Chapter Three Violet #2
She walks toward the wall, popcorn still in hand, and begins removing the snapshots of Theo and I when we were happy.
When I thought we were happy.
“Garbage,” I say before she can ask if I want to wallow with them or burn them. “Just… garbage.”
She nods once with her lips tight. A silent 'got it, boss,’ that I can totally hear in her voice.
Cassie has me eating junk food on my bed after the couch is gone and the crime scene is cleaned up. The same bed I shared with Theo up until a few hours ago.
I sigh and look at my closet, noticing the empty suitcases on the floor.
How have I not even packed yet?
I’m excited for this trip to Milan. I’m excited to say that I sang at the Olympic closing ceremony.
“Let me guess… you haven’t packed anything but your worry stone.”
This bitch can read my mind.
“No, I can’t read your mind. I just know you.”
"How did you—"
She jumps off the bed, heading toward my walk-in closet like she knows exactly what I need to wear. She starts pulling outfits from hangers, draping them over her arm. “Ya know, for you being able to plan around having this double life and everything…”
I look around like the walls just heard Cassie blab my secret.
“You sure waited until the last second to pack for one of the biggest trips of your career.”
Singing at the Olympic closing ceremony is a huge deal. I mean, they only happen, what, once every four years? And only one person will sing the National Anthem for the United States.
A flutter hits my lower belly, and I can’t tell if it’s nerves or the wine, but I’m blaming the wine.
“I’m not doing a fashion show,” I say as Cassie walks out of my closet holding a few dresses.
“But you have to,” she whines as though this is the highlight of her day.
“How about this?” I sit up from hanging over the side of the bed. “You do the fashion show and convince me why I need to wear your choices.”
Her eyes go wide, loving the idea of playing dress-up, and I almost feel bad for manipulating her to get my way. As she’s rifling through the choices in my closet, I begin thinking out loud.
“Should I downgrade my hotel to a four-star instead of a five-star?”
Her head pops out, and she lifts an eyebrow. “Why would you do that?”
I lean on my hand while tipping the wine bottle to my lips and taking a large gulp of the perfectly unsweetened drink.
“My face and style don’t belong in a five-star hotel, and I fear I’ll be pulling attention to myself.”
Cassie sighs and shakes her head, fully stepping out from the closet to give me her undivided attention.
“Alright, for starters—”
I groan and flop back onto the bed, knowing she’s about to give me the scientific reason why I’m overthinking this.
“You look great. But nobody is going to be focusing on you because there’s going to be famous athletes running around.”
That should sting, but she’s right. I'm nobody outside of my costume, and that’s what I always wanted: to keep my professional life separate from my personal life.
“Second, you’ve earned your trip to the Olympics and should treat yourself while you’re there.” Now, she’s pointing a finger at me like I better be listening to what she’s saying. “You. Are. Singing. At. The. Olympics.”
I can’t help but grin at my best friend while she compliments my achievements. She really is helping.
“And last, you have the funds to stay at a five-star hotel in Milan. So, fuck it. Stay at a five-star hotel in Milan and bang a super-hot athlete that can throw you around like the horny little rag doll you are.”
When I open my mouth to say something, she makes a zipping motion over her lips with her fingers and walks back into my closet to put an end to my insufferable questioning.
I take another sip of the wine and focus on my best friend’s fashion choices.
She’s selected a variety of sundresses, dinner dresses, and a few pants-and-shirt combos. It all feels overwhelming, and I roll onto my back to stare up at the ceiling. I’d wear leggings and an oversized hoodie to the Olympics if they’d let me.
Cassie spends an hour changing in and out of my clothes, trying to sell me on things I had already planned on taking.
Honestly, she chose a lot of what I had in mind anyway, which is a little unsettling, but I guess that’s why we’ve been best friends since we could form proper sentences.
Finally, we pass out. Cassie in my clothes. A bottle of wine in my arms.
And it’s the best sleep I’ve had in months.
At seven o’clock the next morning, Cassie is cursing me as we drive to the airport. I was going to ride with Theo since we’re on the same flight and live in the same house, but his recent actions had me choosing a different route.
“I hate you,” Cassie groans for the third time since my alarm went off.
“And I love you too,” I reply for the third time since my alarm went off.
We stop at a small cafe inside the airport, and I buy her a coffee for wallowing with me and being my chaperone. She pats my shoulder as she takes a large pull from the piping hot liquid.
I swear she has a cast-iron throat.
“Much better,” she groans, her eyes closed as she savors the flavor of shitty airport coffee.
I squeeze her arm and tell her to head home. I feel like I’m holding her hostage on a day she wasn’t even supposed to be awake at this hour. Her hospital shifts are garbage, so she tries to sleep on a normal person’s schedule whenever she can.
“Are you sure?” She looks genuinely concerned that I’ll get lost or something.
Pulling her in for a hug, I smile and let myself enjoy this moment.
“I’m sure. How can I not be okay? I’m hugging my best friend before I board a plane to Italy.”
She breaks the hug and stares at me for a moment, her eyes tearing up as the words hit her. “You really are amazing, Vi. I hope you know that.”
“That’s up for debate,” I say, insinuating that I’m freshly single and may have nowhere to live when I return to New York. I’m going to have to sell my house and let my agent know that Theo and I are not in good standing, so she can have her people monitor social media.
Nausea rolls in my belly, but I keep that feeling tucked in as best I can. Cassie and I are having a moment here, and I won’t let anything ruin that.
“I’ll text you as soon as I land,” I whisper into her hair. “I love you so much.”
She sniffles. Actually sniffles. The woman made of daggers and thorns is getting choked up over her best friend leaving for a few weeks.
When she pulls away, I erase my previous thought. She’s not crying.
“I think I’m sick.” Cassie wipes her nose on the sleeve of her shirt.
“Hey, that’s my shirt.”
She is wearing my old swim team shirt from when I was a kid. I always placed first in the hundred-yard butterfly and the two-hundred-yard medley.
“I know,” she smiles. “Like you’d ever see my ass flopping around our high school pool.”
We laugh, and I hug her again.
The intercom jumps to life as a smooth female voice claims the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin boarding for Flight 112 to Rome/Milan at gate 22 in approximately thirty minutes.”
Cassie hugs me tighter as the announcer comes back on the speakers, running through the same announcement in Italian. “Inizio imbarco per il volo…”
“Don’t die on the plane,” Cassie threatens when she finally lets me go, her cup of coffee looking a little smashed in the death grip she has on it.
I can’t help but laugh and shake my head. “I can’t say I won’t die. But Theo might.”
Now she laughs. “Michel will hopefully keep the two of you from killing each other.”
“Michel isn’t sitting with us,” I whine. “Just us two lovebugs, biting each other’s heads off.”
“I’d punch him for you if I were there.”
“I’ll do it.”
Her body vibrates with a laugh. “No, you won’t.”
I sigh. “No, I won’t.”
The hustle of people rushing toward gate twenty-two tells me I should head in that direction, so I don’t get lost in the stampede. Cassie knows it’s time for her to head home.
She tips her coffee toward me, and I salute her before I lift the handle on my suitcase and walk away, waving at the security camera along the side of the terminal.
Theo always made fun of me for doing that, even when I explained that someone behind the camera may be having a bad day, and if something as simple as a wave could help even a little, then so be it.
Security is quick, and I stop into a shop, picking out trinkets that I think my mom would like.
A glass rose in purple because, well, duh.
And a necklace with her birthstone. I’ll have to make up a story about where they came from, but I always try to get her a little something when I travel for a show.
I make it to my gate, and the first thing my eyes land on is Theo, speak of the devil, already seated and waiting like he’s just an ordinary man and not some cheating asshole.
I suppose to those sitting around him, he’s some super-hot celebrity in the wild. Half of them are probably trying to refrain from requesting an autograph.
Part of me wants to feel bad that he has a commercial flight while the rest of his team is riding on a private one, but I brush it off. He was the one who said he’d fly with me. And I’ll bet he’s too afraid to show up in Upstate New York and explain to his team why the sudden change of plans.
There’s absolutely no way he’d tell them the truth.
It makes me sick. And now I’m trapped next to that cheating chimpanzee for the next eight hours.
“Step one after landing: ditch Michel, ditch my ex, and find the strongest drink at the hotel bar.”