Her Best Worst Mistake (Elizabeth and Violet)

There was something about the way he was looking at her that made her feel even more nervous.

“So? I remembered you like the peach schnapps. It’s not a big deal.”

“Isn’t it? I remember that you hate escargot. And that you refuse to see any movie with Kate Beckinsale in it. And that you have every George Michael album

There was something about the way he was looking at her that made her feel even more nervous.

“So? I remembered you like the peach schnapps. It’s not a big deal.”

“Isn’t it? I remember that you hate escargot. And that you refuse to see any movie with Kate Beckinsale in it. And that you have every George Michael album ever made.”

She blinked. “Why would you remember all of that?

“I don’t know. I used to think it was because you annoyed me.” He took a step toward her. “I used to think it was because your perfume would get in my clothes and stay with me for days afterward, even though I’d barely brushed up against you.”

He took another step toward her and something powerful and undeniable thudded in the pit of her stomach.

“You hate me,” she said, staring at him, knowing she should put some distance between them before this became something it shouldn’t.

“Do I?”

”Thank you,” she said.

He looked bemused. “For what?”

“For everything. For being amazing in bed and endlessly patient, for sacrificing … for me and bringing me all the way around the world simply because you were worried about me, even though it meant you were probably going to spend your holidays alone. For the way you always put your hand on the small of my back to guide me across the street and the way you let me be in charge of the television remote control and the way you have never, not once, judged me or mistrusted me or made me feel small or unwanted.”

“Violet, sweetheart…” He blinked and she realized that he was close to tears.

Her Martin. Mr. Uptight. Mr. Repressed.

… a million miles from the girls he’d grown up with. She always knew the right thing to say or do. She was beautiful, refined, elegant. Her love had been the final seal on his success.

At the ripe old age of twenty-nine, she should probably have grown out of goading people for sport, but for some reason she never tired of poking Martin with a stick to see how long it would take before he growled and snapped.

“There are many things I will miss about sharing Elizabeth’s life, but spending time with you will not be one of them. I can honestly say that I have never been more...relieved to think that I need never lay eyes on a person again. Was that polite enough for you, Violet, or should I drop a few four letter words in there so you feel more at home?”

He didn’t usually have a sweet tooth, but when he’d tried schnapps for the first time at a West End bar last year he’d discovered that there was something about the sweetness of the peach and the heat of the alcohol that appealed to his palate.

He lifted the glass to his mouth again, then stilled as it occurred to him that Violet had been there that night, too, lolling against the bar in a purple sparkly dress that had been too short and too tight and too bright.

And when she’d gone looking for a pity gift for him, she’d bought him peach schnapps, out of all the options open to her at the off-license.

Which meant it was either a coincidence... or she’d remembered that night and how much he’d enjoyed the schnapps.

He downed the last of the drink.

It was probably a coincidence. There was no reason for her to remember such a small, insignificant detail about him. Certainly there hadn’t been anything special about that night to mark it in her memory—it had been a night like any other, one of many times he’d socialized with Violet for Elizabeth’s sake....

He reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink, almost filling the glass this time.

As though he’d opened a floodgate within himself, a storehouse of Violet-tinged memories fell out. The fact that she hated escargot but adored truffles. The fact that she’d once queued for days to buy tickets for a George Michael concert. The fact that she absolutely refused to learn the names of any players for any of the country’s football teams, even though it required a concerted effort to forget the headlines and news reports focusing on the country’s national obsession....

“Shit.”

… stupid, impetuous act, driven by ego and peach schnapps and undeniable curiosity.

“Shut up,” he said, and then he kissed her, because there was no other way of conveying how he felt.

"Not so long ago you despised me," she said. "You could barely stand to look at me."
“And now I can’t keep my hands off you or get you out of my head. Which one of those reactions is the more accurate reflection of my true feelings, do you think, Violet? Let me give you a clue here, even though we’re arguing, even though I’m almost one hundred percent certain that you’re about to walk out on me, I have a hard-on with your name on it. That’s how much I can barely stand to look at you.”

“Good afternoon, how can I—” She stopped in her tracks, words momentarily escaping her. Martin didn’t speak, either. He simply stood there watching her, his dark gaze intent and hot. She felt an answering heat spring to life inside her, even as she gathered her will to send him packing.“What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know.” They were both lying. She hadn’t needed to ask why he was there, and they both knew what he wanted.
“We can’t keep doing this,” she said weakly. So much for sending him packing.
“Tell me how to make it stop, then.” He took a step toward her.