Two and a half more months before I can move into my own place. The reminder gives me a disjointed feeling. I look down at the sparkling diamonds on my finger, feeling the pressure from all sides trying to burst my bubble.
Don’t get too attached, Vi, I remind myself, straightening out my apron and following Felix through to the dining area. It’s a fake marriage, after all.
20
Atlas
“It’s not enough,” Olivia screams, her pale skin cerise from anger. “It’s nowhere near enough, Atlas, for fuck’s sake.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Coralie enter the living room with Daisy on her hip and take her out just as quickly. A few moments later, a door a few floors up clicks shut.
I turn my attention back to my ex-wife and the fistful of credit card statements she’s thrusting in my face. Can’t you ever just fucking pick up our kid and leave?!
Hindsight is a funny thing. If I knew then what I knew now, I would never had married this crazy bitch. Hell, I’m struggling to figure out what the fuck I ever saw in her. But it’s clear what she saw in me: a fat bank balance.
“For the last time, Liv,” I growl, clenching my fists to stop me putting them through the wall behind her, “I’m not raising your Amex allowance again. Ain’t it about time you got a job?”
She let’s out a screech, one almost high enough to wake the neighbor’s dog. “You’re an ass, Atlas, you know that? You just fucking wait — I’m gonna go to the courts, get full custody of Daisy and destroy every fucking thing you have,” her eyes are wild, searching my apartment, probably for something she can grab and smash.
“There’s a reason the judge gave me the majority custody,” I hiss at her, struggling not to rise to her level, “and that’s because you’re an unhinged bitch—” I dodge the vase she lobs at my head and watch her wince as the crystal smashes onto the wooden floor. “Real mature.” I finish bitterly.
She takes a few seconds to catch her breath, the demonic look in her eyes going nowhere. Eventually, it’s joined by a menacing smirk. “I have a feeling that’ll change once you lose your visa,” she pouts, ice in her voice.
Red mist clouds my vision. I should have known this bitch had her diamond-clad fingers in this. Sure, immigration would have caught up with me eventually, but there’s no doubt she put in a few phone calls to nudge them along.
“You know, ‘Liv,” I snap, “if I leave Ireland, you’ll have to look after Daisy seven days a week.” I pretend to gasp, putting some distance between me and my psycho ex-wife. “Seven whole days a week! Can you imagine? Of course you can’t, ‘cause you’ve never had to do it.”
Her pumped-up lips part to hurl poison back at me, but something over my shoulder catches her eye. “What are you staring at?” She barks, “this is a family matter, fuck off back to the kitchen!”
I turn around to see Violet lingering in the doorway, mouth open and shopping bags in hand.
“Uh—” she starts, but I interrupt her by taking three strides in her direction and snaking my arm around her waist.
“Olivia,” I say steadily, giving Violet’s waist a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t think you’ve met Violet.”
Her cackle is ugly, demented. “Ha. I thought she was staff. New girlfriend, is she?” She takes a step towards Violet. “Hope your passport is up-to-date, darling, because Atlas will be heading back to Ireland in a couple of months.”
Violet gets in there before I do, silencing Olivia with a flash of the back of her hand. “Actually, darling, he won’t be. We’re married.”
No screaming this time, just the sound of Olivia’s heavy breathing and the cogs whirring around in her brain. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence? I’m sure Immigration will think so too,” she smirks.
“What are you trying to say, Liv?”
“What do you think?” She hisses. “This little thing here,” she swipes a sharpened red fingernail from left to right, “is a blatant sham.”
“Nice try. But actually, we’re very in love.” I uncurl myself from Violet’s waist just enough to be able to face her. “I love this woman,” I all but whisper, brushing my fingers over her cheekbone. Her eyes are twinged with confusion, but she doesn’t recoil under my touch.
“And I love this man too,” Violet whispers back.
Her words leave out of her mouth and swirl around my brain; they are unable to penetrate it. I know she’s playing along, this is what I’m paying her for, this is why she’s living here, but—
Before I know it, my lips are pressed against hers. Even now, she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t push me off. The only movement she gives me is the slight part of her lips.
“Alright, whatever,” Olivia growls, and I feel her shoulder brushing past mine and then hear her feet storming up the stairs. “Where’s my daughter?!”
In the distance there’s a backdrop of slamming doors and stomping feet, but in the living room, it’s ghostly silent.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, immediately putting distance between Violet and I. “I had to make it realistic…”
“Don’t be sorry,” she replies, smoothing down her blouse with a slight tremble in her hands. “Don’t be sorry at all.”
21
Violet
The smell of the chicken, the colors of the vegetables on the chopping board. Everything is so bright, so vivid, since his lips touched mine. I’m struggling to concentrate on anything else, so it’s lucky I could make a chicken pot pie with muscle memory alone.
I’d planned on coming home and cooking for him and Daisy as a way to say thank you. But I arrived to the sound of glass smashing and a bleach-blonde woman hurling abuse under the chandelier in the living room.
The ex-wife.
I’d briefly wondered about her. I’d daydreamed about what kind of woman Donnacha would find attractive. The type of woman he’d love enough to marry and have kids with.
Once glance at her model-thin frame, alabaster skin, and endlessly long legs, my heart sank a little.
That type of woman. In other words, the type of woman that doesn’t look like me.
But then there was the ‘I love this woman.’ Followed by the kiss.
I couldn’t have been only one that felt the electricity crackle between us, like our lips were two fuses joining together to bring an electric circuit to life.
And now, it’s just us in the vast kitchen. In the whole penthouse, in fact. No staff, no Daisy.
Just us.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Violet,” Donnacha says from over my shoulder. I steal a glance behind me, watching him leaning against the breakfast bar with a glass of wine in hand. “As you can tell, we don’t exactly get along. I’m pretty embarrassed about it.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not exactly one to judge given my marriage history, either. I’d ask why you split, but it’s pretty obvious.”
“And what about you?”