"I need to talk to Olaf. Alone."
The look in Olaf's eyes was one of mixed fury and disgust, as he followed behind her into the guest caravan where the two had made their temporary home.
As she slammed the door behind them Olaf shoved Esme hard, she fell backwards onto the bed.
"What in God's name is this little tantrum about?" Olaf demanded.
"Like you don't know." She muttered.
"Actually, I don't."
Esme gave her boyfriend the most withering glare she could summon up. "Try to figure it out."
" You are making a fool out of me in front of my troupe, Esme. I love you dearly, but I will not stand for that. Do you understand?"
"Whatever you want." Esme replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm. She stood up and pushed past Olaf to the other side of the caravan, a short distance but further from Olaf none the less.
"Don't you ever walk away from me, Esme."
She spun around on the balls of her feet.
"Don't tell me what to do. Nobody tells me what to do."
Her icy gaze met his, and for a moment they stared each other down. Sometimes it seemed they were just too alike to ever be a real couple.
This time, it was his turn to back down.
"Enough," Olaf said quietly. "All over a silly lion. Why don't we kiss and make up? Forget about this."
Esme shrugged. She had won this round, no point in dragging it out. She collapsed back onto the bed and stretched her long legs out over the edge. More often than not recently it seemed her legs ached. An accumulation of bruises, sprained knees and stage accidents that had followed her even though she was retired from the theatre.
"Your legs hurt?"
She nodded, and Olaf motioned her to move, so he could sit on the bed beside her.
"I promise when we go into town I'll bring you something for it."
Esme smiled, and raised an eyebrow. "How?"
Olaf shrugged. "We'll rob a pharmacy, I guess. Anything for you."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"Will you buy me a lion too?" She couldn't resist.
Olaf heaved a sigh. "Fine. Come on." He patted her on the knee. "We've got a pit to dig."
"Wait." She drew Olaf closer, kissing him softly on the forehead. "Don't you want to make up?"
Olaf sighed. "You're so demanding."
"I know." Esme replied, kissing him lightly on the mouth.
Esme opened her mouth to speak again, but Olaf silenced her.
"Quiet."
She did as she was told, closing her eyes as Olaf ran his hand down her back, stopping at the curve of her waist. How well she knew that touch, no other like it in the world. Cold, calloused flesh against the silk of her own skin, the ultimate of two worlds colliding in delicious contradiction. Beauty and the beast, though it had taken her years to learn not to shudder under his caress.
"As a matter of fact, I did get you something while I was in town."
Esme opened her eyes.
In his hand was a green silk ribbon. She tried to speak, but no answer came.
He reached up and tied it into her hair, smiling.
"There. That looks lovely on you."
The long edges of satin fell around her shoulders, brilliant emerald against the coffee cream of her skin.
She climbed onto the bed with a wicked smile, still clothed...but not for long.
Olaf followed, and as he kissed her again, pinning her down, Esme at last thought of what to say. "I love you." She whispered.
He broke their kiss, shoving her away.
He had a sick look on his face as he stared down at her.
"I can't do this."
"What?" Esme sat up.
"Get up." He said, pushing himself off the bed. "You look ridiculous lying there. And don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like a fucking schoolgirl." Olaf snapped. " Like you haven't been in the bed of every bank manager at every bank in the city."
"I just thought-"
"How many times have I told you we can't mix business and pleasure, Esme?"
Esme looked away. "I forgot."
She watched quietly as Olaf struggled into his coat, grabbed notepads and maps from the shelf, stuffing them into his pockets.
"Where are you going?" She asked as Olaf took the keys for the car.
"I'm going to town for supplies."
"Will you bring me something for my leg?"
There was no answer. " I'll find those Baudelaires, and when I do..."
Olaf stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Esme smothered a cry of fury into her pillow.
How could she let this happen? What was it a little girl possessed, that she did not? Esme knew the answer without even a second thought.
Esme was beautiful enough, anybody could see that. She breathed sex, that girl radiated something different entirely. Something Esme could never mimic, no matter how she tried.
Violet Baudelaire was everything she could never be.
Esme reached up and pulled the ribbon from her hair, running it through her fingers. With a noise of disgust, she flung it to the floor. She rolled over, fighting back the hot tears of bitterness welling up in her eyes. Goddamn it, she hated that little bitch.
The look in Olaf's eyes was one of mixed fury and disgust, as he followed behind her into the guest caravan where the two had made their temporary home.
As she slammed the door behind them Olaf shoved Esme hard, she fell backwards onto the bed.
"What in God's name is this little tantrum about?" Olaf demanded.
"Like you don't know." She muttered.
"Actually, I don't."
Esme gave her boyfriend the most withering glare she could summon up. "Try to figure it out."
" You are making a fool out of me in front of my troupe, Esme. I love you dearly, but I will not stand for that. Do you understand?"
"Whatever you want." Esme replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm. She stood up and pushed past Olaf to the other side of the caravan, a short distance but further from Olaf none the less.
"Don't you ever walk away from me, Esme."
She spun around on the balls of her feet.
"Don't tell me what to do. Nobody tells me what to do."
Her icy gaze met his, and for a moment they stared each other down. Sometimes it seemed they were just too alike to ever be a real couple.
This time, it was his turn to back down.
"Enough," Olaf said quietly. "All over a silly lion. Why don't we kiss and make up? Forget about this."
Esme shrugged. She had won this round, no point in dragging it out. She collapsed back onto the bed and stretched her long legs out over the edge. More often than not recently it seemed her legs ached. An accumulation of bruises, sprained knees and stage accidents that had followed her even though she was retired from the theatre.
"Your legs hurt?"
She nodded, and Olaf motioned her to move, so he could sit on the bed beside her.
"I promise when we go into town I'll bring you something for it."
Esme smiled, and raised an eyebrow. "How?"
Olaf shrugged. "We'll rob a pharmacy, I guess. Anything for you."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"Will you buy me a lion too?" She couldn't resist.
Olaf heaved a sigh. "Fine. Come on." He patted her on the knee. "We've got a pit to dig."
"Wait." She drew Olaf closer, kissing him softly on the forehead. "Don't you want to make up?"
Olaf sighed. "You're so demanding."
"I know." Esme replied, kissing him lightly on the mouth.
Esme opened her mouth to speak again, but Olaf silenced her.
"Quiet."
She did as she was told, closing her eyes as Olaf ran his hand down her back, stopping at the curve of her waist. How well she knew that touch, no other like it in the world. Cold, calloused flesh against the silk of her own skin, the ultimate of two worlds colliding in delicious contradiction. Beauty and the beast, though it had taken her years to learn not to shudder under his caress.
"As a matter of fact, I did get you something while I was in town."
Esme opened her eyes.
In his hand was a green silk ribbon. She tried to speak, but no answer came.
He reached up and tied it into her hair, smiling.
"There. That looks lovely on you."
The long edges of satin fell around her shoulders, brilliant emerald against the coffee cream of her skin.
She climbed onto the bed with a wicked smile, still clothed...but not for long.
Olaf followed, and as he kissed her again, pinning her down, Esme at last thought of what to say. "I love you." She whispered.
He broke their kiss, shoving her away.
He had a sick look on his face as he stared down at her.
"I can't do this."
"What?" Esme sat up.
"Get up." He said, pushing himself off the bed. "You look ridiculous lying there. And don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like a fucking schoolgirl." Olaf snapped. " Like you haven't been in the bed of every bank manager at every bank in the city."
"I just thought-"
"How many times have I told you we can't mix business and pleasure, Esme?"
Esme looked away. "I forgot."
She watched quietly as Olaf struggled into his coat, grabbed notepads and maps from the shelf, stuffing them into his pockets.
"Where are you going?" She asked as Olaf took the keys for the car.
"I'm going to town for supplies."
"Will you bring me something for my leg?"
There was no answer. " I'll find those Baudelaires, and when I do..."
Olaf stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Esme smothered a cry of fury into her pillow.
How could she let this happen? What was it a little girl possessed, that she did not? Esme knew the answer without even a second thought.
Esme was beautiful enough, anybody could see that. She breathed sex, that girl radiated something different entirely. Something Esme could never mimic, no matter how she tried.
Violet Baudelaire was everything she could never be.
Esme reached up and pulled the ribbon from her hair, running it through her fingers. With a noise of disgust, she flung it to the floor. She rolled over, fighting back the hot tears of bitterness welling up in her eyes. Goddamn it, she hated that little bitch.