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“Who is he?” She points at me while looking at Violet. “And who does he think he is speaking to?” Francesca’s voice raises an octave.
“He’s speaking to the bitch who has done nothing but belittle me my entire life.” Violet stands tall and then hands me my white sneakers. She appears to have packed everything else away in her bag, but I really needed a towel to dry my soaked to the skin swim shorts. “He’s speaking to the bitch who just implied I was too fat for a wetsuit. And the bitch that had to get her daddy to find her husband because she was too lazy to work.” Violet pushes her shoulders back. “Now, if you don’t mind, my boyfriend and I were just leaving.”
Boyfriend.
Violet’s not finished. “And in the words of my handsome Scottish boyfriend, piss off, Francesca.”
Yes! My girl’s found her fighting spirit.
My girl.
Violet grabs my hand and marches past her.
I don’t say another word or mention the fact that my feet are currently receiving second-degree burns as I haven’t had the chance to put my shoes on, and the droplets of water running from my shorts aren’t doing a very good job to cool them down either.
I turn back to look over my shoulder and Francesca is still standing on the sand in the same place we left her. I don’t think she can believe Violet stood up for herself and told her off.
I don’t know Violet very well yet, but what I know is that she’s never had the courage to speak to her sister like that.
Through her soft hand, I can feel the tension.
“My sister is like Gizmo from Gremlins. She looks harmless, just add water, and she’s truly ugly beneath that cute exterior. That’s why she never swims in the sea; it would reveal the real monster within. God, she truly is an awful person. I’m sorry you had to witness our encounter.”
As we cross the road toward Violet’s house, I ask, “Did you get a dog to keep your sister away?”
She snorts. “Maybe.”
“Brilliant.” I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Back in the house, I let Violet process the events at the beach and leave her to have a shower and freshen up.
When she appears back downstairs, I’m lying on her large white leather sectional sofa with Pom-pom curled up on my chest, fast asleep.
He’s like a living snowball.
“You found fresh towels?” She eyes the crisp white towel wrapped around my waist.
“Yeah, my shorts were soaked through. I’ve hung them outside. I still need a shower, though.” I had to dash out this morning and buy swim shorts and new clothes for today. I wasn’t prepared for bumping into Violet last night or staying over here again. I could have nipped back to my hotel, but it was quicker to hit the shops a couple of blocks over.
Violet places two fresh coffees on the white gloss table, then sits down with an enormous sigh.
“You must have accidentally sat on Pom-pom before. He’s camouflaged against your white leather.”
She rests her head on the back of the low couch. “He’s too short to jump up. He needs me to lift him on top.”
I chuckle. “I never thought of that. He’s a funny-looking wee thing.” He’s so soft and light, his weight barely registers on my chest.
“He’s cute, though.” Violet rolls her head to look at me. “But he costs a fortune in vet bills and he was very expensive.”
“How much did he cost?”
“You don’t want to know.” She rolls her eyes.
“Ouch.”
“Ouch, alright,” she says softly.
I reach for her hand and knit our fingers together. “Are you okay?”
