"Violet? Violet!" Knox proclaims, busting through through the door way, his face flushed, as he holds a tie in each hand.

"I need your advice, the boys are no use," He says all too seriously.

I try to suppress my laugh at how over dramatic he is being, but fail miserably.

"Come on, this is serious," Knox whines, crossing his arms over his chest, his lower lip pushed out into a pout.

"Okay, okay," I say, biting the inside of my cheek to suppress a smile.

He holds the black tie against his chest, then quickly switches to the navy blue option.

"So?" He asks growing ever so impatient.

"Hmm," I ponder aloud, knowing all too well the ties look virtually the same simply depending on the lighting.

"Go with the black, it's classy," I say, making my final decision. Although it's futile, Knox will change his mind just about a dozen times all before this evening.

Tonight is New Year's Eve. Charlie's parents are hosting their annual party into the new year. All the boys and their families are invited—including me.

I have yet to meet Charlie's parents, and to say I'm nervous is an understatement. I feared I wouldn't be good enough for them. From what I've heard, they're rather...old fashioned and, well, snobby.

Charlie's words, not mine.

Although I can't imagine they'll be all that bad, if they raised Charlie as their son. He is the furthest thing from snobby. I take a deep, shaky breath, calming my growing nerves.

"Violet? You alright?" Knox asks, worry written across his features. I almost forgot he was still here.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie. Though Knox knows me far too well to believe it. He tosses the ties onto the wooden desk, before taking a seat at the edge of the bed beside me.

"Now, tell me what's really wrong. Please?" He urges softly, his golden puppy dog eyes trapping me, causing me to spill all my inner thoughts to him here and now.

"What if Charlie's parents don't like me? What if they insist we-we-" I stumble over my words, more fearful over the possibility of Charlie's parents putting an end to our relationship than I had thought.

Knox places a gentle hand on my thigh, his thumb rubbing back and forth slowly atop my skin.

"Not possible. They'll love you, alright?" His eyes hold onto my gaze intensely, ensuring I was understanding every word he spoke.

"Besides, Charlie's never been known to listen to his folks anyways," Knox says, a successful attempt to lighten the mood, causing a laugh to escape my mouth.

"Thanks," I whisper.

~

I huff, slamming the hairbrush atop the surface of the vanity. I cross my arms over my chest, glancing frustrated at my appearance.

I've brushed my hair in about as many styles as I can imagine, liking none of them.

I could just about cry, or scream, or both.

Although my frustration's probably less towards this bad hair day, and mostly towards the evening to come.

Truthfully, I wasn't sure why I was as nervous as I was. I'm certain they'll be nice people. Besides, all of my friends and dozens of other people will be there to distract their focus from me.

Everything will be fine.

I pick up the brush and resume combing through my hair, albeit a bit aggressively.

"Knock, knock" Charlie says with a smirk, standing behind me, looking at me through the mirror of the vanity.

"You look pretty."

I huff, pretty. My hair was not cooperating and I couldn't decide on an outfit.

"What's wrong?" He asks, immediately noticing my demeanour.

"Nothing," I say, resuming my efforts to style my hair.

Charlie wraps his arms around me, nuzzling his head in the crook of my neck. "You look perfect," he says without hesitation.

I smile.

"And tonight will be perfect too, stop worrying."

He's right. I probably was overreacting.

I finish with my hair, applying my makeup, and slipping on the black dress I had finally decided on.

The boys had already left, leaving just Charlie and I.

"Shall we?" Charlie smirks, extending his arm out for me to link mine with his. I smile. Nobody could calm my nerves quite like him.

We arrive at a large gate. Posted just before a long driveway, and encasing an even larger house.

Charlie leans out the window of the cab, pressing some numeric code onto a pad, opening the large barrier.

The house resembled a lot of Welton. It was decorated with shrubs, tall trees covered in snow, cobblestone pathways, gigantic windows, and grand archways leading towards the front door.

Before I could properly process it, we were at the front door, with Charlie raising his knuckles to knock.

His hand reaches towards mine, squeezing gently and reassuringly.

"Charles," a woman in her early forties hums formally. Her honey-blonde hair is pulled tightly behind her ears. A pearl necklace sits atop her collarbone. She's clad in a plum-coloured sequinned dress, very mother-of-the-bride-esq.

"Dear!" she shouts loudly into the bustle of the party behind her.

A tall man with features resembling Charlie, stood firm beside her much shorter frame. His hair is a shade between medium and dark brown, his eyes somewhere between a light brown and hazel.

"Charles," he greets kindly and equally as formally. It seems like an exchange between business partners, hardly father and son—or mother and son, for that matter.

Charlie grimaces slightly when his mother plants a kiss on each of his cheeks.

"And you must be..." His mother's sentence trails off into the increasingly tense atmosphere.

"Violet," I answer politely, sporting my most formal smile.

"Ah, yes. Charlie's told us so much about you."

"-I'm Ruth," she adds quickly, before I have the chance to inquire any further. Admittedly, I was curious to hear what Charlie had to say about me to his parents.

"Walter," his father offers stoically, firmly gripping my hand.

I glance over at Charlie, who looks like he wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

"Well, come in!" Ruth chirps, stepping behind Walter, as we step into the doorway.

The house's interior is equally as elaborate as its exterior. Chandeliers hung from tall ceilings, large framed paintings hung above even larger fireplaces, fancy floor rugs beneath fancy glass tables, and embroiled drapes hanging from every window.

I couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped my mouth.

"It's too much if you ask me," Charlie says.

A bit.

"No, not at all," I lie.

My eyes scan the vast bodies for one of the boys. I spot Knox in the far corner, talking to Christine. I decide against interrupting the no-doubt deep, philosophical conversation Knox is bestowing upon the poor girl. Though, Knox was certainly a catch. Yes, he is slightly dramatic. But more so, he is passionate and caring. He loves deeper than most people I know.

"Hopefully this time's a charm," Charlie jokes upon noticing where my gaze had fallen. Despite the smirk on his face, I know he truly meant it.

"Your parents seem nice," I say, lifting my gaze from Knox.

"You don't have to lie," Charlie smirks, but there's a deeper truth to his tone.

"You have this party every year?" I ask incredulously, an attempt to re-lighten the mood.

Besides, it had to have cost hundreds of dollars. From the catered food, the servers and the open bar, to the fancy New Years Eve-themed decorations.

"Unfortunately," Charlie smiles, slipping his hand into mine.

"Charles!" An older woman with bright rouge swiped across both cheeks yells, pulling him into the crowd of people. Charlie gives me a pleading and sympathetic look, as the woman drags him towards a designated dance floor.

I smile, spotting the drink and hors d'oeuvre table.

"I just don't think she's good enough, Walter."

My attention goes towards the familiar voice. I peak my head around the opposite side of the wall of which I'm leaning on, leading into the kitchen. Charlie's parents stood across from one another on either side of the kitchen island. They appeared to be in a heated discussion of sorts, judging by the harsh frown lines prominent on his forehead.

"How could he bring her to this kind of a party?" His mother asks incredulously, disgust laced in her tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Charlie's father takes the words right from my mouth.

"You know, she looks like she's been around..."

"-a slut, Walter! She looks like a slut," Ruth clarifies upon Walters bemused expression.

My mouth hung open. My heart beating both quickly and loudly. I could feel my lip begin to quiver and warm tears pooling—threatening to fall at the blink of an eye.

"My God, this is the first girl Charlie's ever brought home. Couldn't you at least pretend to be pleased?"

Walter paces the kitchen, clearly fed up. He reminded me much of Charlie. Not only the physical resemblance, but the way he grips at his hair in distress, or how he paces with his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I will not. Charles can—and will—do much better. I'll make sure of it."