Page 48 of The Striker
She chuckles. “Yes. You do. And I’m picking out your outfit. None of this baggy shit. If you can wear a swimsuit, you’ll survive wearing a dress.”
Worry gnaws through me. Agreeing to a date might have been a mistake.
Adriana rummages through my closet in search of the perfect dress. Her fingers glide over the hangers, scanning the array of clothing I’ve collected over the years. Each piece carries a memory—a reminder of the girl I used to be. A summer dress I wore once to a spring fling. A red number that used to be my go to anytime Kim, Joelle, and I did a girls night out.
My mouth goes dry when Adriana pulls out a simple black dress, and I swallow hard. The fabric is delicate, clinging to its hanger. My heart races, and I curse. Of course she’d pick that one.
It’s a short-sleeved, scoop-neck bodycon dress. And it is skin-freaking-tight.
It’s been well over a year since I’ve worn it. Will it even fit? I mean, it should. If anything, I’ve lost weight since this summer. Not gained any. But what if it looks awful on me now?
Adriana turns around, holding up the black dress for me to see. Her eyes sparkle with encouragement. “What do you think about this one? Maybe with a cute heel or a knee-high black boot?”
I hesitate for a moment, then take a deep breath. “I like it. But no heels. I’m wearing sneakers.” You know, in case I need to make a quick getaway or something.
Better safe than sorry.
Adriana rolls her eyes but smiles. “Fine. It’ll still be cute.” She rummages through my shoe collection and pulls out a pair of black-and-white checkered Vans. “These will add a touch of your personality while keeping it casual. Trust me, you’re going to look amazing,” she holds the items toward me.
The soft jersey fabric clings to my body as Adriana zips me up. Her low whistle as I pivot has a genuine laugh bubbling out ofme until tears sting my eyes. Something I haven’t heard from myself in ages.
When did laughing come so easily again?
Adriana works on my hair, her fingers deftly braiding it into two French braids that frame my face. As I catch my reflection in the mirror, I’m taken aback by the transformation. It’s me, but it’s a version of me I haven’t seen in a long time. The illusion is almost perfect. This Cecilia looks lighter. Unbroken. Ready to take on the world in her sexy black dress and killer confidence.
If I straighten my spine and smile with enough wattage to light up the city, maybe I’ll finally become her again instead of just pretending.
I slip on a few chunky bracelets from my vanity to hide the scars on my wrist and play with the charms on them while Adriana finishes with final touches to my hair, using a small amount of product to comb down and style my baby hairs.
Taking a step back, she admires her handiwork. “There. All done. You look incredible.”
Tears threaten to well up in my eyes. I’m not sad, but maybe a little overwhelmed. “Thanks.”
She hugs me tightly from behind, her words warm and reassuring. “You deserve to feel beautiful, Cecilia. And don’t forget, going on this date doesn’t have to mean anything. There’s no pressure.”
I study my reflection again and immediately wonder what Gabriel would think of the outfit. Guilt settles low in my gut. “This still feels wrong,” I mutter, voicing my concerns. “It feels like I’m cheating or?—”
“But you’re not,” she assures me. “You don’t owe Gabriel anything. You’ve been through enough, and it’s time to put yourself first. He would understand.”
Something tells me he really wouldn’t.
I take a deep breath, the weight of my past relationship gradually easing off my shoulders. Adriana is right. This date isn’t about Gabriel. It’s about me rediscovering my self-worth and having the courage to put myself out there. I can do this. It’s just one date.
At six fifty-five,the doorbell chimes a staccato beat that matches my fluttering pulse.
“I got it!” I call out, rushing down the staircase. Adriana left maybe ten minutes earlier. She offered to stick around until Wyatt showed up, but I’d rather not have the audience. My parents are bad enough.
“Cecilia, do you?—”
“Mom, go.” I make a shooing motion toward my mother when she steps into the entryway. “I told you, I got it.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, and a small gasp slips free from her lips. “Oh my,” she exclaims. “You’re beautiful.” Her eyes gloss over, and I try to ignore the fact that I’m pretty sure my mom is two seconds away from crying.
“Thanks, Mom.” The doorbell rings again. “I have to go.”
“Is Gabe?—”
“No,” I nudge her back toward the doorway that leads into our living room. “Another friend. I’ll see you later.”
