It is a strange thing, waking in an unknown bed to unfamiliar surroundings. There is always a sick little moment of fear when one wonders if they've been kidnapped.

Violet Baudelaire was having such a moment.

For starters, the light was dim and flickering, casting long shadows around the foreign room. She blinked, feeling disoriented, trying to piece together where exactly she was as she lifted her head off the pillow.

"You're awake."

Though it was a popular saying to exclaim that someone "jumped a mile high", Violet did not literally jump a mile high. But figuratively she felt as if she jumped five miles high.

Violet's eyes swung around the dark room, finally landing on a familiar man sitting quite still in a kitchen chair, just looking at her.

The sight of him brought instant relief.

"Count Olaf," she breathed, sitting up fully in the bed. "You scared me."

He was quiet for a moment, seeming to assess her, his eyes shining all the more in the fading candle light. Something about the dimness of the room and the way he looked at her leant itself to a certain level of intimacy. Her heart thudded hard in her throat.

"We are past such formalities, I think, Violet. Call me Olaf from now on."

Violet's eyes clouded and she gave him a nod. "Yes, alright…Olaf," she said, the name feeling odd but not unwelcome on her tongue. Was this still a dream? Everything seemed so odd and she felt so light. "What…what is this place? What happened?"

Again she looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. It seemed they were in a cinder block building - with no insulation as the air outside the warmth of the blankets bit at her skin. It was no wonder Cou- Olaf was sitting there in his coat and gloves.

The cold did not seem to deter him from the look of intensity he was giving her as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "What do you remember, Violet?"

A pleasant warmth spread down her spine at the way her name formed on his tongue. She blushed and looked down at her lap, trying to recall.

"I…I remember flashes of the party. And…were we at Oswald's home? I remember being in the car with you and…and," how odd, "-and laughing, I think? And then being at a nice home." She thought and thought, but nothing else came to her. "And…that's all."

Coun- ergh! Olaf stared at her for a moment, then gave a tight nod. "I see," was all he said and something about his countenance seemed to…deflate a little.

Violet's brow furrowed. "Why don't I remember? And what don't I remember?" she asked pointedly, hands fisting the threadbare blankets. Something…there was something there, just out of reach.

"It is no matter," he said, standing and squaring his shoulders. "I had unknowingly put you in a predicament where you were unable to sleep." Violet nodded, but did not interrupt. "We toured Oswald's home and were caught in the storm on the way back, so we had to stop here at one of my safe houses."

Violet looked around her dim surroundings, swallowing the knot that had grown in her suddenly dry throat. "We…stayed here," she repeated slowly, eyes trailing the room for a second bed. "Together? Just the two of us?"

She could not say what she was trying to imply, which was this: if there is only one bed and I know that I slept in it, then where did you sleep?

Cou-damn.

Olaf let a smirk slide across his mouth, but offered no answer. If she wanted an answer to her question, she was going to have to ask it outright. And though Violet was not one for dramatics, at that moment she felt like she would rather die.

Olaf merely hummed in reply, then walked toward her side of the bed, bent, and lifted her boots. "You've been asleep for nearly eighteen hours," he said. "And there's nothing to eat here, I'm starved. They've gone by with the snow plow, we should be able to get home to our boy now."

Violet was suddenly glad for the darkness, which she hoped hid the heat that crept over her neck and face.

Alec. Why did it do such strange things to her stomach when Olaf called him their boy? It was the root of some odd wanting ache in her chest.

"Yes, alright," she said quietly, glad to see as she swung her legs from the bed that she was in a dress. She would have not known what to do if she'd been in her slip.

Olaf stood by, unmoving, watching her as she pulled the boots on and laced them. Violet was ultra-aware of his eyes on her and felt suffocated under his gaze.

Why was she feeling so oddly?

It wasn't unpleasant. Just…different. As if some large load had been taken off her shoulders.

His hand stretched down toward her as she finished tying her boots and Violet's eyes, slow and steady, followed the line of his arm up to his face. Olaf merely watched her watching him, his hand extended out toward her in order to help her stand. And Violet could not help thinking that there was more to his simple gesture, that there were things she did not understand, that taking his hand was, in turn, taking a path she perhaps ought not take.

Violet swallowed and placed her hand in his. Olaf's thumb brushed over her knuckles before he helped her to her feet. That panic she expected - that disgust - it did not come. All she felt was a safe relief with her hand in his.

It should have been more worrying than it was. Why was she not feeling as worried as she should?

Olaf led them to the other side of the bed, blowing out the candle and causing the darkness to swallow them whole. He placed his hands on her shoulders and led her outside with a closeness and familiarity that made Violet's breath catch. They had been growing closer - evidenced by the fact that she did not mind his hands on her. That, for once in her life, she trusted Olaf leading her in the dark without suspecting some foul trick.

And despite recognizing this, Violet was not troubled.

Outside, the afternoon sun reflected off the snow. As he'd said, the roads had been scraped and appeared to have a healthy dose of salt scattered over them. The air was cold and bit into her cheeks, causing her to suck a sharp hiss through her teeth. He looked down at her, sliding one hand down to rest in the small of her back, leading her toward the car side-by-side.

He even opened the car door for her. Which was not something unheard of, he had certainly done it before, but there was something in the way he held himself, something different.

It was not bad. In fact, Violet very pointedly looked out the window once he joined her in the driver's seat in an attempt to hide her blush.

"Do you feel better after resting?" Olaf asked as he backed the car out from the snow and onto the scraped road.

Violet nodded, then realizing he was driving and not at all looking at her, she cleared her throat. "Yes, I feel…much better. Better than even before."

"Good," he said and she could hear the smirk curling in his voice.

Violet looked at him then, uncertain. "Did…did something happen? I feel…strange."

Olaf did not look at her, but she watched a smug light cross his eyes for the briefest of moments. "Do you?" he asked, turning onto a side road in order to circle back to the highway. "How so?"

"You didn't answer the question-"

"Tell me how you feel, Violet."

Her eyes clouded and Olaf spared a glance over toward her, a predatory gleam lit in his gaze before he looked back to the road and made the turn onto the main stretch.

"I feel good," Violet said quietly, unable to stop the words from leaving her. "Better than I can remember feeling. Like a burden has been lifted. I feel lighter somehow."

Olaf took in her words, trying to hide the hideous black greed that was welling within him in triumph. It was her siblings all along that held her back. Now that he'd ordered her to not care what they think, to push them into the recesses of her mind and rid herself of any guilt, she was as good as his. And she wouldn't even remember him giving her the order. "So you think something happened because you feel happy?"

"I-," she stuttered, for once at a loss. "I…I guess so?"

He gave a soft, practiced sigh and looked over at her, then reached across the car and placed his hand atop hers, letting his thumb run along her knuckles. "You're allowed to feel happy, Violet. It does not need to be dissected."

She gave a humorless laugh. "I don't even know what being happy feels like," she noted quietly, turning her head to stare out the window. They were both hyper aware of the fact that she did not pull away, that her hand was still beneath his own. "I don't know if that's what this is. I just feel…at ease. And that makes me uneasy."

"This is serious, indeed, Miss Baudelaire," he said, giving her a sly, sideways grin. His hand gave hers a gentle squeeze. "It is not often you make contradictory statements. You're usually quite concise."

Violet could not help her sudden laugh and looked out the window to try and hide her broad grin. "Indeed," she said, the smile plain in her voice. "I'm afraid I feel just as contradictory as my words are."

Olaf's left hand was thrown over the steering wheel and the road, thankfully, had his attention. But what had Violet's attention was his thumb, slow and steady, rubbing along the base of her left ring finger almost absentmindedly.

"Do you know what you need as soon as we get home, Violet Baudelaire?" he asked and she tried (and failed) to suppress her grin at his grandiose tone. "Wine."

Violet shook her head, craning her neck to look out the window in order to hide her face. "I doubt wine is going to help this strangeness that has fallen over me."

A silence fell across the car as they drove slowly through the city, passing the banking district where they had met with Oswald the day prior. No one was out, even after the roads had been treated. Violet had always found snowy days like this cozy, when everyone stayed home with their families and played board games and drank hot cocoa.

"Is it such a bad thing to just accept feeling good, Violet?"

At his words, she ducked her head almost automatically, as if shamed. "I'm just not used to it," she said quietly. "It doesn't feel…right."

He gave a soft huff of a laugh, so unlike his typical theatrical self that she tipped her head slightly in his direction, watching him with a shy countenance in her glance. Olaf, feeling her eyes on him, looked over at her, the ghost of a smile laying on his mouth. "If I have learned anything, it's that over questioning good things is just another way to ruin them. You'll pick it to death that way. It's best to just let it last while it lasts and not observe it too closely."

A little frown pulled down her lips. "That's not in my nature," she said.

"I know," he said, pulling his eyes back toward the road. Of course he knew. He had said before he knew her better than anyone and how true that was turning out to be. But where that once would have caused a roll of disgust to shudder through her, now it felt…nice. "You'll be happier for it if you let it be, though. We'll make dinner when we're home and spend the evening with Alec and I won't let anything burst your little bubble of happiness. You have my word."

Despite the heat crawling over her face, Violet turned to him with a pointed look. "You'll even keep yourself from bursting my bubble of happiness?"

Olaf feigned indignation, giving her a shocked look that forced an unexpected laugh from her. "I shall be a champion of your happiness this evening, Violet Baudelaire," he declared. "Nothing will dismay you this evening. Alec and I will even help you cook-"

"That is dismaying on its own," she interrupted and both of them grinned then and refused to look at one another.

"I have never been so offended," he finally said in a grim tone and a laugh, more akin to a snort, choked out of her.

"Do you even know how to cook?" she asked.

"I-," he started, a great amount of offense in his tone. "I can certainly make a few things."

Violet sputtered with laughter and he grinned and everything - everything - seemed too easy to be true. But she tried to do as he said and just…let herself feel at ease.

The rest of the car ride was spent with light flirtation disguised as banter, which led to many sideways glances from Olaf to Violet and many shy looks out the window from Violet away from Olaf. When they finally arrived at the house, Olaf was loath for the trip to be over and Violet was relieved if only so she could have a moment alone to digest the new strange feelings she was having.

Alec, however, was having none of that. The second Olaf opened the front door and let Violet step inside before him, their little ward came bounding toward them, grin broad, and threw his arms around Violet which, in turn, pushed her back into Olaf's chest.

"Alec!" she said with a grin.

"I missed you!" he said and then, with just as much enthusiasm, "Did you and Count Olaf have a slumber party?"

Violet felt the heat burn across her cheeks as she stumbled to find a response, but Olaf gave a doting chuckle, placing a hand on her shoulder, and said, "Go on, Alec, let us in, we're letting the heat out."

Alec did as he was told, moving out of the way so they could fully step inside and shut the door behind them. And Violet was struck by the domesticity of the moment, of Alec greeting them, of Olaf's hand on her shoulder as he reprimanded Alec about letting out the heat.

That was what put her at ease. That was what gave her the peculiar feeling in her chest. She'd missed what it was like to have a family.

Olaf stepped past her, leaving his hand on her shoulder and stopping once he realized she wasn't following. "Violet?" he asked, looking back at her. "Are you alright?"

She stared up at him, heart pounding in her chest and throat, knowing she should feel shame, knowing she should feel something bad at the very least. But, she…she didn't.

Violet gave him a soft smile and shook her head as if shaking herself free from a thought. "Yes, I'm alright," she said, stepping by him and heading toward the kitchen with Alec on her heels.

Olaf stood for a moment in the hallway and watched her retreat, a satisfied smirk crossing his face. Almost there. Perhaps a few tweaks, but soon she would not question her place in the little family they'd crafted. Soon she would not question her place with him.

He turned into the living room, knowing no doubt he would find Viktor there lazing about. His inclination was correct. The large man dozed in his wingback chair, mouth slightly open, a low snore emanating from his throat.

Olaf wanted to kill him for what Violet had told him. He looked at the man's meaty hands with disgust and imagined how indelicate his venture up Violet's skirt must have been. She was art. And Viktor was a bull in a china shop.

"Up," Olaf said, nudging the man's leg with his foot.

Viktor snorted awake, gasping for air as if frightened, and looked up at the count with a sleepy blink. "Where were you?" the man had the audacity to ask.

In the blink of an eye, Olaf had the penknife free of his breast pocket and pressed to Viktor's thick throat, his other hand pressed into the man's shoulder. "Did you not look outside?" Olaf seethed. "We were caught in the storm."

Viktor swallowed thickly, a look of fear in his eyes, and nodded. He had never faced the count's infamous fury head on before. "Get up and take the car down to the river," Olaf spat, pulling the knife back with as much quickness as he had struck. "The caterer from the party is in the trunk and needs dumped."

"Y-yes, sir," Viktor said, trying to all at once stand and lean away from Olaf, which looked quite silly.

Olaf did not think any of this was silly at all. He pressed the keys into Viktor's hand and leaned in close. "If you ever again touch so much as one hair on Violet's head, it will be you in the back of my trunk. Do you understand?"

Viktor's eyes widened and he stammered out an apology, nodding wildly as he stepped around Count Olaf and shot out of the house like a bullet. For such a large man, he moved fast. He heard the car roar to life outside and take off down the road.

Good. With that bit of business settled, Olaf made his way back to the kitchen and lingered in the doorway, watching Violet at the sink with her back to him. She was filling a pot with water while Alec stood on a chair and searched through the cupboards.

"Here!" Alec cried in triumph, lifting a box of spaghetti noodles. "Found some!"

Violet laughed, the sound absolute music to Olaf's ears, and turned to flash Alec a grin over her shoulder. She caught Olaf's eye, her cheeks reddening, and turned back to the sink.

"I promised Violet we would help with dinner," Olaf said, pushing away from the door frame and entering the room. "She doesn't seem to think we will be much help."

Violet turned wide-eyed, mouth agape with a smile. "That is not what I said," she told them with a laugh. "Alec is always a wonderful help in the kitchen. It is you I have reservations about."

Olaf turned to Alec with a frown. "Do you see how cruel she is to me, Alec?" he said.

Alec let out a delighted giggle, his eyes going back and forth between Violet and Olaf. "Count Olaf should help us make dinner, Violet," he said with a grin. "It is not nice to leave him out."

Olaf turned to Violet with an absolutely fake expression of hope and she and Alec both burst out laughing. "Alright, yes, fine," she said with a grin, lifting the pot full of water and standing there holding it, staring pointedly at the stove. "You can start by lighting a burner."

Within the blink of an eye, Olaf was across the room at the stove, pulling a match from a drawer and expertly lighting one of the gas burners. Violet stepped toward the stove, but Olaf turned to her and took the pot she carried in his own hands - pausing for perhaps a moment too long to stare down at her while his fingers touched hers - and placed it on the stove.

Violet, clearly flustered, pointedly turned to Alec. "Would you get the tomatoes please? And onion and garlic."

Alec barely had a chance to move before Olaf brushed past him, stepping with determination to grab the requested items and return them to Violet.

"You're being ridiculous," she told him under her breath.

"I am merely proving my worth."

"You don't need to prove your worth," she muttered, unable to look at him as she took some tomatoes from his hands. "I believe you. Just sit and have some wine."

Olaf was not one to be deterred. While Violet instructed Alec to wash the vegetables and she pulled down a cutting board and knife, he retrieved three wine glasses and an unopened bottle. In two of the glasses he poured a healthy dose and in the third he poured perhaps two or three swallows.

"Here, my boy," he said, an odd note of pride in his voice as he held out the glass with the smallest amount.

"Oh, wow!" Alec said, eyes wide with delight as he reached for the burgundy liquid.

"Olaf!" Violet said, eyes wide for an entirely different reason.

He let Alec take the glass and crossed over to her, placing one of the full glasses on the counter next to her. "Come now, Violet, it's just a taste," he said lowly. She looked up at him, struck by the way his eyes bore into her own and felt captured for a moment in their predatory shine. "A little taste never hurt anyone."

He could have been talking about a thousand different things and they all would have seemed perverse told in the manner he spoke.

"Yes, well," she said, turning away from him, her cheeks aflame. "Just…just don't give him too much." And then, as if trying to distract herself from the fact that he was standing right there and so close, she snatched the glass he'd brought for her and took a healthy drink.

Olaf smirked, standing over her shoulder and watching her discomfort for a moment before turning back to retrieve his own glass. Alec had finished washing the vegetables, leaving them for Violet to chop, and scurried back to the table while giving the count a weighted look. Olaf gave him a look of confusion, trying to understand what the boy was implying. Alec nudged his head in Violet's direction while she was turned with her back to them and then mimed cutting up vegetables. Olaf nodded and mouthed, "Oh!" before plucking up his glass and making his way back over to Violet.

"Here, allow me," he said, sitting his own glass of wine next to hers and reaching to take the knife from her grasp.

"Really, it's fine," she said and it was clear from her tone and the color high on her cheeks that he was overwhelming her in a way that was not exactly bad. For him, anyway.

"Go put some music on, Alec," Olaf ordered over his shoulder, his hand on Violet's waist guiding her out of the way as they switched places. He laid the knife down and took a moment to shuck off his coat, hanging it on the back of the kitchen chair Alec had pressed against the counter earlier to reach the upper cabinets. He could feel Violet's eyes on him, assessing carefully as he rolled his sleeves up. Olaf chanced a glance at her and there was something heated in her gaze as she stared at his arms. "Violet?" he asked.

She blinked, snapped from whatever reverie she'd been in, and busied herself quickly with looking for another pan. But not before he saw a bright redness creeping across her face.

What was that about, Violet Baudelaire?

Olaf let her be, though he kept a sly eye on her as long as she wasn't looking. He watched her retrieve a sauce pan and light another burner, putting plenty of olive oil and garlic in the pan to heat. He noted with some amusement that she was very pointedly not looking in his direction. Well, then, he would just make her, wouldn't he? Olaf diced the tomatoes to the best of his ability, which admittedly was not much of an ability at all, but he suspected Violet was not one to fret about such things. And then he diced the onion. And then…he waited.

It was clear she was expecting him to bring her the vegetables. He watched her fidget, glancing over at him while she used a wooden spoon to spread the olive oil around the pan. Then she looked back down at her hands. Then back over at him. Olaf smirked.

"Are you-," she finally started. "Are you done? With the vegetables."

"I am," he said and nothing else.

He watched her force her eyes up to his, light pink coloring her cheeks. "Then could you bring them here? The oil is ready."

That was all he wanted. He wanted to hear her ask for him.

Olaf obliged, stepping close with the cutting board in hand. "Shall I?" he asked, eying the sauce pan. The other, a soup pot, was filled with water just starting to boil. "Or would you like to do it?"

A smart smirk curved up the edge of her lips and he adored her for it. "Do you know how?" she said in a low tone, giving him a sideways glance.

Olaf wanted to eat her alive. The cleverness in her eyes made a tightness coil in the base of his spine that he had a sudden aching to release.

"Will you show me?" he asked, voice a low murmur to match hers, an unsaid agreement between them that Alec should not be made aware of this particular exchange. In the other room, the boy was making a racket trying to pull down the records from the shelf.

The smart look broadened on her face. "Of course," she said, tilting up her chin. There was a lilt in her tone that made the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end. "If that means you'll start doing all the cooking."

He was quick on his feet. Before she had a moment to protest, he was behind her, pressed lightly against her. His left arm, balancing the cutting board, reached around her to hover over the sauce pan. His right hand found her wrist, the wooden spoon still in her hand.

"Olaf," she muttered, the slightest note of uncertainty in her tone.

"Don't start fires you can't put out," he muttered against her hair. "Show me how, Violet."

Her gaze clouded and she lifted the spoon, scraping the onions into the hot oil with the garlic she'd already mixed in. They sizzled, spitting oil, but she could hardly pay attention because Olaf's hand had not followed hers, but rather found its way to her waist and tugged her, ever slightly, back against him.

"Th-that's enough," she sputtered.

"Now show me what to do with the tomatoes, Violet," he muttered and the process repeated, except this time once the last tomato had been scraped, Olaf sat the cutting board aside and let his hand find the other side of her waist, watching her stir from over her shoulder.

"This - this is-," she stammered. "We shouldn't-"

"Why?" he asked, making no move to give her space. And why would he when she was pressed against him?

"I- I-," she stuttered out.

Music blared suddenly from the living room, causing them both to jump and break apart. Alec let out a squeal and string of maniacal laughter before the volume dropped significantly to a pleasant level that could be heard from the kitchen.

"I forgot Viktor had it turned up so loud!" Alec said, reentering the room with a broad grin.

Olaf glowered in the corner, though whether it was toward the interruption or Viktor even he did not know. Violet had returned to stirring the tomatoes with a fixated intensity, back firmly to Olaf. He sighed and poured himself some more wine before crossing over to her - he tried to ignore how she stiffened - and filled hers again too.

"Thank you," she said quietly, then cleared her throat. "Alec, it's time for your favorite part."

The boy bounded over, giddy, and started pushing the kitchen chair down toward the stove.

"And what is your favorite part, Alec?" Olaf asked, hovering nearby, wanting to interject himself into Violet's immediate space again somehow.

"Putting the pasta in the water!" he said with glee and it was obvious then that he was scooting the chair so he'd be tall enough.

Well, none of that.

Olaf pushed away from the counter and crossed to Alec, bending down and picking him up. "Whoa," the boy said. "You're super tall."

He was, wasn't he? And Violet Baudelaire had better be listening because everyone knew that tall men were attractive. So she should just…get over this hang up she had and give in already. It was starting to frustrate him to no end! He'd made her not care what her siblings thought, he'd made her push them to the back of her mind, he'd made her feel as if he was the only person she could trust and would keep her safe. What else could there possibly be?

Yes, today had been much better as far as her behavior, but what was missing?

Olaf knew the answer, though, deep down.

Time.

And that was the problem. He could order her to not care. He could order her to love him. To be crazy for him, to take care of his every need and whimsy, to let him touch her when and where and how he wanted.

But -

That was not Violet.

He did not care to stack the chips in his favor, but he still wanted it to be her. He wanted Violet to have feelings for him. Not some mindless human doll.

And, really, that was not the revenge he had in mind for her parents, either. It hardly counted if he didn't truly sway her to him.

Alec giggled with absolute glee as he snapped the noodles in half and dumped them in the pot, entirely unbothered to be in his captor's grip. From the outside looking in, the three painted a domestic scene, Violet tending the sauce and giving a soft sideways glance toward Olaf with Alec in his arms as he dumped the last of the pasta noodles in the boiling water.

And again they painted a domestic scene when the three of them ate at the small wooden table, Alec chattering nonstop while Olaf threw Violet sideways glances and she pretended not to see.

And again when they retired to the living room, new bottle of wine uncorked, listening to the records while Violet helped Alec with his puzzle book and Olaf sat and admired Violet from his wingback chair.

"I have a surprise," Olaf said, giving them both a smile. Alec immediately perked up, but Violet's eyes moved to him in a guarded fashion. "I have finished a new play and written parts for you both."

Alec's eyes lit from within, broad grin stretching wide across his face and showcasing his gap teeth.

Violet's eyes, however, narrowed slightly. "The last time you cast me in a play-," she started.

"You outsmarted me because you were and are a very clever girl," he finished for her. "And besides, there's no need for any trickery now," he said. "I could simply make you if I wished it."

An idea that was not wholly out of the question. He would make her fall for him the old-fashioned way, but he had not ruled out a marriage to speed things along. She was his anyway. Was there any point in delaying the inevitable? It wasn't as if he'd let anyone else have her.

"Make you what, Violet?" Alec asked.

Her throat had gone dry and she felt just as trapped in Olaf's eyes as she was in his tangled web.

"Marry me," Olaf answered.

"Oh, please, Violet!" Alec proclaimed. "You must!"

Violet's face was somehow both pale in shock from Alec's insistence and blood red in embarrassment. "That's enough, Alec," she said, refusing to look at Olaf. "It was a long time ago. Stop being silly."

"But!"

"She said enough, Alec," Olaf said, watching Violet closely though she refused to look at him. "There would be no need to fret, Violet. You're already my wife in the play."

Violet's stomach exploded with a strange rolling feeling, one that was not unpleasant. She couldn't…she couldn't even make herself open her mouth, she just stared hard at Olaf's knee, heat licking up her neck and across her cheeks at even just the pretend thought of being tied to him in such a way.

"Oh please, Violet!" Alec said, ducking his head down into her view. "It will be so much fun."

"Alec would play your son from a previous marriage," Olaf continued. "And you remarried my character for stability and so he has a father figure, but your heart still belongs to your previous husband who was killed in the war."

That…sounded a little better, at least. She was half-expecting him to have her play some mindless woman throwing herself at him. "Which war?" she asked with a sly tone, eyes sliding back up to Olaf.

His brow popped up and he stammered for a moment, which caused the smallest of grins to form only just at the edges of her mouth. "Well, you know," he finally said. "The war."

Violet gave Olaf a knowing look - he clearly hadn't cared about the small details of his play - and, for once, he looked chagrined. And this…this gave Violet pause. She had never seen such an expression cross his face. "You always just see the big picture," she said quietly, voice sober, not wanting her words to hurt him. And her words were true. He had always - from his plays to his heists - been a big picture thinker, often missing small details. "Visionaries often overlook the little things. I could take a look at your script and offer feedback. Only-if-you'd-like, of course," she said, the last bit coming out in a rush.

But Olaf…Olaf's eyes were shining in a way that did not seem so nefarious as usual. In fact, she suspected that certain softness in his expression had something to do with her choice of the word visionary.

"I will give you a copy to look over," he agreed. "But only if you commit to playing the part of my wife."

Another small rupture of butterflies took flight in her abdomen. Violet looked up at him, her chest tight in some strange mixture of anxiety and want. Finally, she nodded. "Alright," she said quietly.

She had never seen such an expression of greedy satisfaction as the one that crossed his face at her single word.

"Excellent, Violet," he said, eyes boring into her with such smugness and…and pride. It was not until that ache welled in her chest and she gave a huff of a laugh, her grin broadening, that she realized she might truly be in trouble with the way he was making her feel.