23. Violet #2
I elbowed him in the ribs. He just smiled wider.
Devika tapped a glass, the room quieted, and Simon stepped forward.
"I'll try to keep this short," he began, projecting his voice with ease, "because Violet has never enjoyed being talked about in the third person, and I can tell she's already trying to locate an exit." A warm ripple of laughter swept the room. He waited for it to settle.
"This media company was built by people who understood that stories matter. Writers, and editors, and designers, and the team standing in this room who believed in a book long before it ever had a cover. I'm proud of all of you. I'm proud of what we've built here together."
He paused, the room hanging on his words.
"And I'm especially proud," he continued, finding my eyes in the crowd, "to have spent two whole years sitting across from one of the most talented writers I've ever met…
without knowing it. Violet Paige brings light.
Her books have reached people we'll never meet, in places we'll never see, and they've made those struggling people feel less alone.
That's not a small thing. That's the whole thing. " He raised his glass. "To Violet."
The whole room raised their glasses. I looked down at the floor, overwhelmed.
Devika was at my elbow, nudging me forward. "Your turn."
My heart was hammering. I looked out at the room. These people, my colleagues, some of whom I'd brought coffee for, scheduled endless meetings for, and handed mundane briefs to for two years, were all looking at me, warm and open and waiting.
I took a deep, steadying breath.
"Thank you," I started, my voice wavering.
"I know that sounds simple, but I mean it in ways I can't fully articulate right now, which is embarrassing for someone whose literal job is articulating things.
" A few sympathetic laughs echoed back. "You've all been so generous and kind to me, and you didn't have to be, and you were anyway.
And that's not something I'll ever forget. "
I was mid-sentence when the private elevator dinged.
The silver doors slid open, and Sloane stepped out in a rush, a little breathless, her coat still on.
I stopped my speech mid-sentence.
"I need to pause right here," I announced to the room, "because the person who just walked in is the sole reason any of this exists."
Sloane stopped moving. Her eyes went wide.
"Sloane has been my cover designer since Book One. She's been my brutal editor in the margins, my panicked three-in-the-morning phone call, and the only person in the world who kept telling me to sign my real name when I kept finding excuses not to." I looked at her across the crowded room.
"She's one of the best people in my life. If I hadn't had her pushing me forward, I'd still be hiding behind a pen name right now, and you'd all be here celebrating a stranger named V.M. Ashby instead of celebrating me." I looked back at the room.
"I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to keep making good books. And I'm going to keep changing lives for as long as I can, because I know what it feels like to be saved by a book in the dark, and I want to be that for someone else."
The room cheered.
I stepped off the small raised platform and crossed the floor straight to Sloane. She was already moving toward me. She pulled me in hard, hugging me fiercely.
"You're late," I teased, wet, into her shoulder.
"The damn train was delayed." She held on tighter. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." I pulled back and looked at her.
"How does it feel?" she beamed through tears. "Being a wildly successful writer with your real name on a book?"
"It honestly feels like this moment is yours as much as it is mine," I told her.
She shook her head. "It's yours, Vi."
"I love you," I whispered.
She laughed, the sound a little unsteady. "I love you too. Please stop making me cry in public."
I hugged her again and just let the tears come quietly. The specific kind that arrives only when something beautiful you hadn't let yourself hope for has happened anyway. Sloane held on until I was done.
The party went late into the night. I stayed warm and happy all the way through it.
We finally got home very late.
Olivia announced she needed to sleep and went straight upstairs. Her bedroom door clicked closed quietly, without the sealed, angry finality of the dark old months, just the soft sound of someone who was tired and safely at home.
Simon and I stayed downstairs in the kitchen.
He opened the wine cabinet and looked back at me. "Wine?"
I leaned against the marble counter. "I'm honestly a bit tipsy already."
"Drunk sex is always good," he offered.
I laughed, tired. "Who said anything about sex?"
He looked at me, a wicked glint in his eye. "Are we seriously not?"
I smiled. "I really just want to sleep."
He crossed the kitchen and pressed a warm kiss to my neck. "What if I can change your mind?"
I started to answer, then stopped.
He pulled back, sensing the shift, and looked closely at me.
"My parents didn't call," I said into the quiet.
The kitchen went still.
"The book is everywhere. It's on the news. It's all over the internet. There's no way they haven't seen it." I stared at the counter. "They didn't call me. They didn't even text. Nothing."
"Did you want them to?"
I thought about it with brutal honesty. "I don't know. I think… I think I just wanted them to see the success, and know it was mine, and be proud of me, even if they couldn't bring themselves to say it out loud." I paused, the old sting flaring. "But they didn't."
He stepped closer, wrapping me up. "If you want to see them, we can. We can drive up there together whenever you want."
"No." The firm answer came before I'd finished thinking it. "No. I just want to be here. I want to stay right here with you."
He kissed me deep. I tangled my hands in his dark hair and kissed him back, and he deepened it slowly, his hand anchoring at my waist until I wasn't thinking about my parents, or the party, or the bestselling book, or anything else in the world except the warmth of him in this kitchen at the end of this perfect night.
He finally lifted his head, breathing hard.
"We should probably go upstairs," he murmured.
I looked at him a long, quiet moment, feeling content.
"Okay," I said.