Chapter 35
FINN
VIOLET, I THINK FOR THE thousandth time.
Violet in my jumper. Violet on my mouth. Violet in the sun.
Her hair is down today, in soft, loose waves that I’ve never seen before.
Her dress is a light green, sage maybe, complimenting the dark green tartan that Allie and I both have on.
I was glad when he told me he’d be wearing a kilt to his wedding, rather than his police uniform, saying that a Scotsman couldn’t get married in anything else. Good lad.
You look beautiful Flora, Uncle Albie says, his voice thick. Your mother would be absolutely beside herself today.
Showtime you two, Alba says to Violet and I, nudging us into the church.
Some reflex has me pulling Violet closer, squeezing her arm for reassurance. I feel oddly nervous—and it only gets worse when she smiles up at me.
It’s a small church, so thankfully the walk isn’t long. When we reach the end of the aisle, it feels physically painful to separate myself from Violet.
I clap my brother on the shoulder and go to stand behind him, whispering in his ear, You’re in for it now, mate. There are already tears brimming in his eyes.
My own eyes stray back to Violet. They never seem to go anywhere else. Her dress today doesn’t have any straps for me to fix—a shame. It hugs her tightly down to her waist, where the material becomes loose and flowy around her, which makes me think of a fairy princess.
A fairy princess? Fuck the fuck off, Finn.
My brother doesn’t bother holding back, tears are rolling down both of his cheeks now as Florence reaches us at the end of the aisle.
While Alba helps to get her cousin situated, Uncle Albie hugs Allie, saying, I did well selling you the lake house, didn’t I?
The two of them laugh, clasping each other on the shoulder.
Finally, he turns to Florence, taking both of her hands in his.
Hey, red sizzler, he says. Florence throws her head back in a cackle.
Hey, officer. She winks at him, some private joke between them. Entirely of their own volition, my eyes find their way back to Violet. Just looking at her makes my chest feel tight. I want to chalk it up to the emotion of the wedding happening around me, but I know that isn’t it.
From somewhere far away, I hear the words the rings and I know that’s my cue. I reach into my pocket where I’ve checked a dozen times today to make sure the two gold bands are safe. I hand them to Allie, who gives me a grin in return.
He and I talked some more last night. Really cleared the air. To my surprise, he also apologized about being so wary when it came to me taking an interest in Violet.
You two clearly fancy each other, he had said. I’m sorry if I was such a dick about it. But I couldn’t tell him that while I’m head over heels (and big heels, as Billie kindly pointed out), I’m still not sure if her feelings are real.
Then this morning, I had a long chat with Mum over tea.
When I’d pushed her about the move, asking if she was certain this is what she wanted, she’d all but ripped me a new one.
I ken, my Finnie, that you think yer Mum is a wee bit daft, she’d leaned over and pinched my cheek for emphasis. But I have endured far more trying things than this.
Well, that about shut me up.
Change is no’ always a bad thing, she’d said, before adding, exactly as Allie had predicted, Besides, I want tae be here when Florence starts having bairns.
My gaze slides again from the back of my brother’s head across the aisle, to find Violet staring right back at me. She smiles, this soft, easy slide of her mouth and I feel it like a punch to the gut.
I think back to that fucking frenzy yesterday, her body pushing harder into mine, panting into my mouth.
And then I think about the look on her face when we were almost caught.
She certainly wasn’t smiling then.
I’m not entirely sure how Violet is interpreting this shift between us, and I should probably ask her. But part of me isn’t convinced she’ll tell me the truth. She holds a lot back—tries to protect herself from being judged, from being hurt.
But Billie is right, I have to at least try and tell Violet how I feel. And hope that she feels the same.
There’s suddenly clapping and cheering and I now pronounce you husband and wife. Alistair dips a delighted Florence down low, kissing her while they both grin ear-to-ear.
Violet beams at me from across the aisle, and all I can think is that this could be something real, and I’m fucking terrified.
Apart from the distance, if that really wasn’t an issue, would there be anything else standing in our way from doing this for real? Anything standing in her way?
Because there’s nothing, I realize, standing in mine.
PHOTOS, SPEECHES, DINNER, DRINKS, AND through it all, some part of me is in physical contact with Violet at all times.
An arm around her, cheesing at the photographer. My leg brushing against hers under the table throughout dinner. My hand on her arm as we wait at the makeshift bar set up under the tent, where a friend of Alba’s has been paid to bartend for the night.
I feel like a man who’s been on a deserted island his entire life. Pathetic, an inner voice whispers, but I honestly don’t even give a fuck. I feel desperate for a graze of her, painfully aware that our time is running out and we haven’t even started yet. Not really.
She hasn’t said anything about my obvious attachment issues this evening—but hasn’t pulled away either.
And when Alba got emotional during her speech, choking out the words, Best cousins forever, Violet had reached under the table and squeezed my hand, her own eyes misty. I felt something profoundly intimate in that moment, like she’d chosen me to open herself up to.
There’s no way this isn’t real.
Alistair dances with Mum, Florence with her uncle, who’s back in his wheelchair as the long day has clearly drained him. Halfway through their first dance, Florence and Alistair call out for everyone else to join them on the dance floor to finish the song.
It’s a slow song I don’t recognize, but all I can do is hope it’s ten minutes long as I pull Violet, wordlessly, to dance with me.
I do a double take as I see Uncle Albie, now spinning my mother around the dance floor.
Okay, that’s adorable, Violet says, her eyes following mine.
I think I’m fuming? I say, my voice uncertain, and this makes her laugh. That laugh. It snaps me immediately back to her lovely face, her bare arms around my neck. I make a mental tally of her tattoos; some weird, obsessive check-in.
That soft, lazy smile. I want to kiss that smile off her mouth.
Good day? I ask her, smirking, pulling her even closer to me.
Perfect. And hey, guess what I did? You’re going to be so proud of me.
What did you do, Violet?
She smiles to herself, tilting her head down and averting her gaze.
I was thinking about what you said at the bar. So I told my family that I’d be super busy around the wedding, and would not be available to them during that time. But I also muted notifications from all of them, for forty-eight hours anyway, in case they happened to forget.
Something like pride swells in my chest. Look at you, having some boundaries, I say, before adding. I am exceptionally proud.
Do it now, you arsehole! The voice in my head yells, but do what?
I don’t know how to begin this conversation.
Violet, I think you should come to Scotland with me.
Violet, I think I should move to B.C. with you.
Violet, where are you going next, and can I come along?
Violet, is this what love feels like? Do you know?
Have you felt it? Can you tell me if that’s what this is before I go out of my mind?
I hear how shaky my next breath out is and I try to steady myself.
I pull her wrist with the four-leaf clover towards my mouth, kissing the spot again.
For luck, I say simply, when she gives me a questioning look.
Without warning, Violet stands on her tiptoes, tugging me down by the neck to bring my mouth to hers.
This, I think, is what it’s supposed to feel like.
I don’t dare pick apart that sentence.
When she pulls her lips from mine, I smirk down at her again.
What was that for, Violet?
Because I wanted to.
She wanted to. Is it possible that she feels even a fraction of what I do?
Again, that feeling of hope, blooms fully in my chest.