Chapter Sixteen

Violet wasn't sure if it was Count Olaf's long stride or if he was walking faster than normal, but she felt like she was being dragged rather than walking aside him. She didn't hear what passed between him and Oswald, but she wondered if it had anything to do with how tightly he gripped her wrist.

"You did a splendid job, Violet," he said as they approached his vehicle. He popped open the door and held it for her. "I'm very proud of you. But, I think it was a little heavy handed letting him paw at you like that. You want him to think you're respectable, after all."

Violet gently tugged her arm free of his grip, a small frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. Her head throbbed so hard she felt she may be sick.

"I did everything short of biting him to make him stop," she said bitterly.

When Count Olaf said nothing, she looked up at him. His jaw was clenched, head tilted slightly to the side. "You asked him to stop?"

"Multiple times," she said, pressing a hand to her uninjured brow. "He told me there was no need to act coy. It was certainly not a lack of trying to make him stop on my part."

Perhaps it was how her head ached, but she was terribly annoyed to be chided over something she tried to prevent. She heard the car door close behind her and jumped a little, having forgotten Alec was following. She turned and looked over her shoulder to find him waiting in the backseat, but those long fingers found her chin and steered her gaze back to the man in front of her.

"You told him to stop and he continued throwing himself at you?"

Violet gave an irritated sigh. It felt as if her skull was being hammered in the middle of her forehead. "Yes!" she said in exasperation. "So don't act as if I'm the one not being respectable!"

Count Olaf's eyes flashed - too hot, too angry - and her stomach froze in fear that he may lash out at her for speaking as such. But she hardly had time to blink before he'd ripped himself away and was storming toward the bank. For a moment she stood in shock, staring at the empty space ahead of her, before she spun and took a few quick steps, reaching out to snatch at his wrist.

She tugged him back. There was a fury in his eyes she had seen only a few times before. "What are you doing?" she whispered, wary of the police officers meandering around with bored expressions painted on their faces.

He ripped his arm from her grasp and straightened his overcoat with a huff. "I'm going to shoot him," he said in a tone that told her this should have been obvious.

Violet nearly choked on air and snatched at his wrist again when he once more tried to spin toward the bank. "You what?"

Olaf stopped, but did not immediately turn around. He was too preoccupied with how the soft pads of her fingers had found the stretch of his skin between his cuff and leather glove. Then he thought of her warm fingers on that boy. He swung those blazing eyes back to her.

"I have little patience for men who won't take no for an answer."

"Says the man who crafted an entire plot to trick me into marriage at fourteen!"

"That was for the fortune."

Violet had never forgotten how Count Olaf's eyes used to linger on her when she was in his care. How his hands used to rest on her shoulders just too long, how he'd trailed that dagger from her knee to thigh, up under the skirts of her dress, at Uncle Monty's table where no one else could see.

She was old enough to know it was wrong, to feel shame for it, but young enough that she was paralyzed from doing anything about it. She was the eldest, after all, and as the eldest she had to protect Klaus and Sunny. Even if that meant keeping them in the dark. They were too young to understand those sorts of things. The sorts of things she had only been starting to understand at fourteen.

"You expect me to believe you would have taken no for an answer on our wedding bed?" she seethed.

Every thud of her head pulsed in her vision. Count Olaf only scoffed and waved his free hand dismissively.

"It's different between a man and his bride."

Violet clenched her teeth. "Child bride."

Olaf snatched her chin again, too tight, and tilted her head back to look at him. He stepped terribly close, his forearm pressed against her bust.

"You're not a child anymore," he said, venom in each syllable. "Perhaps I should wed you so I can teach you just how demanding a man can be of his wife."

Yes, those were the hungry eyes she remembered from childhood boring down into her. "You're despicable," she spat, despite the redness creeping over her cheeks.

His long fingers dug into her chin as he lowered his face toward hers. "And you're being mouthy," he said dangerously. She could feel the heat of his mouth dancing across her lips. "Watch yourself, Violet Baudelaire."

She needed to be away from him, to have space, she couldn't think when he was saying such terrible things so close to her mouth. Violet jerked her head out of his grip and took a step backward, unable to mask the frazzled look in her eyes. "You - you got the money," she said, tilting her chin upward and pushing her shoulders back, trying to convince herself more than him that she was in control of the situation. "And there are plenty of police officers standing around with nothing better to do. What do you have to gain from shooting him?"

"Personal fulfillment," he spat nastily, but pulled away from her and turned toward the car with an irritated huff.

Violet stood still for a moment, collecting herself, before sliding into the car and immediately closing her eyes. Her fingers moved to rub at her temples as if she could rub the ache away. Her heart hammered on and on.

Count Olaf sat for a moment with his hands clenched on the steering wheel. Violet had been right, of course - killing the boy would have put them in a mess. But just the mere thought of her asking Oswald to stop and being ignored made a cold fury crawl down his limbs. Count Olaf was to be the great villain of Violet Baudelaire's life - not some young upstart banker whose family had loose ties to the VFD. He was the only one allowed to push her, allowed to watch the uncertain look in her eyes and pink heat creep over her delicate face when he made his advances.

Trick her. Woo her. Win her. The words pounded against his chest, some tangled mess of anger and jealousy and want. Show her how much better and more terrible you can be.

He looked over at her. Violet's eyes were closed, her dark lashes dusting her cheeks. Her right hand was raised to her brow, massaging lazy circles into her forehead.

Count Olaf thought of the color that flooded her cheeks when he'd said such crass things to her. That little flustered look of uncertainty that darted across her eyes. He could sway her to him. He would.

"I am not angry with you, Violet," he said. "Just irritated that the banker seems to think he can do whatever he likes with you."

Violet's eyes popped open and she gave him a sideways look. "He was just eager to be courting me," she said. "He mistook my hesitation for approval. It's hardly his fault. He's a good man, if not a little over excited."

Count Olaf reached over toward her - Violet froze - and laid a gentle finger on the split of her brow. "Don't discount his intelligence. He knows what he's doing, I've seen his type."

His fingers drifted from her brow to her temple and he rubbed his thumb into her skin. Violet sighed at the relief, her eyes fluttering closed. "And what sort of type is that?" she said, sounding quite half-hearted in her attempt to be irritated with him.

"The sort that will do and say anything to get you to lift your skirts."

Violet's eyes shot open and she jerked her vision to the window, pulling his head away from his hand. "He isn't like that and you know it," she said. "And don't say such things in front of Alec."

At the mention of the boy, who quite honestly Count Olaf forgot existed, he lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror. The boy had a wide grin on his face and was mouthing something that Count Olaf didn't understand, though looked a lot like "gizzard." It was quite obvious whatever it was, it was important to the boy and he felt the need to not have Violet overhear, who was still staring out the window fixedly.

Count Olaf shook his head and mouthed, "What?"

Alec dramatically mimed a sigh and nudged his head toward Violet. "Kiss her," he mouthed more clearly, then puckered his lips.

Ah, so even his little progeny was on his side. Count Olaf smiled and let his hand find Violet's. She turned to stare at him and he lifted her hand to his lips. "I've promised Alec a toy. We'll get something for your head while we're out."

Violet pulled her hand away, clasping it fisted in her lap. She looked at him, uncertain, then looked back out the window. "Yes, alright," she said quietly, but all traces of her earlier annoyance were gone. Count Olaf glanced again in the rearview mirror with a look of surprise and gave Alec a hearty wink. The boy was grinning like a madman.

She could still feel the warmth of his mouth against her knuckles and she sighed, clenching her eyes closed and again letting her hand try to rub the headache away. Her fingers were not quite as practiced as Count Olaf's - it had been blissful for that spare moment he'd rubbed his thumb into her temple.

Violet's fingers stilled on her brow, thinking of those practiced fingers of his trailing along the neckline of her dress.

What was she doing?

This man was horrible, had done horrible things, had just admitted more or less that he would have forced her into their marriage bed when she was only fourteen. He'd tried multiple times to kill her siblings - kill her. He'd had an entire plot to cut off her head!

But that tiny, terrible little ember inside her would not burn down, no matter how she tried to smother it. It burned and flared at his long, hungry gazes, when it felt like he might devour her whole.

She was lonely, she deduced.

That had to be it. There was no other possible, reasonable, logical reason. Quigley and Beatrice were gone. Her siblings had not been there for her as she would have been for them. That thought, horrible as it was, was the root of great untapped bitterness inside her. She had always - always - taken the brunt of their suffering, tried to lessen the impact for her brother and sister. And when Quigley and Beatrice left her - when her own suffering was too much to carry alone - her siblings had expected her to lift her chin and move forward as she always had. Because that is what she did. That is what they knew of her. And so she carried what was too heavy on her own and had since the night she fled Uncle Monty's. She had been all alone in a new place with a new name and it was all so wrong that people could look at her and smile and exchange pleasantries and not a single person knew that she felt like she could just lay down and die. Nobody saw her. Until Count Olaf did. He saw her and stole her and he was something horrible and familiar. Something from before, someone that wasn't some stupid neighbor calling to ask for help with their phone and completely overlooking the fact that Violet felt empty of anything except her loneliness. Someone that was terrible, dependably so, that she could count on to be cruel, but was known to her.

There is, after all, some small comfort in the familiar, particularly when one is feeling out of sorts. Even if that familiarity is a terrible one.

They had been driving for a while, though Violet hardly knew how long when her mind was in such a spiral. With her eyes closed, she felt the car turn, then slow, then stop with a jerk.

She peeked open an eye to see they were parked in the small parking lot for a cowboy themed general store.

"Do you want to stay in the car?"

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She'd been distracted by the flashing neon sign that read Yancy Yee-Haw's General Outlet! When it clicked that the question was directed at her, she turned to look at Count Olaf with an assessing gaze. Had he just asked her if she preferred to stay in the car?

Count Olaf told. He did not ask.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "No, I'll go in," she said. From the corner of her eye, she could see Alec about ready to burst with excitement. "I have to make sure you don't buy him a mouse trap or a flare gun and tell him it's a toy."

"What's a flare gun?" Alec said from the back.

Violet sighed and a lazy smirk tugged the edge of Count Olaf's mouth.

Count Olaf popped open his door and not a second later Alec, too impatient to wait for his door to be opened, climbed over the center console and out the driver's door. Violet couldn't help the little smile that crossed her face at his excitement, despite her own terrible feelings at the moment. She reached for her own handle, but her car door popped open before she could reach it and was held by Count Olaf, who offered her a hand.

Again she gave him a narrowed, quizzical look but let her hand find the cool leather of his gloves. He helped her from the car, but did not release her hand, instead tucking it under his elbow before moving them out of the way and shutting the car door.

"What are you doing?" she muttered under her breath. Whatever it was that he was up to, she wanted to know.

Count Olaf ignored her completely, opting instead to say, "You were thinking terribly hard in the car. What is on your mind?"

Alec ran ahead of them giggling like a boy his age should be and that at least made Violet happy. He burst in through the doors of the shop and made an immediate beeline for the children's section.

"Lots of things," Violet said with a sigh, letting herself be escorted into the shop. "Lots of things I don't like thinking about."

"Howdy, y'all!" said a man in a checkered shirt and leather chaps. "Sale today on the odd numbered aisles! Let your old pal Sheriff Shoot'em know if you need any help!"

Violet and Count Olaf both offered him smiles that were more akin to grimaces.

"Oh, wow!" they heard Alec say from within the aisles. He burst out and ran toward them, excitement lighting up his every feature as he held up a shining metal slingshot.

"That was fast," Count Olaf muttered, pulling himself free of Violet's arm and swooping up the slingshot to assess it.

"Slingshots are dangerous," she said, stepping forward and laying a hand in Alec's dark curls. "Perhaps we can find you some building blocks or a toy model?"

"Nonsense," Count Olaf said, done with his inspection. He lowered the toy back into Alec's eager hands. "That's a fine model. I had a slingshot just like that when I was a boy."

"Yes, that's what concerns me," Violet muttered under her breath. Count Olaf tipped his head to the side and gave her a lazy smirk.

"Come now, Violet," he said, stepping closer so no one heard him call her by name. "There's no need to be jealous. I'll let you pick out a toy, too, if you let me watch you while you play."

Violet's entire face flooded with pink. Was he implying what she thought he was? She shot him a look, but it was clear from his grin that he was only trying to get under her skin.

"If you truly wish to reward me for taking part in your schemes, stop being a cad," she bit out sharply. "And I smell a perfectly good rotisserie chicken by the deli that would prevent me having to make you dinner."

Count Olaf gave a playful pout. "How dull."

Violet's cheeks flamed further and he gave a broad smile, bringing his hand to the small of her back and propelling her forward. "Lucky for you I had ethnic food on my mind. We'll celebrate with takeout."

Ethnic food is a rather antiquated and, in educated circles, frowned-upon term that means food from a particular culture or ethnicity. For instance, Indian curry would be considered one type of ethnic food and Mexican chimichangas would be considered another. The term is not cared for by those in circles of nobility because it means something along the lines of "food made by someone who is different than me" which easily could become "food made by people who are not from here and should go back to where they came from but leave their delicious meals."

When Count Olaf said he had ethnic food on his mind, he ought to have said he was craving Chinese food because soon after they left the store, Violet found herself sitting outside a quiet Chinese restaurant. Count Olaf left the shop with his arms filled with two bags and a wide grin. Violet scowled, recalling how scandalous he'd been to her.

"Oh, don't look so glum," he said when he sat down in the driver's seat, handing over the bags to sit them in her lap. "You got the prize you asked for. You don't have to cook. It's not my fault you chose the less exciting option."

It was not the Chinese food that had the sour expression on her face. It was Count Olaf's sudden shift in behavior toward her and she wanted to know why.

That question gnawed at her while the three dug in at their small kitchen table. Count Olaf, it seemed, was in a charitable, celebratory mood and she guessed he'd likely ordered one of everything from the menu. There was vegetable lo mein, chicken lo mein, steak lo mein, egg rolls, containers of wonton and egg drop soup. On and on it went and even though it was all delicious, still that question ate at her.

Why was he being so forward?

Although thoroughly stuffed, all three took turns cracking open their fortune cookies.

"Help. I— am- being- held- hostage- in- a- fortune- cookie- factory," Alec sounded out, then laughed in such delight that even both Violet and Count Olaf had to chuckle.

Count Olaf snapped his open next and a small smirk tugged the corner of his mouth as he gave Violet a long gaze. "One that would have the fruit must climb the tree," he said.

Violet very pointedly looked down at her hands, cracking her own cookie in half and pulling out the thin piece of paper. She stared at the words, frown tugging the corners of her mouth.

The other two stared at her waiting until Olaf finally said, "Short of it saying the food you just ate was poisoned, I can't think of a fortune bad enough to cause that expression."

Still she sat, staring at the words.

"Come on Violet!" Alec said, surely hoping it was just as funny as his own. "Read it!"

Violet cleared her throat. "Your road has been long and broken," she said, the words heavy on her tongue. "But trust that it has brought you where you're meant to be."

"A fine fortune," Count Olaf said with a satisfied grin, tipping his glass back and downing the last of his wine. "Alec, it is time for bed. Violet, there is something I would like to discuss with you in my office."

Violet's frown deepened and she shot him an accusatory stare. The pain medication tablets he'd bought her had helped her headache, but not her mood. "Not if you're going to continue to be untoward."

"What's untoward mean?" Alec asked.

Count Olaf threw Violet a sharp, teasing grin before turning to Alec with a serious expression. "It means Violet thinks I've been acting naughty."

Alec looked back and forth between the two of them. "Like because we did a stick-up at the bank?"

"No," Count Olaf said in his mock-serious tone. "Actually because I offered to buy her a toy, but I didn't mean a child-"

"Yes!" Violet interrupted quickly. "Yes, that's exactly right, Alec. Count Olaf has been very naughty because of the bank robbery, now - now do as he says and go to bed."

Alec pouted, but got up from the table and dragged himself to the pantry. Count Olaf was grinning from ear-to-ear. She shot him a look. "What on earth has gotten into you today?" she asked.

"Oh, alright, I'll behave," he said, a non-answer if she ever heard one. "But only if you'll say I was being naughty again."

Violet clenched her jaw and stood quickly. "I'm not going upstairs with you if you're going to continue being…being like this!"

An amused smirk pulled at his mouth. "Go upstairs to my office, Violet."

Her eyes clouded at the order and he stood, following behind her every step, his hand at the small of her back. Together they crept up the stairs to his office.

Her mind did not clear until she was sitting on a small leather loveseat while Count Olaf poured her a drink from his decanter. And that - that cloudiness in her mind - that scared her more than it ever had before. After how forward he'd acted in his advances toward her that day, she realized with only a few words he could make her do whatever he wanted.

Violet's chest was pounding so hard she felt it in her throat and ears. She gripped into the cushion on either side of her and fought the urge to bolt. Count Olaf stepped closer, holding out a glass filled with amber liquid. His expression was amused.

"You look frazzled," he said. He was thoroughly enjoying the flush on her cheeks.

Violet tentatively took the glass from his hand. "You've been beastly today."

"Have I? How so?"

She stammered. "You - well, you-"

"I what, Violet?" he asked, looking very much like the cat who ate the canary. He grabbed another glass and poured himself a drink before sitting in his leather office chair. Violet relaxed slightly when he sat there and not next to her. She took a sip of her drink to collect her nerves and did not answer him. "Oh, fine," he said, leaning back and crossing one leg over his opposite knee. "What's the harm in a little flirting, hm? I so enjoy getting under your skin."

Her fingers tightened on the glass. "Well, I do not enjoy you getting under my skin."

"But it's so fun."

Violet did not respond, instead taking a long drink of the stiff liquor and shooting a glare at him.

"Relax," he finally said with a sigh. "I didn't bring you up here with visions of seduction." Violet's cheeks again deepened in color, but she fought to keep her expression straight. "Believe it or not, I actually wanted to tell you about something serious."

Violet eyed him, finishing off her drink with one long swallow. "And what would that be?" she said, expecting some joke of an answer, some play on words about getting her into his bed.

Count Olaf lifted his own glass and eyed the liquid before taking a drink. "I am going to tell you something and I am going to tell it true, as I know it, and you can choose whether or not you want to believe me. You will not like it, Violet. But it has been made frightfully clear that no one has ever told you much of anything about who your parents were or where their fortune actually came from."

She had been wholly prepared to play at disinterest for whatever he said, but she had not expected that. There had always been so many questions left unanswered about her parents, about who they were and what their role was in the VFD, about Count Olaf and how they knew him, about poison darts.

Count Olaf watched as she thought this over, her eyes somewhere distant as thoughts flashed in front of them. Ah, so his Violet was curious.

She would be swayed by him. It would take time, but he would have his revenge on Bertrand and Beatrice. He would bring their exquisite eldest daughter to his side with something so simple and novel as the truth. And it would be all the sweeter because she was the prize. He wanted her. She had been a beautiful girl who had grown into a beautiful woman and he had wanted her for so long it had become an ache. He would have her.

"Anyone else who has ever known anything has always avoided answering any questions," she said. Count Olaf sat his glass down on the desk and grabbed the decanter, popping off the top and reaching over to refill her glass. "So why should I believe that you would be any different? Why should I believe that you will tell the truth?"

Count Olaf settled back into his chair and swept his glass into his hand. "They did not tell you the truth because they did not want you to know it. I do."

"Why?"

He took a long drink before replying, "Does it matter why?"

Violet thought about that for a moment, sipping on her drink as she did. No, she supposed it didn't matter why he wanted her to know - she wanted to hear it either way.

"I will hear you tell it," she said, settling back against the cushions. "And then I will decide if I believe it or not."

He gave her a small smile, not at all menacing or leering or smirking as he usually did.

Yes, Violet Baudelaire would be his.

"That's all I ask," he said.