Chapter 31
FINN
VIOLET brINGS HER THINGS OVER to my cabin, saying she needs to start getting ready for the rehearsal dinner tonight.
I’m not sure why I feel so agitated. This shite is something straight out of the seventh circle of hell.
Poor Finn, I think in a tone that is pure taking the piss, you have to share a bed with a stunning woman who you secretly fancy.
I remind myself again that it’s not until tomorrow night, after the wedding. Tonight she’s staying at Alba’s.
Alba, that absolute wench, who I’m convinced made up the shite with her dad to test us—as if she, too, is aware that we are running out of time to figure out what this is.
I remind myself of Violet’s rule: no sex. She put the rule in place, and it’s a good rule. It keeps me from going off the deep end.
But I can’t help it. Not only is Violet beautiful, she’s funny and warm and easy to talk to about whatever’s on my mind. She’s clearly ambitious, and I see that competitive streak come out when we play Scrabble. The memory of how handily she’s beaten me every single time makes me smile.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I don’t hear Violet re-emerge until she asks me, Can you zip me up?
She walks into the main room of the cabin we’re now sharing in a beautiful, satin lilac dress, one strap hanging off her shoulder, her back exposed as she turns, presenting herself to me.
Her hair is gathered up loosely on top of her head— it almost looks how it would if I gathered up all that hair in my own hands.
My mouth has gone completely dry.
Finn? She asks, turning to look over a sun-kissed shoulder at me. And it’s a good thing I’m sitting down otherwise I think I would have fallen to my knees.
What did she ask me? Oh, fuck, right—the zipper.
Aye, I say, trying to be as nonchalant as I can muster. I’ve seen Violet in a variety of bathing suits this summer, so it’s not like I’ve never seen her shoulders before. But this is somehow so much more intimate, in this cramped cabin, the two of us alone.
I stand up and she turns away from me again, letting me get on with it I suppose.
Over the last week, I haven’t had the nerve to ask her if anything she was feeling was real, too.
Instead, I’d come crawling to her cabin door every night, desperate for even a little more time with her.
Not wanting to spoil it in case I was wrong, and that it was only me feeling this way.
I want to run my hands up her back, rub soothing gentle circles in between her shoulder blades.
I try—and fail—to only touch the zipper.
My forefinger grazes her skin and heat ignites everywhere.
I swallow, pulling the zipper up slowly, not wanting anything to get caught.
The top of the zipper ends in the middle of her back.
And as I finish zipping her up, I swear to god I’m possessed, I can’t help it—I gently run a thumb along the spot just below her neck.
I swear she gasps, and if I could see her, I know she’d have that utterly mortified look on her face. I smile at the thought, and lightly drag my thumb there again.
So beautiful, I say, but it’s barely audible—a whispered prayer to a god I’ll never meet.
She turns to face me then, not averting her gaze from mine as soon as our eyes meet. You haven’t even seen me yet, she says, laughing, trying to break the tension. But there’s no cutting through this. A laugh couldn’t come out of me at this moment, because now I’m seeing her fully.
The dress hugs every single curve on her—and I’ve already mapped them all out these last few weeks. So I follow the fabric like a map of every single place I want to touch her.
I drag my eyes back up to hers, and say, And now that I’ve seen you, I’ll say it again Violet. I drag out every single word like a knife, mirroring the pain I feel looking at her. So. I step closer, our bodies barely touching. Fucking. I take her hand in mine, desperate to touch her. Beautiful.
I can only look at her hand when I finish the sentence, grazing my thumb across that four-leaf clover tattooed on her wrist. Using it as a talisman, for my own good luck.
We said no sex, we did not say no kissing.
This isn’t even real, Finn. Violet’s voice comes clamouring through my mind again.
Maybe it could be, if things were different—if I didn’t have to stay in Scotland, some unspoken vow to help my mother, no matter what.
I wonder again if Violet is simply protecting herself. It would be the smart thing to do, after all.
I want to kiss her, I think, for what feels like the thousandth time.
I want to kiss her here with no one else to witness it—only for us.
For real.
But I don’t dare.