Chapter Nineteen
Violet
The arena is cold, despite the weather feeling warmer outside today. I’m slumped forward in my seat with my coffee balancing between my knees like it might spill over if I blink.
The semifinals aren’t for another twenty minutes, which is just enough time for my brain to realize I didn’t sleep well last night. Despite being wrapped up in Skye’s arms, sleep just never found me. I would like to file a formal complaint with my nervous system.
I’m wearing the mask again. Not the literal one, although that would be on par. Tonight I turn back into Solace. Someone I’ve kept tucked away for most of the time I’ve spent here in Milan. It’s been a vacation from myself, and it was way overdue.
Skye hasn’t just quieted the parts of me that lived for Theo’s approval, she’s opened entire realms inside me that I never knew existed. Sides of me that would have Theo staring at me in cold, silent judgment.
I don’t know what comes next. Do I tell my mom? Or is this just a strange, beautiful fluke?
The sharp, undeniable twist in my gut as Skye glides onto the ice for warm-ups answers my question. This is no fluke. But it can’t be just her, right? That wouldn’t make sense.
My gaze drifts from the rink, scanning the crowded arena. It’s hard to tell through the puffy coats and scarves, but I catch myself really looking at women’s faces. Holding a gaze a beat too long, tracing a smile, appreciating the line of a jaw. Not just noticing but considering.
Oh.
A weird, quiet certainty settles in my chest. I might be into women. I might be gay. Or at the very least, wildly bisexual.
Cassie called it.
The thought of her triumphant gloating makes me cringe, but beneath that is a profound relief. She wasn’t shocked; she saw it before I did. That validates it almost. Makes it feel real and not just some fleeting confusion.
What a development.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and it’s my reminder that the semifinals are today. As if I would be late, I settle further in my cold, plastic seat. Texting Michel that I’m at another game crosses my mind, but I’m enjoying myself too much to tell him how many humps Sally the camel has.
I give a nod to Paige, Riley, Rissa, and a few others as they skate out onto the rink, rolling their sticks and stretching against the ice. Rissa and Riley both wave like maniacs, but Paige gives me a quick nod and doesn’t look back.
Odd.
I turn my attention to my phone and send off a text to Cassie.
Violet: Currently sitting at Skye’s semifinal game, running on espresso and adrenaline. I think this might be my personality now.
Three dots pop up instantly. Of course they do. Cassie has been dying for more details since “Pussy Grapes”. Her new nickname for me.
Cassie: Look at you! International, mysterious, and slightly unhinged.
Cassie: Okay, now that that part is out of the way, cut the shit and tell me about the sex.
I snort and earn a look from the guy two rows down. I’m almost up against the glass, but being a few rows back seemed appropriate. Reaching up under my scarf, I toy with the O-ring on the front of my collar. I haven’t taken it off except when I’m showering, and that seems to please Skye.
My stomach flips at the thought of praise, and my core aches for her touch. She has completely ruined me for regular sex.
Violet: Not that you asked, but I was at the studio before I got to Skye’s, and again this morning, finalizing shit for a concert that didn’t even exist a week ago.
This concert was so out of character for Ollie. She never springs things on me like this. When she mentioned a few weeks ago that there might be a concert while I was in Milan, I figured it had fallen off the radar since I hadn’t heard anything else about it.
I make a mental note to check in with her later.
Cassie: Mmmhmmm, you’re too famous, your diamonds are too heavy, and your fans love you too much. Woe is you. Now. Sex!
Shaking my head, I dive right in, knowing she won’t let up until she gets what she wants. Plus, she has a point. I have no right to complain, since most people would kill to be in my shoes. Which are currently navy blue and white Chuck Taylors, not diamond-studded.
Violet: She rides my face regularly with two collars around my neck. One has a chain, and the other I’m only allowed to take off when I’m in the shower.
Cassie doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t have to. I know exactly what she’s going to say. When the three dots start popping up, I lift my scarf, take a selfie with the collar, and send it back to her.
The dots disappear and reappear.
Cassie: I adore you, best friend. That is the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Will you marry me?
Violet: We’ve had our marriage pact since first grade. It’s always been you, Cass.
She sends laughing emojis because we both know we could never date. Cassie’s style is dark hair, dark makeup, and dark clothes. Basically, anything that would scare Barbie.
I’m basically Barbie.
Not to mention the fact that Cassie is straighter than an uncooked spaghetti noodle.
We send a few more texts back and forth. I finally admit that I’m getting used to the way Skye handles things behind closed doors. I’m not ready to give this up yet, but there’s no way it can continue after I leave Milan.
Violet: But I’m happy. Is that weird?
Cassie: That’s called living, babe. I prescribe more of it. Also, drink water. I just yelled at a resident for forgetting that.
The fact that Cassie is yelling at residents has me laughing and gaining weird looks from my seat neighbors again. Cassie is only an intern and has no right telling the residents, who are higher on her career food chain, what to do.
That’s my girl.
Cassie: Listen to me with all of your sleep-deprived brain. You are allowed to protect yourself and still enjoy your life. Those things are not mutually exclusive. Also, you’re trying new things and glowing from across the ocean, so hush.
Violet: I love you, wife.
Cassie: You fucking better, wife. And don’t forget… I work tomorrow, but then I’m off for the next three days. Call or text if you need me. Better yet, fly me out there!
I laugh, but the laughter slowly fades as I have the craziest thought. I’m Solace. A famous pop singer who can do whatever the fuck she wants.
Violet: Pack your shit, Cass. I’m getting you a round-trip ticket.
The clock is screaming. Not literally, but it may as well be with the seconds ticking down in giant red numbers. I’m on my feet without the memory of standing up, and my hands are clenched so tight my nails are definitely leaving half-moons in my palms.
Skye has the puck. Of course she does.
She skates as she always does, fast and controlled. She’s cutting left, pulling two defenders with her like it’s part of the plan. My brain barely keeps up, but my chest does. I know the look on Skye’s face. I know what’s coming.
She passes.
Clean and perfect, right to Rissa.
There’s a breath as the entire arena inhales.
Rissa shoots.
The puck hits the back of the net with a sound that detonates the entire arena.
Goal.
I’m yelling so loudly, I don’t even realize I’m doing it until my throat hurts, and my hat starts to move around on my head. The horn blows, the crowd goes wild, and the clock strikes zero like a period at the end of a beautiful sentence.
They did it. They won the semifinal game.
The USA Women’s Hockey Team is going to the gold medal game, and I couldn’t be happier for them if I tried.
There’s chaos on the ice. Helmets crashing into helmets, gloves flying through the air, and Skye gets absolutely buried under her teammates. I’m laughing and crying in that crazy way that feels embarrassing but also necessary. My heart wants to explode through my ribcage.
I stay long enough to see Skye looking up into the stands, scanning the faces of everyone cheering.
I don’t wave or make a scene; I press my fingers to my lips and blow her a kiss that she doesn’t see.
It’s a madhouse in here, and the main characters in the stories would never actually find each other in a place like this.
I send Skye a quick congratulatory text and slip out because she will have to deal with the press.
She’ll have microphones shoved in her face, asking her how she feels about winning, what it means to make it this far, and if she knew they’d be stretching toward winning the gold.
She’ll be professional about it because she always is.
Skye was trained with her replies. She knows when she’s hit that sweet spot of just enough information.
As her… whatever the hell I am, I should be staying behind to wait and celebrate with her. But the press will be overwhelming, and I’ve got a concert to get to.
Or, as I told Skye, the opera house tour.
Outside the arena, the noise dulls, but my ears are still ringing. I finally exhale and pull my phone out, dialing without thinking too hard.
Ollie answers on the third ring.
“What,” she says. Not hello. Just what. Pure Long Island efficiency with a side of attitude, and a side I don’t normally see.
“Hi to you too. I just wanted to check in. See if you’ve been okay.”
There’s a beat. Then, a response I never saw coming.
“Excuse me?” she snaps. “Have I been okay? Violet, doll, I’m not some fragile little—”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I am thriving,” she continues without missing a breath. “I’m always fine. You’re the one running on espresso fumes and bad decisions.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, unsure of what the hell just happened. Ollie is sassy, loyal, and allergic to vulnerability, but what I just experienced was completely out of left field.
And what the hell did she mean by bad decisions? Does she know about Skye? Why would that be a bad decision? And how would she know?
Something about Ollie feels off, and if I weren’t heading to the hotel to grab my things for the concert, I’d be making damn sure that’s the last time we have an encounter like that.
The mask feels heavier under the lights.
It’s ridiculous because it doesn’t weigh anything at all. It’s made of smooth canvas with glittering accents that cover my eyes and my nose. But the instant I step out on stage, it settles into place like a second face. Solace. Not Violet. Never Violet.
I remind myself of this as the music drops low and the audience grows quiet. The kind of quiet that only happens when the crowd wants to be impressed.
It’s a private concert for the Olympic athletes and Milan’s cream-of-the-crop citizens, none of whom need to wear the Olympic logo on their sleeves to get in.
No pressure at all.
I step up to the mic, my platinum wig falling a few inches above my shoulders, and I breathe deeply. My bodysuit fits a little looser tonight, and I can’t recall skipping enough meals to lose this much weight, but I guess the time I spend with Skye can be classified as a new workout regimen.
Lots of sweat.
I need to up my caloric intake when my day includes anything involving her.
“Benvenuti allo spettacolo,” I welcome the audience to the show in Italian. A phrase I had to practice over and over in my mirror when I got back to my hotel room this morning.
My memory pulls me back to the moment I heard Skye speak the language, and it rattles me in the best way possible. I could never make Italian sound as good as she does.
I usually keep my speaking to a minimum to avoid my voice being heard too much. Even though I keep my tone higher when I’m Solace and normal when I’m Violet.
When I’m me.
I ease into Shadow in the Spotlight since that’s what people are here for. It’s been a number one hit for so long, and not one of those songs that was overplayed on the radio. Ollie made sure of it.
I let the muscle memory take over, allowing my voice to do what it’s always done when I step onto the stage.
It takes control, allowing me to hide in plain sight.
The nervousness dissolves just enough for me to look out over the crowd, scanning faces and making the fans feel seen.
That’s what they like. Especially those who are holding phones and recording.
And I swear they wet themselves when I point to their camera and it’s part of their video. It’s like a weird version of whack-a-mole.
I hit my high note, letting it soar out over the crowd, hearing half of them sing it with me while the other half lose their minds. It always happens like this. It’s such an intense note that gives everyone chills, including me.
As I swing into the next verse, my eyes find Skye.
She’s never hard to find, especially when she’s with her entire group of teammates.
Her shoulders are relaxed for once, and her long hair is still damp as if she came straight from the locker room.
She’s not paying full attention to the stage at first; she’s laughing at something Paige and Rissa are saying.
Then her eyes come up and land on me. It makes sense because I’m the main event.
Or at least Solace is. And feeling her eyes on me, knowing there’s no way she can tell it’s me, feels nauseating.
I’ve wanted to tell her, but haven't found a good time. I’m not telling her through text, and last night she was so in character with dominating me that I didn’t feel I could look over my shoulder with my leash attached and give a casual, “By the way…”
Something changes in her expression, and it takes my breath away. Confusion first as she stares at my bodysuit. Then focus, like she’s trying to put together a puzzle without knowing the final image.
My heart skips a beat, and I feel instantly anxious. She doesn't know it’s me. The mask, the wig, the character, they’re doing their job. And yet, her head tilts slightly, like she’s listening to some underlying secret in my song. Like she recognizes the shape of me without knowing why.
For a moment, I almost miss the words, but I catch them.
I turn away from the crowd, pacing the stage the way Solace does with confidence and poise. I lift the mic, close my eyes behind the mask, and give everything I have as I sing the next line. If I stop or give myself time to think, I’ll fall apart.
When I glance back, Skye’s expression has changed again. No longer confused, but something much deeper. Her jaw is set, and her eyes are fixed on mine.
I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I continue pointing into the crowd and waving at fans as I put on the show I promised Ollie and Michel.
And Tommy, of course.
The band carries me through as I wrap the room in my voice. Applause is rising in waves, but all I can feel is the pull of the one gaze I met for too long.
I stay in character and keep singing. I let Solace take the lead while I tuck Violet away, forgetting I recognized the broody glare in those dark eyes among the crowd.
The show goes on. Even when my heart is pounding loud enough that I swear Skye can hear it.