“Paula, did you hear? I’m going to meet Vincent Bellunita today!”
“Yes. I heard. Congratulations.”
“It’s all thanks to your encouragement, Paula.”
Violet Marguerite smiled as if she were truly radiant. Seeing that face made me feel a spark of pride, though the grueling process behind it caused that satisfaction to evaporate almost instantly.
“I’m so happy. If I’d known this would happen, I would have dressed up even more beautifully.”
“You are beautiful enough as you are.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled shyly and twirled a strand of hair around her finger. The locks rippled, catching the light.
“I’m so nervous because it’s been such a long time.”
Violet clutched her chest, her anticipation palpable. She had even summoned servants to her mansion to ensure her wardrobe was perfect. Having finished her preparations, she seemed to glow. Blinded by the radiance, I covered my eyes briefly before guiding her to the annex parlor at the appointed hour.
Vincent Bellunita was already there, polished and composed. He sat in a relaxed posture, legs crossed, his back pressed against the sofa. His pale emerald eyes were dull, unseeing unless one leaned in quite close.
“Vincent!”
She lunged toward him with the speed of a hunting beast. There was no time to react, but Ethan Christopher skillfully intercepted her, guiding a protesting Violet to the opposite sofa.
Even seated, she fidgeted incessantly. I kept my gaze down as I arranged the tea and snacks on the table.
“It’s been a while.”
“Yes. Really, truly a long time. I’ve missed you.”
She swallowed a sob, her eyes locked onto Vincent. As rehearsed, Vincent calmly lifted his teacup, sipped, and set it on his lap before meeting her gaze. His movements were fluid enough that, for the moment, the deception held.
I stood behind Violet while Ethan took his place between them, acting as the silent watchdog for any slips in our ruse.
“Ask slowly. Why are you in such a rush?”
Ethan clicked his tongue at her rapid-fire questions. When Violet shot him a glance, he simply shrugged. Her attention whipped back to Vincent.
“Yes. I will answer everything, so ask one by one.”
“What happened during that time?”
“Many things. Most of which you likely already know.”
“Are you still unwell?”
“No. I’ve improved. I am still recovering, but I am doing well.”
“Then that means you’re not well at all.”
Violet’s eyes welled up, and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief. Ethan muttered that it was quite a spectacle. Infuriated, she stomped her heel onto his calf. Ethan groaned, and Vincent turned his head sharply toward the sound. Because he couldn’t see, however, he had no context for the disturbance and remained otherwise still.
Vincent pivoted to our rehearsed lines.
“It’s nothing to worry about. I didn’t see you because I was occupied with dangerous matters. My nerves were frayed, and I feared saying something I’d regret. I was also worried that if you were with me, you might be caught in the crossfire. I intended to seek you out once I was safe and my strength returned.”
“It’s okay. I understand everything!”
Violet leaned toward him, her desperation evident.
“It’s enough that you’re safe. I’m glad you’re healthy. I… I wondered if you had come to dislike me.”
“That could never be.”
“Yes. I know. I know! I just really missed you.”
These were the words I had struggled to prompt her with, yet she delivered them with heartbreaking ease. I had told her she would say this, and that Vincent would respond with a mischievous smile.
“Yes. I’ll make sure to reply to your letters from now on.”
I paused. *What?*
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Vincent nodded. Violet beamed. I stared at him. The response was not what we had practiced. His smile lacked that familiar, playful edge; it was something else entirely.
I couldn’t look away. He sipped his tea and lifted his head, eyes fixed straight ahead. Though he was facing Violet, it felt as if his gaze had pierced through to me. I shivered and looked away.
The conversation drifted to pleasantries, with Ethan interjecting whenever the silence grew too thin. Violet seemed too intoxicated by Vincent’s presence to notice anything amiss. I caught glimpses of their long history in the rhythm of their voices.
“Oh, Vincent. Isn’t the flower pretty?”
“Flower?”
He sounded puzzled. My heart hammered against my ribs.
“Oh, come on. The bouquet I sent? I asked you to keep it by your bed.”
“……Yes.”
“Are they fresh? The colors were lovely. Which one was your favorite? Next time, I’ll bring a bouquet of only that kind.”
“…….”
Vincent set his teacup down and his fingertips brushed the air, searching for purchase. He looked lost in thought, but I knew the truth—he was floundering. I hadn’t warned him about the bouquet; events had spiraled too quickly.
I waved my hands frantically, catching Ethan’s eye. He smiled, unfazed.
“Don’t be shy.”
Ethan tapped Vincent’s arm, a familiar, playful gesture. Vincent’s gaze flickered. Ethan answered on his behalf, smooth as silk.
“He said the purple flower was the prettiest, didn’t he?”
“Oh my. That was the one?”
Vincent nodded a beat late. Violet was delighted, promising to bring more. There was no suspicion in her voice. I let out a jagged, silent breath of relief.
It was time to end it. The longer they spoke, the higher the risk of a slip.
“Violet. I’m a bit tired today. May I take my leave?”
“Ah, I see.”
The disappointment in her voice was thick. She rose, and we helped Vincent to his feet, preparing for the exit. We were seconds away from a clean break.
“Vincent!”
Suddenly, Violet threw herself into his arms. Vincent stiffened, caught completely off guard. Ethan’s eyes widened. I froze.
Violet, blissfully unaware, pulled back slightly, looking up at him.
“Vincent. I missed you so much. I wanted to see you so badly.”
“Vi…olet. Calm down for a moment.”
“I really did.”
Her eyes were glistening. I prayed Vincent wouldn’t meet her gaze, but he was already turning toward her.
“Huh? Vincent’s eyes are….”
The words were barely out of her mouth when Vincent Bellunita shoved her away in a panicked, reflexive defense. Violet Marguerite stumbled backward, colliding with the table.
As Ethan Christopher rushed to steady her, Violet looked up at him, dazed. Vincent, hearing the crash, reached out blindly, his hand clawing at the empty air. He pulled back a second later, but it was too late. She had seen.
“Vincent Bellunita?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He turned and bolted, desperate to escape. Misfortune trailed him—his knee struck the sofa armrest, and he collapsed, face-planting into the floor with a sickening *thud*.
I rushed to his side, grabbing his flailing hand to pull him up.
Silence descended, heavy and suffocating.
“Vi, Vincent Bellunita……”
“…….”
His face was a mask of beet-red humiliation.
It had happened. In the worst way possible.
“Vincent Bellunita! Vincent Bellunita! Open the door, please. Won’t you?”
*Thud! Thud!* A delicate, desperate sound drifted from the other side of the bedroom door.
“Vincent Bellunita, let’s talk. Please?”
*Thud! Thud! Thud!* Again. The door remained shut, unyielding, but she did not stop.