Wild Violet (The Vi Trilogy of The Gilded Flower Series Book 1) (9 page)

“It’s about time you crawled out from whatever rock you’ve been under,” Dahlia yells over the din of the bar. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your edge.”

“I didn’t realize I had an edge,” Vi replies, sipping her cocktail. “What does that even mean?”

Dahlia ignores her question and winks at the beautiful light-skinned black bartender who had served them earlier.

Because of the snowstorm the day the day before, Vi insisted that they stay in her neighborhood. Dahlia must’ve been desperate for company because she was already onto her second drink by the time Vi arrived.

Dahlia looks around. “This place is cool. I almost couldn’t find it except for the large guy standing outside the door.”

Vi nods. “I like it. Convenient too.”

“So what gives?” Dahlia asks.

“What do you mean?” Vi replies, trying to avoid the topic Dahlia is clearly hinting at.

“How long have you lived here?”

“A few months,” she says casually.

Dahlia nods like a therapist. “You like it?” Apparently she’s going with the easy questions first.

“Believe it or not, I do. It’s quite chill. It’s noisy as all hell, but I’ve gotten used to it. There’s something very real to it all, you know. Makes me think my shiny life in Gramercy Park was just a façade when the real City was down here.”

“Oh, so what now? The rest of us are too fake for you? Is that why you haven’t wanted to hang out?”

“Not at all, D,” Vi insists. “I’ve just been super busy. It’s my last year of school, so I’ve packed in a few extra classes this semester, and even took on a job.”

“You’re working?” Dahlia’s eyes grow wide. “Is it an internship or something?”

Vi shakes her head. “Not really. Just something part-time. I had a little extra time on my hands.”

“But I thought you just said that your schedule is full.”

“Right, because of my course load and the job,” Vi back-pedals.

Her friend eyes her warily and bites down on an olive. “Are you doing okay, Vi? I mean living downtown is cool. It’s so un-trendy it’s trendy, but you’re different too.”

Vi leans back in her seat and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You’re checking on me, D?”

“Why not? I couldn’t get rid of you when I came back from California. Now it’s my turn. It’s no crime to
care
about a friend.”  

“I’m not in crisis, D. I’m just evaluating things.”

Dahlia holds up her hands, “Don’t you dare talk to me like Lily does, as if I can’t see through your shit. I’m not an idiot, Vi. First you ask how much a bottle costs at the club, then I find out months later you’ve moved and that you live in some walk-up. I mean it’s a walk-up for chrissakes, which means no doorman or elevator. And this isn’t some charming Village walk-up, it’s on the Lower East Side sandwiched between a falafel shop and a smoke shop.”

“You’re sounding like your mother, D,” Vi warns. “Since when did you become so superior? I thought that shit didn’t matter to you?”

“It doesn’t, Vi.” Dahlia flags down a waitress and orders another martini and one for Vi as well.

“So what’s your problem?”

“Nothing. It’s just you’re changing, and I want to know why you’re not telling me about it. Or Lily for that matter. Unless you have told her, but I highly doubt it.”

“I changed address, D. That’s not a major life change.”

“Hell if it isn’t. I understand massive life changes, Vi.”

Vi looks past her friend, not wanting to acknowledge the truth of what she’s saying.

“Sucks being on the other end, doesn’t it? Analyzed and patronized by well-intentioned friends. But it’s me, Vi. You can trust me. I’m not going to question or judge you. I wouldn’t do that.”

Vi pauses to take stock of what the past few months have meant to her. It’s not as if the life she’s leading isn’t a normal one—for now at least. She goes to classes, works a little, finds time to dance and has, up until recently, had a rather active albeit monogamous sex life with a man she was developing feelings for.
That’s about right for any twenty-one year old woman, right?

But it’s none of that. It’s the impending future that’s taunting her—that has her both angry and shamed. She wants no part of the life her father is pushing her into. Could Dahlia even begin to understand the decisions she faces?

“Your dad cut you off, didn’t he?”

“Wha-?” Vi stammers, Dahlia’s voice interrupting her thoughts.

“Do you need money? I’d be happy to help, Vi. No one has to know.”

Vi shakes her head furiously. She wouldn’t accept a dime from her friends. “It’s nothing like that.”

“I’ll keep plying you with booze until you fess up,” Dahlia threatens.

“As if that would even work.”

“It would if I slipped something into your drink.”

“You wouldn’t, D.” Vi studies her glass looking for remnants of anything.

“Not yet, bitch. So start talking.”

“Fine.” Vi sighs. “My father put me on an allowance.”

“How much?”

“D, it’s not your business.”

“I’ll make it my business. Keep going.” Dahlia pushes her glass aside and folds her arms onto the table.

“Five grand a month, plus he covers my rent,” Vi says matter-of-factly.

Dahlia doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t have to. The expression on her face says everything. Finally she asks, “So why live down here if he’s paying your rent?”

Vi folds down the corners of her cocktail napkin. “Prove some point, I guess. My father was so preachy about the value of money and how I don’t appreciate it and that I’m like all these American students who don’t know what it’s like to work hard. So I thought, let me just live like a student, and prove that I get it.”

“You shouldn’t have to justify your life to anyone else. You said that to me when I told you and Lily that I was pregnant.” Dahlia closes her eyes momentarily, as if to avoid the memory that was threatening.

“It’s just until I graduate,” Vi offers, trying to distract her. It pains Vi to see her friend still hurting after all this time. What she’s going through pales in comparison to losing a baby when you’re nineteen.

“And then?” Dahlia asks, her voice showing her concern.

“I have to make some decisions about working or graduate school and stuff. That’s all.” That latter bit was a stretch, but it doesn’t matter. She was as honest as she was going to be with Dahlia in the moment. Her decision had been made. It really is a good amount of money, which Andrés rightly pointed out. A lot more than most people have to live off of.

“Then you’ll have access to your trust again?”

Vi nods. “That’s the plan.” She gulps, hoping this is enough to get Dahlia off her back. Vi leans forward. “Tell me, D. I never asked before, but when you went to California, did your mom ever threaten to freeze your accounts?”

“She could try, but she never would.” Dahlia’s voice gets so low, Vi has to move her seat closer to hear the rest of her statement. “Every family has secrets, my friend. Some are willing to do anything to keep their dirt from spilling everywhere.”

“You blackmailed your parents?” Vi can’t mask her surprise.

Dahlia laughs, an undercurrent of bitterness to it. “Not at all. It’s more like a
détente
. They leave me alone, and I keep my mouth shut. Public perception is important to people like our parents. They can’t afford to let anything tarnish their reputations, can they?” 

“Finals over?” Andrés asks as he climbs through Vi’s window, tracking snow onto the floor.

“How kind of you to check in on me and inquire about my schoolwork,” Vi replies sarcastically, not bothering to look up from her packing. “I believe my parents have that role.”

He sits on the edge of Vi’s bed and watches silently. His presence unnerves her, but she doesn’t have it in her to make him leave. Deep down she’s happy to see him, relieved to know he’s still around. And damn if he doesn’t look gorgeous in the charcoal gray cashmere turtleneck and fitted black jeans. She can feel that familiar electricity, that pull they seemed to share. But there’s no way she can acknowledge it now. Not after his latest disappearing act.

Vi loses herself in the task of packing for a trip she never imagined she’d ever take. As soon as she tucks her passport away in a small pocket, she looks up at him. “To what do I owe the privilege of this visit?”

Andrés smiles, but his eyes reveal it isn’t genuine. He runs his forefinger along his lips. “Just wanted to see you,” he says.

“Alright. Mission accomplished.” Vi busies herself at her desk, which is a disorganized mess after weeks of studying for finals.

“Violet,” he begins.

She turns around, arms crossed at her chest. “What, Andrés?”

“Please don’t be like this.”

“Oh please, you didn’t just say that. As if I don’t have a right to be angry or upset with you.”

“Do you?”

“You patronizing son-of-a-bitch. Damn straight I do.” Vi tries to ignore the tightening in her chest. She’s angry, upset, and hurt. But she won’t admit the latter to him. He doesn’t deserve her honesty.

“Tell me, what did I do?” He asks innocently. She can tell by his expression he likes seeing her angry.

“It’s more like what didn’t you do. You roped me into a job with you.”

“And you got your share, right?”

She holds up a hand. “I wasn’t finished. Not a single word, text, or visit afterward.”

“I don’t live far. You could’ve very well sought me out.”

“’I want you to see my world, Violet’,” Vi says, repeating his words from that night.

“And it excited you, didn’t it.” Andrés stands and walks toward her. She pushes off the desk and leans against the far wall.

“That’s not the point,” she replies defensively.

“So why don’t you tell me your point?” His smile fades.

“Courtesy, for one. Respect, is another. Neither of which you displayed after that night. I think, as a friend, I deserved that much.”

“Are we friends, Violet? I could never tell. We didn’t fuck like friends.”

“Oh, I believe you said you’d never charge me for sex because we’re friends. You typically fuck your other friends?”

“No one but you and clients, Violet,” he retorts.

“Then you admit I occupied some other category for you.”

“I always said you did, but you never gave me the same consideration. I figured I was a convenience for you. And, given my particular line of work, it wouldn’t have been fair of me to expect more. Are you saying that it’s not the case?”

Vi shakes her head. Telling him the truth now won’t serve either one of them. As far as she’s concerned, whatever it was they had is finished. It’s more her fault than his anyway. She was clear from their first encounter she wanted nothing more than a good fuck. But he managed to stay in her life, which blurred her lines because she had never let any man do that before. But now, she vows to herself, she won’t let anyone do that again.

“Good,” he says, taking a seat in her desk chair. “Then it makes the news I have easier to deliver.”

“Which is . . . ?” Vi prompts, ready to be through with this conversation.

“I’m getting married.”

Vi swallows this information, unsure of how to respond. “Married?” She repeats in a low voice, her heart and mind racing. This is truly the last thing she expected to hear him say.

“That’s right.” He nods.

Vi clears her throat. “Who’s the lucky bride?”

“Duchessa Lucia Valentini.”

Vi’s mouth opens slightly. Thankfully a laugh escapes instead of a gasp. She shouldn’t be shocked, but it’s difficult not to be.
Vanity Fair
had just done a feature on her. Forty-five year old widow who married her husband Duca Enrico Valentini when she was only twenty. No children. She’d committed much of her young life to promoting the arts and accumulating one of the largest private art collections in the world. Apparently, she’s adding Andrés to her collection too.

“Why is that funny?” He leans forward, his forearms on his thighs.

“Not so much funny as it is out of the blue.”

“Why? Am I not the marrying type?” Andrés rubs his palms together.

“Well, as you pointed out, your line of work isn’t conducive to being monogamous. What does the Duchessa think of your chosen occupation?”

“She was my first client.”

Finally the pieces fall into place. “And now she wants you all to herself.”

“Something like that.”

“What do you get out of it? Do you two have an arrangement? She need a personal curator for her collection?”

“Such a curious bird, aren’t you?” He smiles. There it is, that smile, the knowing, mischievous one that she found comforting and so appealing.

“Something like that,” she replies, repeating his words back to him.

“The pre-nup states it’s for a minimum of five years. If I wish to prolong it, we can renegotiate the terms.”

“What’s five years of your life worth?”

“Seven and a half million dollars,” he says matter-of-factly.

“She thinks you’re worth every penny?”

He chuckles. “Lucia can afford it. Five million gets her my undivided attention and loyalty. The extra two and a half is a signing bonus.”

“A mere 7.5 million buys your fidelity?” Vi raises an eyebrow.

Andrés nods. “For five years.”

The numbers swirl around Vi’s thoughts. “You don’t plan to extend?” She asks, pushing away the hope that’s creeping back into her heart.
How could I possibly want him after this?

He shakes his head. “Not a chance. It’s an incredible opportunity. The connections to the art world, the money . . . Five years, and I’m set. I can get an apartment and set up my own gallery in Madrid.”

“Has she explained why she wants to marry you now? Marriage can be a terrible inconvenience. Is she tired of sharing you?” Vi searches his face for answers because she knows his words will only be some version of a truth.

Andrés sighs. “She’s dated and had boyfriends. You may have read that the last relationship ended a bit scandalously when it was revealed he was sleeping with some underaged stripper.”

Vi nods. “Money makes you a sure thing. A clean romance, no history to speak of. It’s not as if your clients are going to reveal how you made your money.” She slides down the wall and sits on the floor, feeling too tired to stand. He gets up and sits across from her.

“Five years isn’t that long, Violet.”

She eyes him warily. “Are you suggesting I wait for you? You are entering an arrangement similar to one I’d give my right arm to avoid. You’re a hypocrite for doing this. You encourage me to strike out on my own and live simply while you’re gladly handing over your freedom for money and security.”

Andrés winces, but Vi doesn’t care if her words hurt him. She’s hurt. This feels like a profound betrayal, and for what? Money? “You said money between friends ruins relationships. You’ve just allowed it to ruin ours.”

He reaches out and caresses her cheek. “I’d never intentionally hurt you. On the contrary, I thought it would be ideal. In five years, I have a clean break. This part of my life will be behind me, behind us. Maybe then you and I . . . .”

“That will never happen,” she spits out.

Andrés lowers his hand. “Please, Violet, just consider how this could work—for both of us.”

Her gaze falls to the floor, the grains in the wood blurring as she stares at them for a long time. Minutes later, she looks up to see him still watching her. “What are you going to do about your clients?”

“What do you mean? I’ll call some of my regulars and let them know. Others will figure it out when my phone is out of service.”

“There is one thing you can do for me.”

“Gladly, Violet. The last thing I’d ever wanted to do is hurt you.”

Vi shrugs, her expression impassive. The walls have gone up, her fortress fortified. Neither he nor anyone will get through—again. “It doesn’t matter now.” She stands and goes over to her desk. Reaching into a pencil holder, she pulls out a red pen drive. “I want your client list and your phone. And I want to know precisely how your clients pay you and how you get your money offshore.”

Andrés stands and slowly joins her at her desk. He looks into her eyes, noticing how stone cold they’ve become. His fingers curl gently around the back of her neck, and he pulls her in for a kiss. She parts her lips willingly and pours everything she’s felt over the past six months into it. Vi doesn’t want to hold onto any of it anymore—he doesn’t deserve it. She finally pulls away when his hands begin to brush over her breasts. “Not tonight,” she says, taking deep breaths. “Or ever again.”

He lets her go and runs a hand through his hair. “I guess I deserve that.” He walks in a small circle and sighs. All of a sudden, his posture stiffens, and his smile disappears. “In that case, sit down and listen. I will tell you what you want to know just this one time. But I warn you, Violet, you are on borrowed time if you get into this business. The longer you stay in it, the chances of your getting caught become exponentially greater. You better pick your guys carefully and keep your clients happy. Don’t get greedy and don’t piss anyone off. Mostly importantly, have an escape plan.”

“I’m listening.”