Chapter 4 #2
“Would he and this hooker—ok, I shouldn’t say that—I actually met her in the bathroom earlier, and she was very nice.
” Violette looked lost for a beat, but then stood up straighter, squaring her shoulders.
“I’m not making this up, ok? They were kissing, like full-on tonsil tennis,” she said with vehemence, her lavender eyes flashing.
“I know you don’t know me, but I assure you I saw what I saw. ”
He studied her face, and beneath the angry exterior, he saw the vulnerable quiver of her bottom lip as she took a few loud, deep breaths. She looked up at the ceiling, and he noticed her eyes were wet.
Now he felt like an asshole. Well, technically, he was an asshole, but at least he’d never behaved the way her ex was behaving.
“Well,” he finally said slowly, feeling both anger and sympathy for her. “That, Violette, is actually worse than if you caught them naked and going at it.” He knew a few things about being cheated on. He’d never recommend it.
Her face suddenly turned a mottled red under the dusting of fine glitter across her cheeks.
“Oh shit, there he is again, over there—no! Don’t look,” she hissed, just as Axe glanced over.
He jerked his head back toward her, but not before he caught sight of the familiar messy red hair of Lucia.
She was with someone he couldn’t quite see in the crush of guests.
He hoped with whatever hope was left inside his thirty-six-year-old, sensibly-boned body, that the person Lucia was with was not this woman’s former cheating boyfriend.
Without giving it a second thought and wanting to change her mood from anything but the angry sadness she was experiencing, he murmured, “Let’s do a quick selfie.”
He deftly turned her away from the deceit of her piece of shit ex.
But a selfie? Where the fuck had that come from?
He had one, single social account and never posted himself, nor did he post about people in general.
He shared arresting images he’d photographed of landscapes, nature, archaeology, and wildlife.
His amateur photography habit was really just for him and close friends, but the account was a good way to document things easily.
Something, however, gave him the impression that Violette’s life was much more widely and actively connected.
She must have every handle, app, or whatever in existence, and used them frequently.
By her squeal of excitement, he was right, and he smiled down at her while she pulled her phone out of her purse.
“That’s dope! I like it, Danger. See, you were made for this mission.
” She patted him lightly on his stomach in encouragement, and he leaned in, enjoying it.
“I can post it to all my socials. He follows every single one, and he’ll see I’m actually here, while he’s here.
But I’ve totally forgotten about him, right? I’m with you, my masked hottie!”
Axe blinked in surprise, his face heating up. Never in a million years would he have described himself as … a hottie—hot? Somehow, he didn’t hate her seeing him like that, though.
“You have to give me your handles—only so I can tag you,” she said quickly.
“Plus, I feel like we’re friends now, you know, together on this secret mission?
” She laughed, and the tinkle of it splashed over him, making his head feel a little light.
But he was a private guy, and he didn’t like the idea of being so public.
She glanced up at him, and whatever face he was pulling must have told her: “Hell no.”
“Or, not.” She continued. “It’s not like I’d stalk you or anything. But I get it. You know what, it can be a mysterious masked meet-cute … more like a disastrous meet-cute … am I right?”
“A meet-cute?” he asked with humor, unexpectedly a little more buoyant than he ought to be at the term. It was a feeling he was beginning to become accustomed to when around this woman.
“Oh, um, it’s—well, it’s when two people meet, and it’s really cute, and, I mean, we aren’t going to go on a date and live happily ever after or anything. This is all a ruse, but—”
“I’m teasing, Violette,” he said, trying to contain his laughter. “I’m not a social hermit.” He was, by design, but she was making him want to reject that, if only temporarily.
She huffed, clearly rattled. “Let’s go in front of the champagne tower.
” She grabbed his hand and pulled him along.
He went obligingly. “Look, they’re pouring the bubbly.
Oh … wow.” She breathed. “I didn’t realize that the whole thing kind of resembles the Eiffel Tower,” she exclaimed, words falling quickly from her lips as if he weren’t even there.
Her eyes shone as she watched the pretty, pale pink fizzy liquid splash down like mini waterfalls, glass to glass from the bottles held above by waiters on ladders.
“You know, legend has it that the bowl of those wide-shaped styled champagne glasses was based on Marie Antoinette’s breast size.
It seems so … over the top and totally par for the course—completely narcissistic. I hope it’s true, though.”
Axe looked at her, surprised. “That’s absolutely a myth.” It was, and such a weird but interesting factoid—the kind that only someone like him would appreciate—and he couldn’t help but stare down at her in wonder.
“You liked to pop balloons as a kid, didn’t you?” she teased, bumping his shoulder with her own.
She pulled him closer to the opulent tower.
“Whoa,” she breathed. Waiters dropped sugar cubes and dark candied cherries into each filled glass, creating a vision of fizzy foam and deep red swirls. “It looks like … the red juice of the cherries … it sort of looks like…” She paused her commentary, unsure.
“Blood,” Axe filled in. It was supposed to. It was a play on Marie Antoinette’s beheading, and a perfectly ghoulish treat for the Halloween theme. “I hear it’s called Off with Her Head.”
She turned to him in marvel before laughing. “That’s kinda rad. I love that.”
They stared at each other for a beat, a weird sensation curling inside Axe, mimicking the cherry juice curling in the pink champagne.
“Let’s get this all in the shot,” she said, breaking the sensation and turning them while lifting her arm to take the picture.
Axe tried not to look too awkward. He smiled as pleasantly as he could, doing his best to act like he knew this woman well.
After a few clicks, she examined her screen, a frown creasing her forehead. “Usually, I’m better at this—I’m typically not the shorter one in the group.” She cocked her head to the side, still focused on the pictures. “But, I can’t quite get you in.”
He nodded, taking the phone from her. “Let me.” He was used to being the photographer in his circles.
As he positioned the phone above them, making sure he got both of them in view and the splendid tower in the foreground, she murmured excitedly, “Wait, I know.”
She moved even closer and leaned in. He felt the warm press of her body against his, and, curious, he looked down at her briefly.
In that short moment, their lips met, crushing together heatedly.
Only for a beat did he realize that she intended to kiss him on the cheek, and yet, here they were.
He clicked the button over and over again, anyway, not sure if he was capturing them in the frame anymore, not even sure he could stop clicking, because he couldn’t focus.
The kiss was good, whether it was her purpose or not.
And she wanted to make her ex jealous? He knew a thing or two about being a jealous ex, so this was going to work.
Should he pull away? Probably. Was he going to?
Eventually, when she realized what was happening, but for now, he would enjoy it—because he was helping her, of course.
That was the only reason, he thought, as her warm mouth moved against his, and he distinctly tasted the cinnamon-pumpkin-spice liquor mingled with the deep sweetness of dark chocolate on her soft, puffy lips.