Chapter 9
VIOLET
THE NEXT MORNING, I’M HUNGOVER as hell and regretting every single choice I’ve made lately: coming here early for the wedding, having those two (or was it four?) extra tequila shots, opening my big fat mouth.
I start spiralling. About my job. About my family. About my non-existent dating life.
I’m lying sprawled out on the dock, the sun beating down, warm and soothing against my skin.
The lake is flat and calm this morning and two loons have been floating on the water nearby.
Maybe, I think dramatically, the sun will evaporate me like the water, and I can forget all of this ever happened.
How did I end up like this? I’m smart, I’m capable.
And I’m utterly lost. I’ve been drowning for a long, long time.
Head down, work done, burned out.
I have my arm draped over my eyes, so I don’t immediately notice his approach. But soon the wharf is swaying, his footsteps rocking the wooden fixture.
I don’t even bother moving my arm aside. I know I’m not lucky enough that it will be anyone other than Finn. Probably looking refreshed and not hungover at all, just perfectly tanned and ripped. I don’t dare look. Maybe, hopefully, he’ll think I’m asleep and leave.
He kicks my calf playfully, before drawling, Good morning sunshine.
Noooooooooooo, is the only thing I can manage to get out in response.
He laughs and then I hear him jump into the water, splashing loudly but thankfully not getting any of the spray on me. I peek out from under my arm to watch him swim down the shoreline, his shoulders moving smoothly through the water.
I feel my face burn as I think more about last night. He seemed so shocked about my never having a boyfriend. I guess it is surprising, I mean, I am thirty-three years old. I swallow, trying to shove the memories aside, as well as the burning embarrassment.
He’s gone for long enough that I really do doze off, so content and warm in the sun, my head still pounding. I don’t hear him until he’s climbing back up the ladder of the dock.
Violettttt, he sings my name softly as he pulls himself out of the water and onto the wharf, his deep voice jolting me awake.
That voice could wake me from the dead, I think, my body covered in goosebumps.
Don’t you want to come for a morning dip with me?
It’ll help with that hangover I’m sure you’re battling after last night.
Let me die here, I wail at him, more dramatically than I intend. I can’t see his face, but his laugh sounds almost surprised.
No one’s dying today, he says. I hear him walk away. I feel both anguish and relief. No, this is good, this is better. Better to sulk in my own miserable company.
A few minutes later the footsteps are back. I try not to react.
Here, he says, handing me a glass of water. Drink that, then this, he hands me a bottle of Coke. At my skeptical look he adds, It’s good for the hangover.
To my surprise, dismay, delight, he sits down beside me.
About last night, he says, and I have to stifle the groan that tries to escape me. I worry that he’s going to say something like, don’t be embarrassed Violet, we all say stupid things when we’re drunk. And that will be what kills me today.
Instead, what he says is this: I have a proposition for you.
For a split second I think, a proposal????? In marriage? Then I snap back to reality, the words registering fully. Proposition, Violet, is an entirely different word, you absolute freak.
I sit up now, no idea where this is going, and down the rest of my water. I don’t want my hungover imagination running away from me.
Which is what? I ask him.
We could pretend, he says simply, his eyes roving over my face. I really, really hope I managed to take off all my makeup last night. I haven’t even looked in a mirror this morning.
Pretend what?
Pretend that we’re together. He raises an eyebrow in question, smiling now. It would solve a lot of problems for me and frankly, it sounds like it would solve a lot of problems for you, too.
I try frantically to rack my brain for an excuse.
This is a dumb idea, right? But telling my family that I met someone would get them off my back.
They’re far enough away that they’d never have to interact with Finn—so there would be no meddling from them.
And no way for anyone to clock exactly how far out of his league I am.
Finn continues, his voice a little bit teasing. Our contract would be good for the summer, while we’re both here.
I wonder what he would be getting out of this, and figure I should probably ask.
What’s in it for you?
I swear he flinches, but he seems to control himself, that arrogant mask coming out again. And it is a mask, I realize. Whatever the I-don’t-care attitude is that he puts out, it isn’t entirely real. I feel almost envious. I wish I didn’t care so much.
His smirk doesn’t fool me, but he says, Besides spending my summer alongside a beautiful woman?
I try so hard not to, but I blush anyway.
I hope with the blinding sun he doesn’t notice.
He doesn’t mean it, I remind myself. He called you a weirdo less than twelve hours ago.
So this is all just an act, but to what end, I’m not sure.
I also have some people in my life that I want to prove wrong. He says it like a challenge.
Your family too? I wish my voice hadn’t sounded quite so hopeful, so pathetic.
He looks at me for a long time. I swallow hard, and have to force myself not to buckle under that gaze. The cockiness and…something I can’t quite put my finger on.
He nods. Them, yes, and others. But also to myself.
What do you mean?
That I can be someone’s boyfriend—a good one, too. I haven’t exactly— he ruffles his hair nervously, but it falls perfectly back into its swoops. I haven’t exactly been given the chance to do it right. And I want to know that I could, under the right circumstances.
I have so many questions. But I’m honestly still nauseous—both from the night before and from this conversation. I mull it over. It’s an easy choice for me. I would get to tell my family I met someone, we were together until we weren’t, and they would hopefully back the hell off and leave me alone.
Honestly, I could even keep the ruse going—I could lie to them when the summer was over, tell them we’re doing long distance, in order to buy myself time until I figure things out. But Finn doesn’t need to know that.
All right, I say, nodding. Yeah, this is a good idea, I think.
He laughs, not entirely convinced. Is it really, Violet? He seems delighted by the idea that I might think so. I don’t answer him right away, second-guessing myself.
Is this a good idea?
Instead, I ask, What are the rules? How do we… I trail off.
Finn looks thoughtfully out at the water. Well, I think we should be the only ones who know it isn’t real. I wonder about whether it’s his brother or his mother he’s trying to fool here, but I don’t ask. I guess it doesn’t matter.
We’ll have to be pretty convincing for Alba and Florence, I say, Those two could coax anything out of me—out of anyone.
He laughs. I can be convincing, Violet.
I shiver, despite the sun beating down on me.
He clears his throat, then says, We may have to have some physical contact, to make this work.
Hand holding, light touching, the occasional kiss probably.
He sneaks a look at me when he says this last part, something on his face I can’t quite read.
He adds quickly, But nothing you aren’t comfortable with, you ken what I mean?
Ken, I remember, is the Scottish word for know, which I'm certain I've learned from a book.
You’re right, we should have a safeword. Pinocchio, I say solemnly and he barks out a laugh.
Pinocchio, he repeats, but it doesn’t sound like the name of a puppet when he says it.
Are you serious about this Violet? He asks, turning on the dock to face me fully. It’s hard to look at him like this, shirtless and hair damp, his skin freckled and sun-kissed. We have to make it believable.
No one would ever believe I agreed to this, I say and it’s the truth. While I might be a little odd, I’m definitely a rule follower. I didn’t mean to say this out loud, but the words are gone before I can catch them. He grins.
Any other rules we need to hammer out now?
No sex, I blurt out. I’m not even sure why I said it. Some measure of self-preservation, probably. Not wanting to disappoint him. I feel embarrassed and fiddle with the small bow on the side of my shorts.
Finn only chuckles to himself, but it sounds hollow. He looks out at the water again.
You ken, I think that’s the first time anyone has suggested that to me.
His voice is a quiet rumble and I wonder what that means exactly—and why he sounds so bitter about it.
He goes on before I can dwell on the thoughts further.
But that’s probably a good idea, he says, before adding with a grin, How sensible you are Violet.
See, you’re already a proper fake girlfriend.
My warm skin pebbles with goosebumps at the sound of my name on his lips.
He stands up on the wharf, and holds his hand down to me.
I think, he says, pulling me up by the hand, That we should seal this deal with a swim. His hand is warm in mine. I’m vaguely aware that I’m not in my bathing suit, only shorts and a T-shirt. But I can only really focus on how good his hands feel—warm, not too rough.
Ready, Violet?
I want to say something quippy and funny, but I can’t think of a single word, let alone a sentence. Instead, I give him one exaggerated, serious nod.
His hand still in mine, we both take a leap of faith and jump into the water.