Page 48 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
“Let it go, Violet,” she mumbled. It was over. Yes, Gram had told her to be patient, but for how long? Rose had unexpectedly switched sides after years of telling Violet to move on, but so what? She wasn’t the one being rejected and pushed away at the drop of a hat. Rose had become more adamant when a large bouquet of lavish flowers had shown up on the cottage’s front doorstep. Violets, richly colored in gorgeous dark and light purple hues. They’d included a message: “Thank you for everything.” From Jasper.
Rose always got roses from everyone she’d dated. Perpetually, like a rite of passage and in any and every color—to the point where it had become inane. “A rose for a Rose.” Her sister gagged at the unimaginative irony.
But Violet had never once received violets. No one had ever put two and two together for her. She’d gotten roses once or twice, and daisies. Even eucalyptus (that had been an odd and short relationship). But never violets. It wasn’t something she was waiting for, or some monumental act. It was simply nice. Thoughtful.
Violet sighed, shaking her head.
“You could sail ships with that sigh.”
She looked up and Ambrose was standing over her: poignantly tall, dark, handsome and fashionable, like a cliché or a model from an expensive men’s clothing catalog. Today’s trench coat was pewter gray, layered over a buttermilk-colored cashmere sweater and dark slacks. “Are we having a bad day?”
“Oh no, I’m fine. Hi, again.” Violet smiled, shaking off her self-imposed melancholy. Ambrose moved to the chair opposite her, pulling it out and sitting with the grace of a swan.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “We can’t allow our muse to exist in a state of discontent.”
“Our muse?” Violet frowned. But Simone walked up, setting down a plate decked with a large slice of fluffy lemon meringue, and topped with her signature torched whipped cream.
“My angel.”
Both Simone and Violet stared at Ambrose as he stared up at Simone, his face that of a man who’d just seen heaven’s gates.
Simone frowned. “Um, can I get you something?”
“Your name?”
“Seriously?”
“Hello, Seriously.”
Violet laughed. Ambrose winked at her before focusing back on Simone. “What is someone like you doing in a small countryside town like this?”
Simone drew back, guarded. “Someonelike me?”
“Yes. Royalty.”
“I actually agree with him on that,” Violet chimed in, picking up her dessert fork. “You’re always so perfectly put together. And you have such long legs—”
“Eat your pie,” Simone spat. She looked at Ambrose again, distrust coloring her expression. “I’ll let you look at the menu a little, first.”
“I look forward to seeing you again.” Ambrose grinned. Simone shook her head and walked away.
“Didn’t you try it with Jasper, too?” Violet asked.
He smirked. “There was a specific purpose in my actions toward Jasper—a paltry attempt to pull him from the depths of despair. And anyway, I appreciate beauty in its infinite and unique forms.”
“Sounds like something a player would say.”
“Or perhaps someone with a broader view of the universe and how it works? But this one… Does she own this shop?”
“She does.”
“Amazing. This village. This is fate. I’ll have to stop here in the future after my business dealings with Monsieur Laurent.”
While he contemplated, Violet shook her head, staring. Something about him…
“What kind of business do you conduct with Monsieur Laurent?” she nudged. Ambrose had shot her down before when she’d tried probing him for answers, telling her that any truths expressed should come from Jasper. Even still.
“Yes, well, to be honest with you, I have ulterior motives in requesting this meeting with you. I do wish to instigate, just a bit.”
