8. Simon #2
I studied Violet. Her eyes were fixed on Sloane, flat and unmoving.
I'd known Violet Paige for two years. In the office, here at the restaurant today, on the phone at midnight, she'd been steady and contained in everything she did.
The idea that she'd gone somewhere and made a permanent, painful choice to ink her skin in places she wouldn't even name in front of a teenager…
that wasn't the tidy version of her I'd built in my head.
"There's one right at her waist," Sloane volunteered.
"Sloane, shut it!" Violet shrieked, her voice spiking half an octave. Olivia dissolved into breathless laughter. I said nothing. I wasn't about to be the one to stop this interrogation.
Sloane pointed an inked finger at Violet. "Do you want me to tell him where the other one is?"
"I'm not a prude," Violet said, glaring at me, "and no, you may not. Boundaries. Please."
I looked back and forth between the two women. If the first tattoo hid at her waist, the second had to be somewhere that took very specific, intimate circumstances to ever see. I picked up my water glass to hide my expression and kept my face still.
"So, that's what you look like underneath it all," I murmured into my glass. "Tattooed."
Violet dropped her gaze to her plate. Her whole face had gone bright pink. "Boundaries, Mr. Beckett."
I only smiled.
The conversation shifted after that. Sloane and Olivia found their way back to their own private thread.
Violet sat with much less tension in her shoulders than she'd brought to the table, catching my eye now and then with a shy smile before looking back down at her food.
She didn't push for more personal conversation, and neither did I.
She'd chosen what pieces of herself she was willing to give today, and I wasn't going to reach past that.
We finished eating. Sloane and Olivia traded contact information right there on the busy sidewalk. Sloane had her phone out before Olivia had finished saying she'd like to keep in touch.
Then Sloane pulled Olivia into a tight hug right there on the pavement, arms thrown out with zero hesitation. Olivia's arms rose slowly to return it. Her chin rested over Sloane's shoulder, and I could see her face from where I stood. She closed her eyes for one long, peaceful second.
Violet looked up at me. "Have a good rest of your Saturday, sir."
"You too, Violet."
We stood there a moment on the sidewalk. She still had the romance paperback from the store tucked under her arm. She gave one last nod, then turned on her heel to follow Sloane up the block.
Manuel was already waiting half a block up. He opened the rear door, and Olivia and I climbed into the quiet of the town car.
The ride was thick with quiet for the first six blocks. Olivia stared out her window. I stared out mine.
I unlocked my phone and tapped out a text to Violet, telling her to thank Sloane for me, and thanking her for a good afternoon. I hit send and tossed the phone onto the leather seat beside me.
Without turning her head, Olivia spoke. "Violet is really pretty."
My hand froze halfway back to my knee.
I looked over at my niece. She was still staring out her window, her face giving nothing away.
"Why are you bringing that up?" I asked, careful.
"I'm just making a general observation." She kept her eyes on the blurring city. "She's very pretty. That's a good thing."
She stayed quiet a long beat. "What's your physical type, Uncle Simon?"
I let out a harsh laugh. "Olivia, please."
She turned to look at me, her face a mask of innocence. "What?"
"Violet is my executive assistant. We happened to run into each other at a bookstore on a Saturday by accident. That's the whole content of our personal relationship. I'm not interested in her that way."
She was quiet another moment, studying my face. "You look at her a lot."
"She was sitting right across from me at a small table."
"You looked at her even when she was looking at Sloane."
I didn't have a defense for that, so I didn't answer. I turned back to my window.
I decided not to mention the ninety-one-minute midnight phone call.
"I really liked her," Olivia said. "And I really liked Sloane. I'd like to know both of them better."
I looked back at my niece. She'd turned toward her window again, her chin tipped up as she watched the city move past the tinted glass.
"What if we asked them to come up to the lake house?" The idea came out before I'd thought it through. "For your birthday weekend."
She spun around, her eyes wide.
"Are you serious?" She searched my face for the punchline. "I would love that! Both of them?"
"Both of them. I'll ask Violet on Monday."
She turned back to the window, but this time I caught the clear reflection of her mouth pulling up into a smile in the glass.
I turned back to my own window, satisfied.
Later that evening, I sat alone at the kitchen table long after Marta had gone home and Olivia had retreated upstairs.
The big house was quiet. Through the ceiling, I could hear the faint sounds of Olivia moving around, the creak of her floorboards, the click of her reading light.
She was awake. She was present now, not just getting through the day.
If I was going to bring them to the lake house for Olivia's birthday, I wanted to give her a gift that mattered. Something that would reach her the way those online books had been reaching her.
I thought about it, and the answer was right there. V.M. Ashby. That was the gift.
Violet was looking for her. I'd make sure she found her.