It vanishes the second she hears people approaching. She jumps, slipping away like she’s been cracked with a whip.
Sighing, I let her go. If I push too hard, I’ll scare her off, and that’s the last thing I want. Once I’ve decided on something, I don’t hesitate.
And I want her too much to risk losing her.
By the time I make it back to the dining room, most of the tables are empty, save for a few abandoned glasses and the dying embers in the fireplace. Austen is still here, leaning back in his chair, rolling his drink in his hand like he’s been waiting for something-or someone.
He looks up when I enter, pushing to his feet with a stretch. “Heading to bed,” he says, voice casual. “Long day.”
“It has,” I agree. “Although, things seem promising with Monarch. So it was worthwhile.”
“Yeah, it would take a major fuck-up to drop the ball at this stage of this game.” He grabs his jacket and then hesitates. “Although Elliot seems to know things he shouldn’t.”
“Like?” I arch a brow.
“Nothing concrete. Just whispers of conversations no one remembers having near him. Timing on decisions that haven’t been announced yet.” He shrugs his jacket on, but his gaze doesn’t shift. “And he’s watching Violet.”
My spine stiffens. “What does that mean?”
Austen exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess, just that we can’t afford to let our guard down.”
“I never do.”
“Or let personal feelings cloud our judgement.”
I hold his gaze. “Are you going to keep talking in riddles, or are you actually going to say what you mean?”
He lifts a shoulder, playing it off like it’s nothing. “Just an observation.” He claps me on the arm, then heads for the door, tossing a final look over his shoulder. “Good night, Chase.”
I watch him go, unease creeping up my spine. Austen has sharp instincts. But I’m always vigilant. He should know that.
But for now, I force it out of my mind.
Because there’s someone else who needs my attention. Someone who needs my best persuasion skills.
I grab a bottle of wine from the bar—making sure it’s the most expensive one—and two glasses, then head toward Violet’s lodge. There is a chill in the night air, the scent of pine, and lingering smoke curling through the trees. I follow the winding path, my heart pounding with each step in a way that’s foreign to me. I’m not usually the one left standing, waiting, hoping. Women typically come to me. The glow of a lamp flickersthrough the window, and I can just make out Violet’s silhouette stacking wood at the fireplace.
I knock twice, and after a moment, the door swings open. Violet stands there, her hair loose around her shoulders. She’s so fucking beautiful it almost hurts, a strange kind of pain that makes no sense to me. Her green eyes flick over me before dropping to the wine bottle.
Her lips curve as she takes the glasses. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
I smirk. “Does that mean I can come in? I promise not to smile.”
She rolls her eyes but steps back, letting me inside.
I close the door behind me, the warmth of the room settling over my shoulders. A small stack of wood sits untouched by the fireplace, and I glance at her. “You planning on actually lighting that or just looking at it?”
She exhales. “Apparently, I suck at making fires.”
I snicker, rolling up my sleeves. “Lucky for you, I don’t.” I crouch in front of the hearth, arranging the logs properly. “My grandma taught me on a camping trip when I was a kid. Said”—I drop into my best Brooklyn accent—“knowing how to build a fire is a skill every man oughta have. I guess she came from a time when stuff like that was important.”
Violet smiles, crossing her legs to sit on the floor next to me. “She sounds like a wise woman.”
“She was.” I strike a match, letting the flame catch. “She had to be. She raised me.” I flash her a half-smile to lighten the mood, prodding the logs. Tiny embers burst free, glowing orange as they swirl upward, like fireflies set loose in the night.
A beat of silence stretches between us. Then, softly, she asks, “She’s gone now?”
“Mmm-hmm.” I keep my eyes on the fire, letting the warmth settle between us. Reaching for the wine, I uncork the bottle and pour two glasses, handing one to her.
