The Rusty Old Minivan

Chapter 29

Lottie lifted the third of her dress options up in front of the mirror again. She had three relatively nice ones and a pair of black strappy shoes that would go with either one of them. Tabatha had done her hair, the sweetheart that she was, and let her borrow a load of her makeup. Lottie had finished her face first, locking herself in the downstairs loo.

The others probably thought she was vain as all hell, bothering so much about her makeup, but the other's didn't understand it like she did. Like Tabatha, who was in the business, did. It wasn't just about looking pretty. It wasn't just about the final outcome; it wasn't just about the compliments or the confidence-boost.

It was about the process.

Cleaning your face off, getting your canvas nice and fresh for the paint. Choosing the right shade of foundation, using just the right amount and then dabbing it on ever so gently to get the finish nice and dewy. Adding powder to set it, enhancing your features with bronzer and then just a tad of highligther to top the look off. Picking eye-shadow colours that would make your eye's pop and match the rest of the look at the same time, then making sure to blend it properly, without smudging the colour's together too much. Last, but not least; gluing on your false lashes. Batting them at yourself in the mirror for the first time. Admiring your completed piece of personal art.

But the other's wouldn't get that. They'd say Lottie was 'cakey', 'orange', maybe even 'can't see a difference from before'. They'd take the piss, make little comments about her watching that her foundation didn't smudge off on her phone or that her eyelashes didn't whip someone when she blinked. They'd make it sound so frivolous, the thing she'd perfected.

She didn't care. She hadn't reached the door before Niall had left yesterday, and now, tonight, was the first time she'd see him in what felt like forever. She wanted to look perfect. She knew he'd understand, behind the grin and the tease, that she'd put in the effort and she was good at what she did. That she actually had skill.

"I'm going with the blue one," she told Chace, carefully pulling the delicate lacey sleeves off the hanger, "don't you think that'd go best with my makeup?"

"Can't see a difference," he muttered from the bed.

He'd been ready since the moment they'd gotten the message that Niall was inviting everyone over to his new in-town flat for a nice meal. He hadn't even changed his shirt.

"I can fix your hair up a little bit for you if you want," she offered him, sitting down to pull on her stockings, "like I did for that confirmation you went to. You said I did well."

"I'm good," he muttered, "mum already offered, but I don't see the point."

"Okay, babe..."

She went into the bathroom to put on her dress. She'd found it in a second-hand shop last year, between ripped shit and stained undergarments. It had long sleeves with a beautiful handsewn lace-floral pattern down to the wrists and it hugged her figure perfectly, a classy mid-thigh length with a sexy little slit up the side. If that wasn't a diamond in the rough, then she didn't reckon much else was.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, dress on and her long blonde hair in wavy curls around her shoulders, she thought fuck it if she was vain, then. She looked damn good being so.

"What do you think?" she asked Chace, walking back into his bedroom. She tried to sound casual, didn't want him to tell her off for fishing for compliments. But oh, how she still hoped he'd give her some. "The blue one looks best, doesn't it?"

He did her the honours of lifting his gaze half-way up from his phone, gave her a quick glance up and down and then nodded. "Yeah, looks fine."

Fine. Looks fine. "Fine?" she couldn't help herself. She'd spent hours.