2. Victoria
2
VICTORIA
“It’s not that serious, Vee. Chill out.”
Easy for my best friend, Eleanor—Ellie—St. John, to say when the most notorious musician to ever play the violin just kicked me out of his classroom and dismissed my skills as mediocre—implication: abysmal. And he threatened to cancel the entire class rather than teach it.
That would truly be a crime.
The violin has always been a safe haven for me, a way to express myself growing up that was at least tolerable in my mother’s eyes. She’s always had rigid ideas about what sort of hobbies and dreams are and aren’t acceptable for me to pursue.
Music may not be my entire life, but it certainly saved it.
And for Dante Moretti to criticize my art? It’s yet another person telling me I’ve only been fooling myself into thinking I have any talents, any value beyond the money my parents raised me with.
I never planned to make the violin my career, but I still love it. I love the challenge of writing music and being a source of joy and comfort to an audience.
The only audience my mother ever imagined for me was some sort of committee made up of ladies who lunch, a crowd of monied women pretending to give a shit about something other than themselves. My entire life, I’ve been told that I’m to marry, have a family, and continue the legacy of power associated with the Waldorf name. I grew up in privilege, went to the best schools, and I even have a trust fund waiting for me. It requires me to actually marry some entitled frat boy with a gilded name. My father is adamant that I give him a male heir for his company, something my mother failed to provide him with. Quote— You need to keep having kids until you birth a boy.
Unfortunately for him, I gave up on ever touching that money years ago. And I definitely don’t plan on becoming a baby-making machine just so he can have a grandson.
I’m actually kind of hoping I only ever have daughters, just to spite him.
However, having children is so far down the list of things I want to do in my life that he might die first.
And, while I don’t expect the violin to make me any sort of money, it’s a comfort I refuse to give up.
“C’mon, get dressed.” Ellie tugs me off my bed by my wrist and drags me to our shared closet. Not only are we the same size, we have similar styles. We lost track of what belongs to who ages ago. “Pick anything you like.”
“I don’t want to go.”
The words slip freely from my mouth, not because of what Professor Moretti said, but because I don’t wish to waste my night on expensive liquor and trap music. The time would be better spent studying at the local Starbucks, riding a coffee buzz while I catch up on my mountain of class work. Thronewood’s fall term is just getting started, but I started some extra classes at Graham Community College two weeks ago.
“Wait, what do you mean?” Ellie crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. Her beautiful sandy blonde hair cascades over her pink bra and ivory shoulders.
I love my best friend with a passion. We’ve been attached at the hip since the tenth grade, when her family moved from L.A. to the East Coast.
She knows me better than anyone, but she refuses to accept that I’m not a party girl. According to her, I’m all work and no play and it’s about time I learn to live it up. Her green eyes spark with a familiar determination to get me to relax, act our age.
Maybe I should.
The other girls at Thronewood aren’t staying in their dorms reading books and playing the violin until their roommate threatens to break it.
Ellie can get violent when she’s too hungry or overtired.
“Liam is going to be there,” I explain. “And I pretty much told him to get lost earlier today.” Ellie’s brows knit, silently begging for more details. “He’s on that marriage kick again.”
“Ew.” Ellie’s face scrunches up like she ate sour candy. “What’s wrong with him? Liam Moretti is the biggest fuck boy on campus. No offense, but why would he want to marry you?”
“I don’t know, but he’s starting to get aggressive about it. And we’ve—I wouldn’t even consider it dating. He only calls when he wants sex and?—”
“Please don’t tell me you’ve been giving it to him.” I pinch my lips into a fine line. I have. Hey, a girl’s got needs. Liam’s definitely a fuck boy, but he can be oddly thoughtful.
Last week, he filled up my gas tank, brought me lunch, and sat down to watch Bridgerton . Mind you, he asked a million and one questions because he joined me three episodes into the season, but I let it slide.
When I see Liam, I see more than the cocky guy who sits on his fraternity’s leadership council. I see a guy who likes my nerdiness, indulges my love of reading and music, and likes to talk about things we could do together someday. His daydreams about some hazy future are usually at least mildly entertaining.
Except when he mentions next summer.
AKA when my mother claims I’m going to be getting married. To Liam.
I may be willing to indulge Liam’s sketchy fantasies of someday, but I’m nowhere near willing to make a commitment to him or anyone else.
“Oh, Vee…” Ellie pivots on her heels and begins looking for something in the closet. “He better be paying your way while trying to secure the bag.”
“He does. He refuses to let me pay for anything.”
“Good.” She twirls around and holds a hot pink dress to the front of her body. “Because we’re moving to Paris and he’s not invited.”
And he’d hate it there.
Liam doesn’t enjoy traveling and, when he does, it’s to the Hamptons with his frat brothers or for a football game with his team. Other than that, he’s happy staying local.
“I haven’t mentioned that yet.”
Ellie shrugs, glancing down at the outfit she picked out. “You’re not going to back out on me, though.” Her eyes fly to mine, almost panicked. “Right?”
I nod. “Right. But my mother is adamant about him. Says he’s perfect marriage material.”
“Your mother can go to hell with the rest of her gold-digging friends. This isn’t the 1800s marriage mart. We’re twenty years old and independent. If you don’t count the trust fund I’ll get in a few months.”
I blow out a frustrated sigh. I hate that we’ll both have to depend on hers because mine won’t be an option.
“ Stop . You know I’m not worried about it.”
“I am,” I retort evenly. “It’s not fair that you’ll be pulling all the weight until I can find a job there.”
“And I have no doubt that you’ll get one lickity-split. But there’s enough money to last us years, Vee. Just focus on school and running over to your other school,” she rolls her eyes, “you little psychopath. If you weren’t in the culinary program, I’d force you to quit. But having a bestie that cooks is only going to benefit me.”
“And the hot European guy I marry.”
Ellie beams at me. “Oh, girl, yes. And they’ll be men. Not these annoying little shits with tiny brains and smaller dicks.” She twists her body back and forth. “How does this dress make me look?”
“Excellent.” I step forward and begin scouring our closet for something to wear. If Ellie is really going to this thing, I might as well give in and go with her. “Wear it while you can because I’ll need you to taste everything I make. If I’m going to open up my own bakery, I want everything to be absolutely—” A hard knock sounds on our dorm door, cutting into my words as Ellie and I both glance at it.
“Did you invite someone?”
I shake my head back and forth, dread filling my veins. “No. But I have a feeling I know who it is.”
My best friend scoffs as she makes her way to the door, yanking it open with a huff and revealing Liam on the other side.
He gives her a shitty smile, one that doesn’t hold any warmth. He and Ellie don’t care for each other. She likes to give him shit for being a waste of space, telling him to take his entitlement and shove it up his ass every time he mentions business, networking, or his frat.
“Eleanor,” he greets flatly. “Do you always show up at the door looking like a cheap?—”
“Finish your sentence, Moretti,” Ellie cuts in, her palm wrapped around the edge of the door, ready to slam it in his face. “And I’ll make sure Victoria finds a bigger dick to screw.”
He scoffs and weasels his way inside, his features immediately softening upon finding me. My stomach twists nervously. Liam can be intense sometimes. He’s used to getting what he wants as soon as he wants it, and I’m firmly in his sights.
While it’s flattering, Liam’s constant talk about marriage freaks me out. Especially when my mother is giving the same sort of lecture every chance she gets.
“Hey, babe. You ready to go?”
Does it look like I’m ready to go?
“No,” I reply. “Ellie and I?—”
“I told you that I would take you tonight,” he retorts, brows pinched together. “You see Ellie all the time.”
I bob my head because I do, but I don’t know what that has to do with anything. “Right, but?—”
“I was gonna take us to Brucy’s when we were done. It’s been a few weeks.”
My stomach growls, betraying me, at the thought of a cheeseburger and the best chili cheese fries I’ve ever had in my life. The Thronewood dining hall serves a delicious—if overly health-conscious—menu, and I taste plenty of different dishes during my classes at Graham, but I’ll never pass up the chance to eat at my favorite diner.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Ellie warns him, making her way over to the bathroom to change. “We’ll be in Paris soon enough.”
Liam rolls his eyes, undeterred. He must be convinced he’ll have the power to keep me here.
But staying in Connecticut means dealing with my parents, listening to my mother talk about wedding venues, and disappointing her every time I remind her that I’m not getting married anytime soon.
“Sorry about earlier,” he offers with an almost shy grin after Ellie closes the bathroom door. “I didn’t mean to boss you around. I know we haven’t really talked much about next summer and I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”
“Liam, this is crazy.” I return my focus back to the closet so I don’t have to meet his light brown eyes. “Our families need to chill with this whole getting married thing. I have a lot of things I’d like to do before having a husband.”
“I know,” he agrees instantaneously. “But I hate arguing with my mom. Ever since my dad died, she’s been completely focused on me. I don’t want to come off like I’m ungrateful that she cares. I’m all she has.”
I can’t imagine how he must be feeling. Even though my parents have impossible standards, losing one of them would be devastating.
I remember the night Liam told me that his dad died. The blank look in his eyes as he mumbled the words. The sheer shock that blanketed his face as he stared at the floor and told me that a bunch of drunk kids hit his father’s car, sending him over a bridge.
“I guess we’ll get around to talking it out eventually,” I assure him. But delaying this conflict won’t make it better. “I really want to focus on school.”
“And I don’t want to take that away from you,” he replies evenly. “I know how much you love the culinary program over at Graham Community. I told you to use me as your food test dummy any time.”
He has—more than a million times—and I appreciate him supporting me spending my free time racing across town to take classes there to pursue my real dreams. Jumping between Thronewood and Graham takes up a lot of my day, but I wouldn’t give up the opportunity for the world. I’ve already learned so much in the two semesters I’ve been enrolled there. At Thronewood, I’m majoring in music—something my mother tolerates because she doesn’t see it as something that will lead to my independence—but I’m minoring in business. Which means I have some of the top marketing and economics professors teaching me all their tips and tricks.
What I’m hoping is that I’ll be able to take everything I’m learning and use it to open my own bakery in Paris and live there for the rest of my life, far from my parents’ crushing expectations.
“Thanks,” I reply, glancing over my shoulder to Liam. “But I don’t have anywhere to cook in the dorms."
“You could always come by the frat house. We’ve got a kitchen. I can make the pledges scrub it top to bottom.”
That’s actually not a bad idea.
“Damn.” I give up on finding a dress, already lost in the rabbit hole Liam showed me. “That’s—Maybe I could come over the next time you go on a weekend retreat?”
Liam shoves his hands into the pocket of his forest green hoodie, Thronewood Titans embroidered across the chest. “I have some ideas. Not always good ones, but sometimes?—”
“It’s perfect, Liam.” I give him a small smile. “Thank you.”
He nods and jerks his head. “I’ll meet you at the party?”
I’m slightly shocked that he’s giving me the space I so desperately want. Not that he always overcrowds me, but I have little enough privacy as it is.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I’ll text you when I’m there.”
He bows his head in acknowledgment. “I’ll keep my phone on me.” Liam begins to turn away before pausing in the doorway. “Hey, um…my uncle, he’s a bit rough around the edges. Don’t let him hurt your feelings when you’re in his class. Just…watch it, okay?”
Rough isn’t the word I would use.
More like brutal and cruel.
“I’ll try to,” I reply. “Though, I’m not sure how I’m going to do that when he’s supposed to be teaching me. I want to learn from the best. But I don’t think he’s going to make it easy.”
“Some shit happened in Italy. The dude gets all in his feels. Ma says he’s lost. I think he’s just a douchebag. Plus, everyone is still adjusting to Dad being gone, so…”
“I understand. If you need anything, let me know, yeah? I appreciate you looking out for me and I want to do the same.”
“Sounds like a relationship. You finally lettin’ me call you my girlfriend?”
No. Not happening.
Even if I feel like I owe him something. “Take me to Brucy’s and we’ll talk more then.”
His lips curve into a real smile. “Deal.” He wags a finger at me. “You know a relationship includes coming to at least one of my socials.”
“Don’t you have enough girls going to those?”
Liam shakes his head with a smirk. “Not any named Victoria Waldorf.”