Chapter 4

And if I agree, I get seven dates with a self-obsessed influencer who will definitely show up for publicity and wear a sequined jacket!

Blind dates!

On camera!

I have no chance of winning!

Dasha:

(jaw drops in shock, urgently makes popcorn)

(turns on bag-rustling sound)

Vicky:

(jaw drops in delight)

Opens a Google Doc and writes: "Diana's Style Guide for a TV Meltdown"

Working sections:

Park date—trench coat and charm.

Stress date—nude tones and coffee

(girl, you urgently need a new sexy bra!)

Date with an idiot—total black and sarcasm (your case!)

Di, with that light ponytail, smoky eyes, and red lipstick, you'll look killer!

Dasha:

Agreed. To hell with the sequined jacket!

We need scarlet Chanel!

(sad) Too bad Birkin bags are out of our budget.

Diana:

Girls, are you okay?

Vicky:

Di, let's be objective (photo incoming!):

You're smart.

You're beautiful.

And even without any show, you act like every date is a casting call!

Now at least they'll capture it for posterity and tell you what to do.

WHY NOT?

Dasha:

And they'll feed you for free. This is important!

Di, what if there's someone cool there?

Maybe it's fate?

Diana:

(with sarcasm and snot)

Sure. Also with an esthetician backstage and a ratings race?

Dasha:

Love at first insult is still love! Imagine:

he sits down across from you, blinds you with sequins, and says, "Hey, baby,"

and you say, "I hate you, creep," and fix a curl in the reflection of his sequins.

Romance!

Diana:

Girls... You're scaring me.

Ha-ha! I pictured it!

And encouraging me at the same time.

(snot hanging down to the floor)

Thanks, birdies!

Dasha:

(strong emoji)

Our superpower is with us!

(popcorn is officially in play)

Vicky:

Kitty, you've got this!

We believe in you!

And if the influencer turns out to be a bore, you'll incinerate him with one look!

Dasha:

Or strangle him with the sexy bra in a fit of passion, haha!

I already want to see THAT!

And then...

And then I closed the chat, stared at the screen... and accepted Valentine's offer. Hearing Dad's stern voice behind the door and Mom's bewildered one, I typed one word: "Agreed." Sent the reply email and pressed my palms to my cheeks.

Sock. Coffee. Reality show. Mom...
Must be the full moon!

But when, despite the late hour, I got dressed and went outside to breathe some fresh air and go to the store, a young crescent moon looked down at me from the sky. Thin and sly, like fate's satisfied smirk.

I sighed bitterly and headed to the supermarket for carbs to lift my mood. I was already on my way out when I ran into Demond, who had stepped away from the next register and was also heading for the exit.

In a hooded sweatshirt, with a big bag in his hand and a gloomy expression without the slightest trace of a smile, he looked as if he'd been invited to play a hitman with nothing left to lose.

Our eyes met.

"Isn't it a little late for you to be walking alone, Catkin? Want me to see you home?"

"Thanks, I'll manage. I don't want to end up in hell ahead of schedule."

And that was that.