little low and the fabric is clingy, but the skirt flares out just above the knee and makes my legs look nice. The problem is the neckline, it's a cleavagefest. I need a wrap or something to tone it down.
I holler to Jonathan that I'm almost ready and duck into Aunt Paula's room. We're about the same size, so I dig through her closet looking for something that will work. A fuzzy black sweater catches my eye. It's perfect, at least I think it is until I pull it on. It's cut short and ends at my waist with little cap sleeves, however the fuzz makes it look like a Muppet was slaughtered and laid across my shoulders.
Jonathan's voice comes from the doorway. "I think emo Elmo has seen better days."
When I turn to look at him, the corners of his lips twitch, like he's trying not to laugh. I stare at my reflection and hear every nasty word my mother's ever said to me about my figure. They crash into me like a tidal wave. Even though I'm looking at my reflection, I no longer see myself, and the smile fades from my lips.
Jonathan's voice is suddenly right behind me, very close to my ear. "You don't need this. It's too hot and you look perfect without it." His fingers touch my shoulders lightly, making me jump. I can't help it. It feels like I've fallen off the top of the staircase and landed flat on my back. There's no air and my lungs won't work. What the hell is wrong with me?
Jonathan raises his hands and steps back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Smiling too brightly, I spin on my heel. "No, it's fine. You just startled me, that's all." My eyes drift up to his and our gazes hold like that for a moment. I look away and pick at the sweater. It takes way too much effort to take it off, but I manage. Without the damn thing, I feel naked. It doesn't hide any of my body flaws, and the way this dress bodice clings all the way down to my hips shows off every imperfection I have. Before the sweater is dropped on Aunt Paula's bed, I stare down at it. I need it. Every piece of me is screaming to put it back on.
Then Jonathan's fingers are around mine, preventing me from putting the sweater back on. He's a step away from me, but I can still feel his breath on the side of my face when he speaks. "You look beautiful without it."
I don't believe him. I need it. A half grin covers my face when I feel a retort die in my throat. Jonathan places his finger under my chin and lifts my eyes to meet his. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?"
I laugh like he's joking, but that just makes Jonathan's brows pinch together, like he can't fathom that I don't know what I look like—but I do know. I see myself every morning. I see my out of control hair, my over-sized hips, my unfashionably pale skin, and normal-sized breasts. I'm nothing to look at, and I'm okay with that. I know what I am, but the way he looks at me almost makes me believe him.
"You're pretty enough for both of us." I turn away from him, severing the contact. My heart races faster, like I'm being chased by a flock of rabid bunnies.
Somehow he took hold of the sweater and doesn't offer it back. My arms don't know where to go, so they fold across my chest. Jonathan says softly, "I'm serious, Cassie. What happened to you? Can you really not see it? When we walk around together, all the guys check you out. You're hot. You have to know—"
I swat my hand at him, meaning to dismiss his words that are bringing me close to tears for no explicable reason. "Everyone is looking at you. You're a Ferro, Jonathan. I'm not. They're looking at you and if a few eyes fall my way, it's curiosity and nothing more."
My arms are tightly nestled against my chest when Jonathan slips his finger over my hands and works them into the center of my palm. He slips one hand away and then the other, uncrossing my arms. He smiles at me sadly, like he knows how damaged I am—like he's never met expectation either. "Come on, Hale." His voice is kind, encouraging. He turns and keeps a hold on my hand
I holler to Jonathan that I'm almost ready and duck into Aunt Paula's room. We're about the same size, so I dig through her closet looking for something that will work. A fuzzy black sweater catches my eye. It's perfect, at least I think it is until I pull it on. It's cut short and ends at my waist with little cap sleeves, however the fuzz makes it look like a Muppet was slaughtered and laid across my shoulders.
Jonathan's voice comes from the doorway. "I think emo Elmo has seen better days."
When I turn to look at him, the corners of his lips twitch, like he's trying not to laugh. I stare at my reflection and hear every nasty word my mother's ever said to me about my figure. They crash into me like a tidal wave. Even though I'm looking at my reflection, I no longer see myself, and the smile fades from my lips.
Jonathan's voice is suddenly right behind me, very close to my ear. "You don't need this. It's too hot and you look perfect without it." His fingers touch my shoulders lightly, making me jump. I can't help it. It feels like I've fallen off the top of the staircase and landed flat on my back. There's no air and my lungs won't work. What the hell is wrong with me?
Jonathan raises his hands and steps back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Smiling too brightly, I spin on my heel. "No, it's fine. You just startled me, that's all." My eyes drift up to his and our gazes hold like that for a moment. I look away and pick at the sweater. It takes way too much effort to take it off, but I manage. Without the damn thing, I feel naked. It doesn't hide any of my body flaws, and the way this dress bodice clings all the way down to my hips shows off every imperfection I have. Before the sweater is dropped on Aunt Paula's bed, I stare down at it. I need it. Every piece of me is screaming to put it back on.
Then Jonathan's fingers are around mine, preventing me from putting the sweater back on. He's a step away from me, but I can still feel his breath on the side of my face when he speaks. "You look beautiful without it."
I don't believe him. I need it. A half grin covers my face when I feel a retort die in my throat. Jonathan places his finger under my chin and lifts my eyes to meet his. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?"
I laugh like he's joking, but that just makes Jonathan's brows pinch together, like he can't fathom that I don't know what I look like—but I do know. I see myself every morning. I see my out of control hair, my over-sized hips, my unfashionably pale skin, and normal-sized breasts. I'm nothing to look at, and I'm okay with that. I know what I am, but the way he looks at me almost makes me believe him.
"You're pretty enough for both of us." I turn away from him, severing the contact. My heart races faster, like I'm being chased by a flock of rabid bunnies.
Somehow he took hold of the sweater and doesn't offer it back. My arms don't know where to go, so they fold across my chest. Jonathan says softly, "I'm serious, Cassie. What happened to you? Can you really not see it? When we walk around together, all the guys check you out. You're hot. You have to know—"
I swat my hand at him, meaning to dismiss his words that are bringing me close to tears for no explicable reason. "Everyone is looking at you. You're a Ferro, Jonathan. I'm not. They're looking at you and if a few eyes fall my way, it's curiosity and nothing more."
My arms are tightly nestled against my chest when Jonathan slips his finger over my hands and works them into the center of my palm. He slips one hand away and then the other, uncrossing my arms. He smiles at me sadly, like he knows how damaged I am—like he's never met expectation either. "Come on, Hale." His voice is kind, encouraging. He turns and keeps a hold on my hand
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