Chapter 46
46
Viktor hands me an axe. The sharp edge glints in the sun.
I gawk at him. “Are you serious?”
“What’s wrong, Chloe? You used to beg to chop wood with me.”
I bite my tongue. Damn Chloe and her weird hobbies. Who the hell chops wood for fun?
Reluctantly, I take the axe. When he lets go, I almost fall forward, unprepared for the weight.
Viktor sets a fresh log in front of me and crosses his arms. Waiting.
Sweat trickles down my armpits. I take a deep breath and steel myself. Squeeze my abs and tuck in my pelvis like I’m in Pilates. I’m a SoulCycle queen. I can do anything. I am a warrior beast!
I aim the axe at the middle of the log, then lift my arms over my head. With all my might, I swing forward with a grunt. The axe cleaves right through, ripping the wood in half with a satisfying crack. The pieces fall off to the side. Fresh cedar wafts into the air, its wooden flesh exposed.
I jump, surprised at my strength. Holy shit! I’m stronger than I thought.
Viktor laughs and angles the pieces again so I can chop them into quarters. Maybe Chloe was onto something. This is pretty stress-relieving—more fun than I thought it would be. No wonder lumberjacks seem like such chill dudes. It’s impossible to feel anger if you are constantly whacking away, breaking shit in half.
Eventually, Viktor tells me I’ve chopped enough wood for tonight.
“What’s tonight?” I ask.
He smiles. “Dinner by a campfire.”
“Oh, sounds fun.” I hope this meal will be more relaxed than the last. Maybe Iz has simmered down and the girls will be able to forgive her. I just want everyone to be together again.
I help him stack the wood onto a wheelbarrow. After putting in the last piece, I take a satisfied breath and pick the wood chips off my clothes.
Warmth spreads onto my back. Viktor wraps his arms around my torso, his face deep in my hair, long nose poking my cheek.
I freeze. “Uh. Wha—”
He gropes me, kissing my neck, one hand swimming to my breast, the other traveling down my legs, squeezing. He moans, breathless.
I scream. Push him off me and scramble away. Somehow, my hands find purchase on the axe. I hold it out in front of me. “Get away!” I shriek.
His eyes widen, hands flying up in the air. He paces backward.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I scream.
His brows furrow with confusion. “Y-you normally like it when I do that!”
“What?”
“After you chop wood, you like to do it by the barn. To burn off all the extra energy. That’s our thing.”
Our thing?
My mouth is so wide, a moth could make a home in it.
It makes so much sense now, why Viktor had all these memories of Chloe. They must have spent a lot of days and nights together.
I put down the axe and try to laugh it off. “Sorry, I’m not in the mood. The image of Bella Marie’s mom is just, like, seared onto my brain. Not exactly, uh, the best aphrodisiac.”
He nods like he totally understands. “I hear you. But whenever you need me, I’ll be at your service.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I’ll, uh, give you a shout when I need you, I guess. For… sex.” Okay. Fully cringing now. We’re silent for a bit, a rippling awkwardness between us.
I palm my forehead, still recovering from when he groped me. I’m desperate to change the topic. “So, you mentioned the campfire tonight, right? I can help set up.”
He’s surprised by this offer. “Really? Okay!”
We bring the logs to the beach and stack them next to a long dining table. After which I help him set up some tiki torches that are boxed up in storage.
“I’ll grab some lighter fluid,” he says, disappearing into the small wooden building.
As I wait, I hear squeaking. The pitter-patter of tiny feet. They might have a rat infestation. I get chills just thinking about it. Even though I’ve lived in New York for a few months, I’m not used to walking the streets at night when the rats are out.
Viktor returns with a bottle of lighter fluid. We coat the torches so they catch and stay burning for longer. By the time we finish, night has tinted the sky and the staff are setting up for dinner. They roll a long burgundy runner along the center of the dining table and place twisty candles and vases of flowers on top. I ask if they’d like help and they’re all surprised. “Oh, no. Please sit down, Miss Van Huusen,” they say, moisture gathering along their temples.
It’s a bit awkward, sitting there alone as the staff bumble around me. Viktor tries to rope me in for conversation, something about how he wishes wood chopping was part of the Olympics, but the memory of his rough hands flares in my mind as soon as he opens his mouth.
Even though there are only ten minutes till dinner, I decide to leave for my bungalow, making the excuse that I want to change into another outfit. When I’m back outside in a luxurious Belle by Bella Marie silk emerald dress with a high leg slit, the table has been set. Bella Marie and seven Belladonnas, sans Iz, are waiting for me. Some staff members play live music—violin, cello, and harp—a few paces away. The music’s lush tones resonate in the air, backed by the sound of the ocean. I don’t recognize the tune—an original, perhaps.
I hang back for a moment and watch the Belladonnas. Their voices are as soothing as birdsong as they chirp in high tones, their wind-chime giggles perforating the air. French braids crisscross their heads, the strands as tight and binding as their friendship. Small flowers are slotted between each knot: peonies, daisies, petunias, camellias. I missed out, apparently. I finger my loose, inky strands. My bones ache for it, the desire to be included. I wonder if Chloe braided her hair like them. I wonder if the others sense that I’m different from the woman they used to know.
Bella Marie finds me. “Chloe!” she says, beckoning with her hand.
The other seven turn to me. “Chloe!” A high and sweet chorus, welcoming me. Their gravity is irresistible.
I go to them.