my week preparing myself for starting work on Monday at the global entertainment and communications giant, DeMarco Holdings. Josie informs me I need a whole new wardrobe, and being our resident self-confessed fashion guru, she takes great pleasure in bringing me shopping and spending way, way, way above and beyond my means.

But fuck—and although I generally keep curse words to a minimum, this calls for a profanity or two—the outfits she helps me choose are so flattering to my body that they make me feel like pure sex. Not that I'd know what sex feels like considering I still haven’t gone any further than kissing with anyone since the night-that-cannot-be-named with you-know-who when he made me you-know-what. Still, when I put those form-fitting dresses and jumpsuits on that Josie is so insistent on buying, I can't help but feel desirable.

Not just regular, run-of-the-mill desirable. Desirable, like I was to him. Damn him for still occupying space in my brain even after two long years and a whole stomach full of tragedy.

Josie's clothes shopping extravaganza also consists of the non-negotiable must-have new killer heels, no less than five pairs, and the fear that I'll probably break my neck wearing them is real and very present. There are also all-new silky, lacy, and very itty-bitty lingerie pieces that she insists I need in my life because she claims, “you never know.”

The obligatory trip to the beauty salon she owns is also non-negotiable, so I get my hair trimmed and nails shaped and painted a simple white colour.

Josie, and Nola, via video call, as she’s been travelling for work this week, insist I get the full-service hair removal treatment. At their behest, I can feel my face turn purple with embarrassment.

“Jo, I can sort myself out. Seriously, there is no need for this.”

My words are landing on deaf ears while Josie continues to speak to her lover over FaceTime, as though I’m not even in the room.

“And who knows! Maybe she’ll even let me vajazzle it. Heaven knows it’s the most action—”

“No! You can do the waxing, but I draw the line at jewels on my vag, okay?”

The two girls smile knowingly at each other, and I can’t help the hint of a smile that graces my own lips, knowing full well this was their intention all along.