Chapter Fifteen Violet
Chapter Fifteen
Violet
A missed call from Leah is the last thing I want to deal with.
So, I don’t. I swipe away the notification and look in the mirror on the wall in my hotel room. Then, I open the contacts in my phone and click on Cassie’s name.
The lights in Four Seasons Milan are way too flattering. That’s the first thing I notice as I stare at my reflection on the screen while my FaceTime ring tries to connect.
I’m dying to tell Cassie everything about Milan. Thankfully, there’s no way for her to drill into Skye with questions, ensuring my safety or anything, that would be overwhelming for everyone involved. I can’t imagine what she’d say if I told her about the grapes from last night.
Oh God, the grapes.
Cassie’s orders for my trip specifically include sex. It seems she manifested just enough energy to make that happen.
My legs feel like they're still shaking from being wrapped around Skye’s head not that long ago.
Twice in less than twelve hours. But who’s counting?
Skye took me to breakfast this morning at this tiny, sun-drenched cafe that’s tucked away from the tourist hustle and bustle.
We shared a thick, buttery cornetto, and she drank her espresso in two swift gulps while I tried not to stare at her mouth.
The whole thing felt wildly covert, like we were secret agents on a mission.
Afterward, she just nodded toward the door with that quiet intensity of hers, and we went back to her hotel room.
It was such an adventure, the kind that makes your pulse skip just by replaying it in your head.
And I know Cassie will demand every single detail, from the way the light caught Skye’s green eyes to the specific, heavy click of Skye’s hotel room door locking behind us.
The clock tells me it’s 9:17 a.m. here in Milan, which means it’s 3:17 a.m. in New York. Cassie is either asleep, committing minor crimes, or on her break from work, feral and caffeinated.
The sharp brrt-brrt of the FaceTime ring is echoing in the quiet hotel room as I wait for Cassie to either answer or decline the call.
Then, the screen lights up.
Cassie appears in the same hoodie she always wears over her scrubs that says “Hot Girls Cry at Trader Joe’s” with her headset crooked over one ear.
Fluorescent breakroom lighting and a vending machine is humming behind her.
That tells me it’s too cold outside for her to be sitting in her car during her work break.
“Okay.” She instantly points at her screen. “Why do you look like you’re in a perfume commercial?”
“I mean, I basically am. I’m in the Four Seasons Milan, and I touched a marble surface, so now I have a personality.”
She squints. “Turn the camera.”
I pan dramatically around the room, catching the ceiling, arched windows, and the robe that hangs on my bathroom door.
Cassie gasps. “Girl, you’re basically living and breathing The Devil Wears Prada.”
“Don’t say it like that,” I laugh. “You’re making it sound like I’m about to be bullied by a woman in sunglasses.”
She leans closer. “You look… unwell. But glowing at the same time.” Then, she gasps, and I swear every intern in her break room is now staring at the camera
“You slept with her,” she shouts.
Well, so much for keeping it on the down low.
I run a hand over my face. “Okay. So, Skye,” I begin as I watch Cassie lean into her phone while the sound of a crunching chip bag fills my ears. This bitch is basically at a dinner theater right now. “Things are… escalating.”
Cassie’s eyes widen theatrically. “Escalating how? Like, she-brushed-your-hand escalating or I-need-to-go-freeze-in-my-car-so-you-can-tell-me-things escalating?”
I stare at the ceiling and tuck my tongue into my cheek.
“Get out of my way, assholes.” Cassie’s rushed tone blasts through my phone, and I laugh hysterically as I watch the floor flashing across the screen. She’s actually running to her car. Cassie. Running.
“You trying out for the Olympics?” I ask her a minute later, finding the comment quite punny.
“I’ll be the Olympic runner,” she says out of breath as she slams her car door shut. “You be the Olympic yapper and tell me what the fuck you’ve been doing.”
“Yeah, I was just kidding about all that.”
Her eyes turn to slits as she settles her phone in the stand on her dashboard. “I will cut you, bitch. Spill.”
I chuckle and dive straight in. “So, she took me to an arcade to meet her entire team.” I take a deep breath. “She’safemaledommewhoategrapesoutofmypussy.” I turn that phrase into one word. “This morning she took me to breakfast, and now we’re just kind of seeing how things go.”
My gaze finally shifts to the screen, where Cassie’s one eye is the only thing I can see. “The fuck did you just say?”
I sigh and give a little shrug. “She’s a domme who ate grapes out of my pussy.”
Her hands tug violently at her hoodie strings, then shift to her hair and back to her hoodie.
“One thing at a time,” Cassie finally manages. “Domme. Like whips? Orders? Yes, ma’am?”
I nod. “We haven’t done whips or ma’am’s, but yeah.”
Cassie starts clapping like an idiot. “This is gold. Okay, start from the beginning.”
I tell her about me signing the contract. About my first night with Skye, the grapes and the blindfold. Then, I give her more details because I know that’s all she really wants.
“And then you…”
“Had sex this morning after breakfast,” I rush out. “No biggie.”
But it is a biggie. It’s actually a HUGE biggie. And honestly, I can’t wait to do it again.
“Did you go down on her yet?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“Are you going to?”
A smirk tugs at my mouth. I hate to admit it, but it’s all I’ve been thinking about. Since Skye opened that door, I feel like a different person. Like I can finally be myself, not just the woman who cowers offstage, hiding behind her bigger personality.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I tell her. “I’m hoping she doesn’t hate it.”
Cassie shakes her head while tipping the bag of chips up on end to get the crumbs at the bottom. This girl and her snacks.
“She’ll love it. Just do to her what you want done to you. Focus on the clit, which won’t be an issue for you because you’re a woman and know where it is. Tease and suck, baby girl. Tease and suck. You’ve got this.”
“Lesbian advice from my best friend,” I groan. “And I thought we peaked at binding spells with boys’ pictures in middle school.”
“There’s no peak for us. We keep rising.” She looks around her car and stuffs the empty chip bag into the door beside her before looking back to me. “I just can’t believe you’re finally admitting that you like women.”
The comment throws me because my first instinct is to argue that I don’t, but honestly, I can’t.
“And now you’re having an internal battle with yourself because you hate that I’m right,” she continues. “You’re falling for her.”
I point at the screen. “Don’t jump the gun on this, Cass,” I warn. “She’s got a lot on her plate and doesn’t need a newbie—”
“Holy shit,” she groans, leaning her head against the headrest behind her. “You’ve hit defensive mode. You fell. You’re so done. You’re cooked. You’re soufflé.”
I don’t say anything because I don’t need to. And Cassie knows it. I’m absolutely done for, and I hope this time I don’t get my heart broken.
“Okay, listen.” Cassie points her finger at the screen, her expression shifting from playful to serious.
“Look at you. You’re in Milan, literally glowing like a skincare ad.
My professional opinion? You let this thing escalate.
But slowly. On purpose. Not because it’s some hot, dramatic fling, but because it matters. Got it?"
I let those words sink in. When my best friend isn’t being her glorious stand-up-comedian self, she has a way of cutting straight through the noise and handing me exactly what I need.
And she’s right. This thing with Skye? It does matter.
Another note slipped under my door. Another jab at my double life from a complete stranger.
Michel is supposed to be off duty when I’m not Solace.
Who would come after Violet?
He and Tommy have plans to be gallivanting around Milan. So, dragging him into this feels like a violation of his personal time.
But protocol is protocol. And I already ignored his orders after the first note arrived.
Anything out of the ordinary is to be brought to me immediately.
The words from Michel burned into my memory.
Just rip off the Band-Aid. Tell him what happened, and let him do his job.
I sigh, and pick up my phone.
Violet: I’m sorry, but this was under my door when I got back to my room today.
Violet: [Image attached]
His reply comes through faster than I imagined.
Michel: I see Tommy picked the wrong week to develop a deep appreciation for Renaissance frescoes.
Violet: I can just… toss it? Ignore it?
Michel: Tempting. Creates more paperwork later, though. My location is compromised. Give me fifteen. Do not open the door until you get the signal from me.
Violet: You don’t have to do this right now. It’s your vacation.
Michel: Vacation was Tommy dragging me to a fabric museum yesterday. This is a tactical reprieve. Fifteen minutes.
True to his word, fourteen and a half minutes later, two knocks rap on my door.
“Sally the camel has…”
“Three humps,” Michel’s whispered reply sneaks through the door.
I open it.
Michel stands in front of me, smelling like citrus and cigarette smoke, looking every bit the tourist in dark jeans and a soft charcoal sweater. A far cry from his usual attire as my security detail. He holds a paper bag from a pastry shop.
“Brought bribes,” he says dryly, holding up the bag. “Tommy insists on sharing.”
He steps in, his eyes doing a quick, professional sweep of the room before landing on the note. I put the first one right on top of it so he would know this is a second occurrence. He takes them, holding them up.
“Dramatic.” His tone is flat. He pulls his phone from his pocket and shines the flashlight over the notes. “No trackers, just standard stationary.” He scans the letters, the handwriting, any signs that will lead him to answers.