Viola hadn’t liked seeing that. Seeing her dad share an intimate moment with her mom. Every time she caught them kissing or holding hands or being tender something fierce and wild surged inside her. And she tried to be reasonable about it, she really did, she tried to keep herself in check whenever it happened, but the longer he stayed away from her, the harder he pretended nothing had happened between them, the more resentful she felt when he behaved husbandly toward his wife.
Because it had been, like, a week since that weekend. A week since her life had changed forever, and a week since he’d given her that kiss, of his own free will, the kiss that led her to hope for more. But then her mom had come home the next day and it was like he’d blocked it all out of his mind.
No matter how hard Viola tried, no matter how clever or sly she was, no matter where she caught him—the laundry room or the basement or his study—he was perfectly paternal and managed to extract himself from her traps without laying a finger on her. Despite the flash of something she always caught in his eyes, despite his irregular breathing and the flush on his neck and ears, despite his obvious temptation he had so far been able to conduct himself with flawless fatherliness.
And it was pissing her the fuck off. Because she couldn’t see him without getting a little turned on. Couldn’t look at him without flashing back to that night, what he’d done with her, to her, for her. And every day that she was around him made her want it again.
But he was resolute. She hadn’t wanted to drug him again, but, she figured it might just come to that if he didn’t give in soon. She needed it more than she’d ever felt the need for anything in her life.
And the fact that her mother got to enjoy the privilege made her want to grab up the santoku knife from the granite countertop and plunge it into the silly woman’s fucking throat. Because Velvet took it for granted, took him for granted, and fucked around on the side too. What a selfish fucking cunt.
“Vi?”
Shit. Her mother had been chattering away like some idiot little bird and Viola had tuned out ages ago.
“Huh?” She said, resuming her assigned task of slicing strawberries for the dessert. Strawberries weren’t in season and they looked small and pale and a tad green in places. Viola knew they’d taste too tart. She always felt like eating out of season strawberries seemed indecent. “You’re gunna need to throw some frozen ones in with these I think, they don’t look that great.”
Her mother paused in the middle of arranging appetizers on an elegant platter and moved around the island to examine the strawberries. She sighed. “And they were the absolute best I could find.” She lamented, a crinkle in her brow marring her otherwise perfect features. “I think you’re right. We’ll mix them in and hope no one notices.” She said conspiratorially.
“No one’s gunna give a shit Mum.” She replied impatiently, gathering up the ugly, severed tops of the strawberries and walking them over to the compost bin.
“Oh.” Said her mother, sounding a little hurt. “Anyhow, you never answered my question!”
Fucking great. Viola was hoping she’d distracted her mother enough to make the woman forget whatever the hell she’d been babbling on about. “Um, no comment.” She answered with a smirk, which caused her mother to giggle and tisk playfully. Whatever the fuck Velvet had asked, Viola’s answer certainly seemed somewhat appropriate. And hilarious, judging by her Mom’s reaction.
“So, ‘v’you ever met this girl, this woman Grey married?” It still didn’t seem like a real thing. It all still felt like one of her brother’s elaborate practical jokes.
“I have!” Her mother beamed, adding fucking flower petals to the appetizer platter. Jesus Christ the woman was a nutjob. “I met her right after they’d come from City Hall and, oh, Vi! She’s lovely!”
Viola rolled her eyes and pulled open the freezer to root out some frozen strawberries. “I didn’t expect he’d come home with an ugly chick.” Viola muttered. Grey only dated gorgeous women.
“Well she’s especially lovely.” Her mother qualified, tacitly agreeing with Viola’s blunt assessment. “She’s petite and she has big brown eyes and curly hair and what a wonderful figure! I let her borrow one of your dresses and she filled it out so nicely—Grey couldn’t keep his eyes off her!” She said with a giggle.
“You went in my room?!”
Velvet’s eyes widened and she froze in the act of stirring a sauce on the stove. “Oh.”
Viola clucked her tongue and set her jaw askew. “Who said you could just go in my room?” She demanded. Her heart beat accelerated. What if her mother had found something? “And in my closet?!”
Velvet stirred the sauce distractedly. “I know, that wasn’t right, but the girl was soaked through! And we were going to Riverside, I couldn’t let her go looking so bedraggled!” She defended.
“And you couldn’tve given her something of yours?” Viola wanted to hit her over her stupid head with the boiling hot sauce pan.
“Of course I would have, but honey she’s really much more your style than mine!”
“Everything alright in here?”
Mother and daughter turned to the door where Jonah stood, looking tired and tentative.
“Yes yes yes, of course!” Velvet tittered, putting the lid back on the sauce and crossing to give him an adoring kiss on the cheek. He had to lean down to receive it and his eyes locked with Viola’s across the kitchen island.
She slammed the square container of frozen strawberries onto the granite and was satisfied when her mother jumped at the shocking sound of it. Jonah’s jaw ticked but he didn’t comment, only stood back up and pasted on a tight smile.
“Did I hear the doorbell?” Velvet asked, glancing at her daughter’s glowering countenance nervously.
“Avalon and Ben.” Jonah replied. “I came to see if I could be of any use to you at all.” He said easily, though Viola could sense he was never easy around her, not any more. He lifted his scotch to his lips and Viola followed the tumbler’s progress with interest.
He hesitated. He watched her for a moment, the glass only a half inch from his lips. She smiled sweetly. His eyes slipped from hers to the amber liquid in his glass and his eyebrows came sharply together. He blinked several times and then slowly lowered the glass to the countertop.
She turned to get a pair of kitchen scissors and she smirked. He didn’t trust her. It stung, but it made her feel a little powerful and dangerous.
“I think we have everything under control,” Velvet was saying, flitting around the kitchen with last minute details. “Unless, could you get the champagne in a bucket and bring it out to the dining room?”
“Not a problem.” He answered, and, dumping his scotch into the secondary sink in the kitchen island he moved toward the under-counter wine chiller. Viola found something to do directly in front of it.
He stood for a moment, patiently waiting for her to get the hint and allow him access to the wine chiller, but she pretended ignorance and kept right on making a production over opening the frozen strawberries.
“Excuse me.” He finally said, forced to interact with her. His voice was mild and super-wholesome. She flicked her eyes up to his and let her gaze smolder.
His lips twitched to the side and he winced a little.
A heavy moment dripped by. “I just need to get at the wine.” He explained patiently.
“Oh, sure thing.” She replied in a convincingly chipper voice and stepped aside fractionally.
He took a deep breath, like one might before diving under water, and crouched to reach into the wine chiller.
With a quick glance to make sure her mother was thoroughly occupied over by the stove Viola swiftly fell into a crouch beside him and peered in to the wine chiller alongside him. Her shoulder touched his and he shifted to eliminate the contact. He reached into the little refrigerated chamber and spun a bottle before seizing on another. As he slipped the bottle from its cradle she twisted her body so that he’d have to drag his arm across her chest as he retrieved the bottle.
He tried to pull away but she leaned into him and unless he wanted to make a scene he had no choice but to complete the motion. With a shuddering exhale he did so, causing her nipples to stand on end, and then stood hastily and moved to the far side of the kitchen.
She bit her lip and closed the wine fridge before standing and resuming her minor struggle with the berries.
With bucket and wine in hand Jonah headed toward the dining room.
“Dad?” Viola called, and he locked up.
“Mm?”
“C’nyou help me with this?”
He shot her a dangerous look before his features washed over bland. “Sure thing.” He replied and she smiled.
Velvet hummed a little something, some old fashioned tune that Jonah liked to play on the piano, and she began bringing trays from the kitchen into the dining room. It was getting pretty close to six thirty.
He put the bucket and bottle down on the island and moved toward where Viola stood with berries and scissors. “I’m just afraid I’ll cut myself.” She confessed. She had a thing about blood.
He nodded and held out his hands, still several feet from where she waited. She couldn’t help chuckling a little. Instead of extending her arms she chose to cross the distance and, keeping the berries and scissors close to her body, placed them in his open palms. His fingers wrapped around the objects and she let her hands keep hold on them for a moment, the lower curve of her breasts brushing his hands for a space of several heartbeats before she let go with a victorious smile and allowed him to pull back and spin away to complete the task.
“I miss you.” She told him on one of her mother’s trips out of the kitchen.
He tossed the scissors onto the countertop with a clatter and set the frozen square down with shaking fingers. “All set.” He said in a falsely bright voice, and then, without looking at her, scooped up the Champagne and bucket once again and headed determinedly into the dining room, where Viola heard her mother chattering animatedly with a pretty irritated sounding Avalon and, she assumed, to Ben, who was as quiet as usual.
Viola knew she should get a bowl of hot water and let the solid square sit in the warm bath to defrost but she was fucking over the domestic helper scene. She left the strawberries where they were and got herself a soda. Fuck her mother’s goddamn shortcake.
She cocked an eyebrow and waltzed toward the dining room with a predatory gleam in her eye. He was in for a long fucking evening if he thought he could get away with ignoring her all night. At the swinging door she paused to pull her shirt down a little further and plump her breasts up a little in her push-up bra. She chewed on her lips to make them puff and flush and then ran her tongue over them to give them a shimmer.
Then, when she was ready, she pushed the door toward the dining room and slinked in with a coy smile.
“Hi Ben!” She greeted silkily. “Oh my god that shirt looks soooo good on you.”
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