Violet did what she could to keep distance from Count Olaf. A few days had passed, but she felt no better. The flit in her stomach had not gone away, nor the heat in her cheeks when they caught the other's eyes in passing. For the most part, Count Olaf stayed tucked away in his room. It was concerning to Violet that she found this to be both a relief and a displeasure.
Alec, the clever boy that he was, had pieced together that they were going to a ball to benefit the searching efforts for him. He was, naturally, forbidden from going and would instead - much to his irritation - have to stay with Viktor while Violet and Count Olaf were gone.
Though, he didn't seem too put out about the whole thing and Violet wondered if, perhaps, it's not that he was missing the chance of being rescued, but rather that he was stuck with Viktor that upset him. In fact, he had seemed rather glum about the ball all along. When Violet, Klaus, and Sunny were in Count Olaf's clutches, they would have jumped at any chance to raise an alarm to how horrid he was. Alec, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to stay and be a butler. Often Violet wondered what his parents must be like to warrant such a reaction. She supposed she would find out soon enough.
Around noon, there was a sharp knock on the door. Viktor was out, which meant she and Alec were working downstairs in the kitchen with no key to unlock the door. The two of them paused for a moment, looking up to the ceiling to see if Count Olaf had stirred from the noise. He hadn't.
The two looked at each other and finally Violet sighed. "Very well," she said. "Stay here and I'll go into the beast's lair."
This, at least, got a smile out of Alec. She gave a warm wink in return and, pausing momentarily for a deep breath, left the kitchen for the stairs. It was an odd sensation, how the farther up the stairs she got, the heavier her heart beat in her throat. What a silly person she was, for it wasn't dread that made her heart beat, but a small flicker of anticipation.
At his closed bedroom door, she paused with her hand raised. The tension in her stomach was nearly impossible to handle. Violet gave a small shake to her head and urged herself to quit being quite so silly. Her breath stilled and she forced herself to knock before she lost her resolve.
Nothing.
Violet knocked again, a bit louder. "Erm," she said, then cleared her throat. "Count Olaf? There's someone at the door."
After a few moments of silence, she heard his bed springs creak. Violet hardly had a chance to step back before the door swung open and there he was, disheveled from sleep. It was quite impossible to look away from his eyes, which somehow shone in their character sharpness despite his otherwise unkempt state.
"The door," she said weakly, losing resolve and looking down to the space between them. Count Olaf grunted in reply, turned to his bedside table to grab his keys, and strode past Violet and down the stairs without a glance her way.
It should have relieved her. It should have made her happy to not have his attention on her. But it didn't. It caused a knot the size of the Mortmain Mountains to clump in her stomach.
Violet was only on the top stair heading down when she heard the lock on the front door give and the hinges creak as it swung open.
"Olaf, dear, you look positively beastly!" chimed the now-familiar voice of the seamstress Lucia. Keeping her eyes trained on the stairs, lost in her own thoughts as one often does when feeling oddly, Violet made her way down to them. "Oh, there she is, a much prettier sight than this monster! Oh, I do hope you're ready for me to play dress-up again, especially with such an extravagant ball coming up, I have just the right thing!"
Violet was torn from her thoughts by the excitable woman. Today she wore a ruffled skirt, the same color orange as her wild hair. A violet polka-dot blouse was tucked into it neatly, matching the purple pumps her feet rested so easily in. Violet never did learn how to properly walk in heels. It was a pointless skill to learn in her childhood and teenage years as heels made it difficult to run and the majority of her childhood and teenage years were spent running from Count Olaf.
It took Violet's mind a moment to catch up with the woman's words. So Lucia was concocting their outfits for the ball. Not surprising, really, though Violet had to force her grimace into a smile at the thought. Lucia would have her in something ridiculous, she was sure, and not at all proper or sensible.
"My trunk, Olaf," the woman said in a lofty voice, grabbing Violet by the elbow and tugging her into the rumpus room where they'd done the fittings before. Violet, despite her odd feeling, looked over her shoulder and offered Count Olaf a sympathetic look. She knew he'd be angry - unsurprised when she met his glare - and thought perhaps it might settle his temper if he thought Violet found Lucia being quite unfair, as well. And it did, it seemed, dull the fire in his eyes. Lucia pulled the girl through the doorway just as she heard him let out an irritated sigh.
Once in the rumpus room, the straps of Lucia's oversized shoulder bag - purple, of course, to match her shoes - slid from the woman and the bag landed on the ground with a loud thump. "So, my dear beauty," she said, kneeling down to open the bag and shuffling through it. Outside, Violet could hear the car door shut and hoped the trunk wasn't too heavy for Count Olaf's sake. "What is it that you're envisioning for this ball?"
This question caught Violet quite off-guard. Like most of her time spent under Count Olaf's roof, she hadn't expected to have much of a say in anything. There was no room for opinions. And just then, when finally being asked for one, Violet wasn't sure she had an opinion to give. "Oh, erm," she said, pausing to clear her throat. The front door banged open. "Perhaps it would be best to ask Count Olaf's opinion. I'm not seasoned in things so formal as balls."
It was true. But so was the fact that she knew very little of popular fashion. Plus, Count Olaf rounded the corner and gave them both a curious look, which meant he'd overheard - and that could hopefully only earn a little of his trust.
Lucia clucked her tongue at Violet, but the younger girl did not mind. She only gave Count Olaf a small smile and averted her eyes.
"Ask my opinion for what?" he said, voice strained. The trunk fell from his shoulder and hit the hardwood floor so much the house shook.
"On the dress, my dear," Lucia said, bending to pop the catch on the trunk. It nearly exploded open under the pressure of the contents. "I was asking this darling what she wanted in the dress and she said it would be best to ask your opinion."
This seemed to appease Count Olaf a great deal. His shoulders straightened considerably. Violet looked up and met his eyes, appraising her. "I think," he said, then paused, gaze roving over Violet. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "I think perhaps a ball gown or a trumpet dress, Lucia, what would you say?"
Already the woman was nodding. "Oh yes, a trumpet, she would look ultra glamorous in a trumpet, Olaf dear." A drawing pad was pulled from Lucia's bag and instantly she set to sketching.
Count Olaf's eyes did not leave Violet. Her heart hammered in her chest and she realized the odd feeling in her hands, like she wasn't quite sure what to do with them. Count Olaf eyed her face - not ever properly looking at her, so much as at her skin. "Purple, too, I think Lucia. She is quite striking in purple."
At that his eyes snapped on hers and the heat crept down her neck. Violet, not trusting herself to speak, looked down at the space between them. He'd just called her striking. He'd called her striking. A funny flit ran across her stomach.
Lucia was humming, agreeing, scratching lines all over the paper. "Yes, here, what do you think?" she said, first showing the drawing to Count Olaf, as if Violet were a child and they were talking over her. With his approval, she swung the drawing around to show Violet, who peeked up.
Oh. "That's," Violet started, eyes wide. "That's beautiful, Lucia, truly, but I think that's far too glamo-"
"Nonsense," Count Olaf said with a wave of his hand. There was a brief moment, if only a second, that he watched her eyes glaze over at the beauty of the dress. She would have it.
Violet snapped her mouth shut and let her eyes fall from Count Olaf back to the drawing. It was…
Sometimes words did not do justice to the things they meant. In this case, beautiful didn't do the sketch justice at all, but there was no other word Violet could think of to describe it. From somewhere in her bag, Lucia had pulled out some colored pencils and filled the sketch in with a deep plum shade. It was modest and cap-sleeved, form-fitted along the torso until the knee, where it blossomed out into waves of what looked to become tulle. The bodice looked to be beaded in crystal, if Lucia's sketching skills were to be trusted.
"Good," Lucia said with a nod. She quickly added a pout. "Though that does take away from my dress-up time I hoped to have with her."
Violet was partially relieved not to be subject to Lucia's "dress-up time" despite the loveliness of her creations. Count Olaf, on the other hand, shrugged. "Make her a second dress," he said, stepping past the two women as if done with the scene and heading toward the kitchen. "A more simple dress for an evening out, just to have in case anything comes up in a pinch."
And with that he was gone. A second dress? What on earth for? Lucia, however, did not bat an eye. She squealed in excitement, pulled the stool from her trunk, and had Violet down to her slip in no time.
Nearly an hour later, much too long after Violet began feeling like an abused toy, Lucia said her goodbyes and Count Olaf locked the door behind her.
"Why do I need a second dress?" she said, standing near his elbow.
Count Olaf turned, towering over her, and looked down. She was undoubtedly aware of how close the two of them were in that moment. The fabric of his skirt tickled her forearm.
"Violet Baudelaire," he said, savoring her name. Her heart thumped twice in her throat. The gleam in his eyes was predatory. "I know that you're new to this," he added, then swiped a loose piece of hair behind her ear. He let his hand linger on her chin. "But it's time you've had your first heist. And every thief needs a getaway outfit."