The first thing Violet was going to do after being paid for the next wedding she was working for was a deadbolt on their bedroom door… and maybe every bathroom. Anything for a moment of privacy, or at least someone knocking first. She’d take explaining herself over someone actually seeing her with Race’s face buried between her thighs and her fingers tangled in his hair.

Her thoughts on privacy were cut off as he pulled her hair, a startled gasp breaking free as she let him tilt her head back, shuddering at the feeling of his breath on her neck. She could live in the laundry room for the rest of her life if it guaranteed more moments like this, one of her legs shifting between his as she pulled him close, brushing her thigh against his groin.

“Please don’t mention Jack right now,” she replied, laughing breathlessly as she quickly hopped onto the washer as ordered, pulling him into the space between her legs by his tie as she kissed him deeply. “Just kiss me already.”

Running a flower shop was not the same as her husband’s criminal organization, but it still had an irritating amount of supervision and mind-numbing amount of numbers and orders to go through. She’d made plenty of money on the three orders she had gotten done, as well as the down payments on a wedding after hours of negotiating prices for a bride who could easily afford her standard fees. She’d had half a mind to call Niccolo in and escort the couple out, but thousands of dollars worth of flowers would give them plenty of cushion for the next few months.

That didn’t mean that she hadn’t been bored to tears, nor that she was against lying in front of her husband’s men in order to push herself against him, her fingers tangling in his hair as the washer vibrated loudly behind his back. She pressed kisses down his neck, nipping at his skin as she unbuttoned his collar in order to find more skin.

“I’ve missed you, Racer.” She whispered, despite the fact they had heard from each other plenty throughout the day.

“Missed you too, carina…” Race sighed into her hair, bringing a hand up to twist her hair into a loose, messy bun that would be a bit easier to hold onto and keep out of the way, even as he feel her scrabbling for purchase at the back of his neck where his own hair wasn’t slicked back. He let his head fall back as she pulled at it with a soft moan, silently thanking God that he had somehow gotten just the best wife.

As she moved down, slowly undoing his collar and the rest of the buttons down his shirt, Race smoothed his hand down over the back of her skirt, gently squeezing her ass on the way down to slip under the hem of her dress.

“How much time do you think we have? I can move fast…”

“I closed the shop early for today, so it’s all up to you and your men, ain’t it?” Violet said breathlessly, taking a moment to reach back and untie her dress with one hand as she let him pull her hair back. She couldn’t tell who was at whose mercy, laughing under her breath as she reached over and locked the door— just in case. She had a feeling even Niccolo wouldn’t try to check on her, her bodyguard smart enough to realize that the boss and his wife needed a moment alone.

She wanted nothing more than to rip off his clothes and go for as long as they possibly could, but the twins had been watching their siblings all day, so she eventually had to let them off the hook for an hour or two. She just… really wanted a moment to appreciate being married. God, it had been so long since she got to appreciate him like this.

“As long as we both feel tired and satisfied, I could care less how long it takes.”

“If I have to start finding someone to extract bullets from the plaster molds in the ceiling because of these meetings, I’m taking it out of your pocket— and the rosette medallions were casted before my great-grandfather was born.” Violet is smiling as she teases him, pulling a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers that she had stashed on the bottom shelf of the dinner cart that had been holding wine and coffee. She poured them both a glass, swirling the ice thoughtfully before setting it beside him. “Make sure your men have plenty of blanks, or they’ll be digging them out and repainting it, even if there is lead somewhere up there. You can’t trust anything from the Victorian age.”

She moved closer, wrapping her arms around him as she set her own glass aside, gently pressing kisses to his cheek and head as she closed the distance between them. Letting him take a drink of his own, she wondered if she shouldn’t bring him some champagne instead, or the best wine they had. Stronger wasn’t always better, but she’d wait to see his response to her offering.

“No one died— it’s a start.” She muttered, gently loosening his tie in an attempt to make him look less downtrodden and annoyed. “Next time, have your men shoot less closer to me and closer to them, for my headache’s sake.”

Running a flower shop was not the same as her husband’s criminal organization, but it still had an irritating amount of supervision and mind-numbing amount of numbers and orders to go through. She’d made plenty of money on the three orders she had gotten done, as well as the down payments on a wedding after hours of negotiating prices for a bride who could easily afford her standard fees. She’d had half a mind to call Niccolo in and escort the couple out, but thousands of dollars worth of flowers would give them plenty of cushion for the next few months.

That didn’t mean that she hadn’t been bored to tears, nor that she was against lying in front of her husband’s men in order to push herself against him, her fingers tangling in his hair as the washer vibrated loudly behind his back. She pressed kisses down his neck, nipping at his skin as she unbuttoned his collar in order to find more skin.

“I’ve missed you, Racer.” She whispered, despite the fact they had heard from each other plenty throughout the day.

It wasn’t that Jack thought he’d become the next greatest makeup artist—he’d just seen Violet’s attempts at getting around with her opposite hand the day before, and he wasn’t about to risk her going blind. One Kid Blink was enough.

Cursing as she pulled back—he was having a hard enough time when she was holding still—he lied, “Yeah, all the time. Now c’mere.”

Holding her chin with one hand, his tongue caught between his teeth as he concentrated, he did his best to get the brush close to her eyelid like she’d instructed. “Anyway,” he muttered, “it’s just like paintin’, right? Should be easy enough.”

The hand on her chin was not the most comfortable thing in the world, the urge to pull away even stronger now that there was something stopping her. If she was being honest, she didn’t like for anyone to do her makeup, let alone put her mascara on. She knew he’d never done anyone’s makeup in his life, but he could at least try to lie better than that.

“Please be careful—“ she winced as the wand got closer, a nervous laugh bubbling up.

“Jack, this is nothing like painting, and you know it.”

Send “💄" For my muse to put some makeup on your muse!

“Do you want me to be honest?” Violet asked, rolling her eyes as Trevor stomped off. Sometimes, she felt more like a babysitter than a dance partner. It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that she turned to Jesse, raising her eyebrows. “If I have to do one more too-sweet, love song routine after this, I’m going to shove him off a bridge in hopes that he’ll break his ankle.”

The fact that Trevor had forgotten to tell her that he was going to miss for a game wasn’t too surprising— he’d cancelled last minute on her more than once before— but it still made her even angrier. “I have half a mind to throw the entire routine out and make him start over…” she paused her train of venom, lips pursed as she shook his hand. “Violet. I’ve heard some about you; it’s not every day we get male dancers with actual talent.”

She sighed as she grabbed her phone, rewinding it to the beginning of the song. It wasn’t a bad routine, per se, but it wasn’t good with their uneven skill level. “I’m trying to make it work, but he wants the story to be so… High School Musical.”

“Tell me where and when, and I’ll be sure he breaks something…” Jesse ran a hand through his hair, not sure of whether he should’ve said that out loud. He was here to be a fill-in partner, no matter what his opinion of Trevor was. Besides, last thing he needed was for her to think he was some brute who was just as bad.

“Thanks, but you don’t have to flatter me. I’ll bet you’ve never even seen me dance….” He trailed off, clearing his throat to keep from getting to self depreciating. “You could always start something else too, y’know. Just for fun. And whoops, it just happens to feel better… but that’s also extra work so i don’t blame you.”

“If it helps, you were making it work. I mean… It’s much, but it’s gotta be to sell it, right?”

”Please don’t tempt me,” she replied, laughing for the first time since she had made it to practice. She’d much rather be channeling every ounce of her frustration into a Sara Bareilles song, but they needed a solid duet for placements, so she might as well. “I have half a mind to start digging foot-sized holes in the lacrosse field.”

“I’ve seen you practice, but my pre-dance ritual is usually hiding and pacing until it’s my turn to go onstage… not much watching from the wings.” She was known for hunkering down in an abandoned corner to practice over and over again, the princess of perfectionism. “Do you have something in mind? If Trevor is already too busy to even make it to a full practice…” she trailed off, letting the rest of the sentence speak for itself.

“I’m starting to think that we should do a mafia themed dance, because he’s practically my own pair of cement shoes… if cement shoes could drop you on your ass three times in a row.”

“And you still think I’ve got talent? Guess I’m doing something right…” He smiled a little to himself, leaning back against the wall behind him. “But your pacing has better technique than me at my best… I get perfectionism, but you really have nothing to worry about.” … It then occurred to him how weird that probably sounded. It wasn’t like he hid in the shadows and watched her panic before performing, but he still wasn’t really close to anyone in the whole company, so most of his time backstage was just kind of observing.

“I don’t know? Something… Fun? Contemporary duets are always so slow and dramatic, and God knows you need a break from the melodrama.” He shrugged, closing his eyes briefly and trying to think.

He opened one eye once she spoke up again, and couldn’t help grin that started to slowly spread across his face. “I… I like a good theme. A character… Something mafia will stand out at least, it’s definitely not highschool musical. And swing is fun if you jazz it up a little.”

“Trust me, you’ve got more talent than about half of the girls here.” Violet isn’t complimenting him to be nice-- although she hadn’t had time to watch him too closely-- but because she had noticed that he was much better than most guys on the team. Sure, he kept to the shadows, but she didn’t think that was a bad thing. 

“That’s... actually not a bad idea.” She said after a moment, mind suddenly racing. Her knowledge of songs wasn’t the best, but she’d done her fair share of jazz and tap, so she knew they could think of something.

“I wouldn’t mind being a gun moll... sure as hell beats a floral dress.” She replied, already looking up music on her phone. “Even jazz would beat what we’ve been doing.”

“Do you want me to be honest?” Violet asked, rolling her eyes as Trevor stomped off. Sometimes, she felt more like a babysitter than a dance partner. It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that she turned to Jesse, raising her eyebrows. “If I have to do one more too-sweet, love song routine after this, I’m going to shove him off a bridge in hopes that he’ll break his ankle.”

The fact that Trevor had forgotten to tell her that he was going to miss for a game wasn’t too surprising— he’d cancelled last minute on her more than once before— but it still made her even angrier. “I have half a mind to throw the entire routine out and make him start over…” she paused her train of venom, lips pursed as she shook his hand. “Violet. I’ve heard some about you; it’s not every day we get male dancers with actual talent.”

She sighed as she grabbed her phone, rewinding it to the beginning of the song. It wasn’t a bad routine, per se, but it wasn’t good with their uneven skill level. “I’m trying to make it work, but he wants the story to be so… High School Musical.”

“Tell me where and when, and I’ll be sure he breaks something…” Jesse ran a hand through his hair, not sure of whether he should’ve said that out loud. He was here to be a fill-in partner, no matter what his opinion of Trevor was. Besides, last thing he needed was for her to think he was some brute who was just as bad.

“Thanks, but you don’t have to flatter me. I’ll bet you’ve never even seen me dance….” He trailed off, clearing his throat to keep from getting to self depreciating. “You could always start something else too, y’know. Just for fun. And whoops, it just happens to feel better… but that’s also extra work so i don’t blame you.”

“If it helps, you were making it work. I mean… It’s much, but it’s gotta be to sell it, right?”

”Please don’t tempt me,” she replied, laughing for the first time since she had made it to practice. She’d much rather be channeling every ounce of her frustration into a Sara Bareilles song, but they needed a solid duet for placements, so she might as well. “I have half a mind to start digging foot-sized holes in the lacrosse field.”

“I’ve seen you practice, but my pre-dance ritual is usually hiding and pacing until it’s my turn to go onstage… not much watching from the wings.” She was known for hunkering down in an abandoned corner to practice over and over again, the princess of perfectionism. “Do you have something in mind? If Trevor is already too busy to even make it to a full practice…” she trailed off, letting the rest of the sentence speak for itself.

“I’m starting to think that we should do a mafia themed dance, because he’s practically my own pair of cement shoes… if cement shoes could drop you on your ass three times in a row.”

@viiiorica// Hey! It’s a dance thing, i guess

“You are exactly the partner everyone wants! Strong, individual technique, dynamic… You’re a storyteller, Jess, and if you can connect to someone else the way you do your own routines it’ll be magic!”

Jesse scrubbed a hand over his face, nodding along but clearly half listening and more focused on getting water and leaning back against the mirrors, reveling in the refreshing cold that went straight through the back of his shirt and into his shoulders. He’d heard it all before, anyway. The “you’d be a perfect partner, all the girls would love that you’re so competent, but don’t you dare stop competing solo. The studio just needs its guys to be multi-faceted, etc etc”…

“-Just talk to her on your way out, alright? Trevor can’t make it to the next comp, if if you just fill in for that and it doesn’t click, it doesn’t click.”

He blinked, looking back to his coach with as as little confusion as he could manage. “Yeah, sure. Just… What was the name again?

“Violet.” His coach rolled his eyes, but gave him a brief encouraging smile, before one of those ‘don’t let me down’ looks. “…They should still be over in B15 for a bit if you want to see what they’re working on. She came the more classical ballet route, and does her own choreography these days, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”

“Right. Hell yeah.” Jesse closed his eyes, but could just feel his coach smirking back at him as he left. Of course they’d known each other long enough that he can’t step down from a challenge like that.  He swore under his breath, pushing himself off the mirror and giving a mock salute. “See you Wednesday…”

If it weren’t for the fact that she needed to expand on her portfolio, Violet would never have accepted Trevor’s request for a duet. At the time, it had seemed easy-- one duet, then back to balancing three different solos and school-- but she should have known that it wouldn’t just be one duet. 

Of course, she also should have realized that she’d be stuck doing the same lovestruck teenager dances that filled every competition for the next four competitions. If they kept this up, they might just get kicked out of the dance group for self-plagiarism.

They’d decided to take a break for the day after the fifth time struggling to make it click, her thoughts wild as she wondered if it was too late to change the song... or maybe the entire routine. She was still doing the movements in the mirror-- this time focusing on her facial expression and body language and less on position of her feet and arms-- when she saw movement in the corner of her eye. Trevor was already getting his stuff into his duffel bag, but she was in no hurry to get home and deal with her father, or tell him the date of the competition and pretend that he was actually going to try to go.

“You enjoying the show?” She asked tiredly as Trevor left the room, rolling her shoulders as she tightened the wrap around her foot. The left one kept coming loose while she was practicing, and she made a mental note to see if she could find some nicer looking ones before they had to perform. “I’d’ve stopped him if you were wanting to check out what we were doing, but... it’s been a long day.”

The Days’ Doings, London, April 13, 1872

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