What if he drops me? In the water? On thesand?
“You’ll be totally fine.” Imogen’s giving me her full attention now, her voice impatient. “The fishing net is all for show. They’ll pin it to you in a way that it doesn’t really trap your legs. And you won’t even be that deep—”
“I can swim.” That’s not the problem. I glance around the white canvas make-up tent, the temporary structure that we erect and take down every day, chased by the tides. It’s basically just a patch of shade, with a few fold out chairs and a table strewn with makeup supplies. “It’s just…”
Can I trust her? Should I even say this?
Imogen’s mouth twists as she dabs something on my eyelids. She’s impatient, yeah, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be a jerk. Everyone’s impatient on set.
“I have cellulite,” I whisper, my words almost swallowed up by the breeze. Far down the beach, the hushing waves are louder.
Imogen’s forehead clears. Her brown eyes soften, and I exhale.
“Honey, everyone has cellulite. Come back to me once you’re in costume,” she murmurs, keeping my secret between us. God, women are the best. “I can do your body too if you like.”
“Yes, please.” I’m all for embracing my flaws, but there are limits on my bravery today. Baby steps. “And…”
She waits this time, brushing a fine layer of waterproof mascara on my lashes. “Hm?”
I clear my throat. “Is Jesse definitely strong enough to lift me?”
Imogen’s eyes crease at the corners, and she tosses her head back and laughs. Bright, loud peals that draw everyone’s eyes. Is this supposed to be reassuring?
“Oh, jeez.” Imogen sniffs as she pulls herself back together. She shakes her head, brushing my other set of eyelashes. “Haven’t you seen him in the gym, Darla? You’ll befine. That man could carry you aloft on one palm like a serving tray.”
Um. Yay?