Lavender Haze

Chapter 15

When Wednesday knocks on the door, I'm feeling like myself again. After spending three days sealed in my apartment, I'm feeling energetic and reinvigorated and I can't wait to get out of here – and shower for the first time since Sunday.

Considering this is the first date I go to in over five months, I take the whole day to get ready for the event, taking extra time in choosing what I'm going to wear and match my lipstick to my burgundy suede boots.

I leave my auburn spaghetti-straight hair loose on my shoulders and draw perfect wings on my eyes and dust highlighter on my cheekbones and blush on my cheeks and even apply fake lashes before realizing that's taking it a little too far and discarding the idea. Wes has refused to tell me where we are going beforehand, so I can just hope he's not taking me to a shooting range or a fox hunting expedition, because my dress would be inappropriate for either occasion. I zip up my boots and look in the mirror, making eyes contact with Kat, who's sprawled on my bed silently judging me. "How do I look?" I ask her.

She purrs, which I take as her approval. I empty my YSL clutch (by far the best gift Dan and Rafael ever got me) and put in just the essentials (lipstick, travel-size perfume, tissues, ID, credit cards, and pepper spray, because this is New York and you can never be too sure).

I stare at my reflection once more. "You got this. It's just a date. If he sucks, then you don't have to text him back," I tell myself. I run a thumb under my bottom lip to clean a lipstick smudge and leave the apartment.

I'm meeting Wes at the St. James hotel. He's not at his usual spot in the lobby when I step in, so I grab my phone to check for messages I might have missed. He wasn't supposed to work today, but he texted me about an hour ago to let me know there had been an emergency with a VIP customer and, as a manager, he had to deal with it personally.

"Astrid?"

I lift my eyes from my phone and meet River's mystified gaze. He's coming out of one of the elevators and crossing the busy lobby.

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

"Much, much better. Almost back to one hundred percent."

"That's good." His forehead suddenly creases. "Did we have a meeting I forgot about?" He asks, looking at his Rolex.

"Uhm. No. That's not why I'm here."

"That's not –" River lets his eyes travel over my body, taking stock of the way I look, my coat open to reveal a body-hugging, little black dress, burgundy stiletto ankle boots at my feet; and probably the way I smell (Flora, by Gucci, if anyone is interested). His eyes roam over me for an indecent amount of time and right about now, I could use some mindreading skills. He takes a sharp breath and asks, "Are you here for a date?" That last word sounds like a curse.

Just then, Wes saunters behind the concierge desk, animatedly talking with a member of the staff. He notices me, waves and grins, and mouths, "I'll be right there." I wave back and give him a thumbs-up.

River, whose eyes ping-pong between me and Wes, mouth agape, utters, totally disbelievingly, "Are you going on a date with Westly?"

"What shocks you? That I'm going on a date or that I'm going on a date with Wes?" I shoot back, voice sharp like the razor blade I cut myself with just a few hours ago while shaving my legs.

River chances another look at Wes. "Westley is not the guy for you," he says.

I rear back. "That's a bold statement."

He flails a hand pointlessly. "Wes is –"

"What? Cute? Funny? Smart? What about that should put me off?"