Eve raps the door so tentatively that her knuckles hardly graze the surface of the splintering wood. She knows Villanelles will make her wait so she idly runs a hand through her hair, fluffing it up to enhance the volume and so that a few stray locks hang in her face ever so slightly. "Goddamn it, Eve," she mutters to herself; why is she always trying so hard to look good for Villanelle?
Behind the door, Villanelle adjusts the lapels of her suit jacket, thumbing the burgundy velvet with a surprising degree of apprehension. She stares at herself head-on in the mirror that sits on the wall to the door's immediate left, pulling her hair back into a taut ponytail and grinning furtively; at last, she and Eve will be reunited—Eve who had spurned her with such cruelty and disdain, Eve who she had shot and left for dead amidst the ruins in Rome.
Two minutes pass before the door is opened.
Villanelle has prepared a pot of tea, and she guides Eve over to an austere dining room table. "Sit," she demands, with a smile that's bordering on a smirk. Eve pulls out a chair and when she finally sits down, Villanelle takes a seat across from her, placing her hands nonchalantly at the back of her head and leaning back precariously.
Eve glowers. "Why'd you do it?" she asks thunderously.
Villanelle smiles incredulously in response and then gives Eve a doe-eyed look that causes Eve to start shaking her head vigorously. "Unbelievable," she mutters and shifts in her chair, rising slowly towards the door.
"Eve, stop!" shouts Villanelle. "I can explain."
Nothing is explained and, instead, they both sit silently, sipping earl grey from tiny coffee-stained tea cups. Villanelle won't stop wetting her lips with the tea and slowly sliding her tongue over them, irritating the hell out of Eve. A small jar of honey sits in front of the teapot and with a sudden determinedness, Villanelle dips her thumb in it and raises it to her lips, sucking off the glob of honey with a mind-numbing slowness and once again, making doe-eyes at Eve.
Eve rolls her eyes. "What do you want?"
"You, of course," responds Villanelle, looking rather dumbfounded, and blinking dramatically.
Eve sighs and for the second time that night, gets up to leave. "I can't do this."
With that, Villanelle brings her fist down on the table, hard enough that both the teacups rattle on their saucers. She pushes her teacup to the side and leans over the table, so that her whole upper body is pressed firm against the polished mahogany. "But Eve, I love you," she whines as if she were a petulant child who had just had their iPad taken away.
Despite herself, Eve stares inconspicuously at Villanelle's lips which are still shiny and slick with the honey. She imagines what it would feel like to slide her tongue over those lips and taste the sweetness, to gently bite down on that bottom lip, to slip her tongue inside... Eve stops herself and scoffs, audibly. "You don't know what love is, Villanelle."
Villanelle pouts and looks Eve up and down, who at this point is standing behind her chair, hands clenched tightly at the chair's back. She's wearing a forest-green turtleneck and simple black slacks; when Villanelle looks closely, she sees that Eve must have applied a little blush to her cheeks, and her eyelashes are tinged with mascara. "Oh, Eve," says Villanelle, tsk-tsking sarcastically.
Villanelle stands up abruptly, lifting her body off the table, and sidles casually over towards Eve, hands buried deep in the roomy pockets of her velvet pants. "Eve, Eve, Eve," she sighs.
Eve can feel Villanelle's breath on her face, warm and damp and smelling vaguely of tea and honey and milk; her heartrate quickens and she wills herself to move back, to turn around and walk out the door. Instead she leans in further so that their lips are just inches apart, so that she can feel Villanelle's eyes boring into her.
Villanelle seizes the moment as an opportunity to suggestively unbutton her suit jacket; up until now, she had kept it tightly buttoned up. Underneath the velvet, she is wearing only a simple black bra and she smiles devilishly when she notices where Eve's eyes have landed.
Eve knows she has been caught but she does not avert her eyes right away, taking in the firm roundness of Villanelle's breasts, outlined and pushed together perfectly by the bra. Her eyes drift to Villanelle's stomach. She's inexplicably drawn to the smoothness of her skin and the shape of her belly button; she imagines making circles there with her tongue.
"You like what you see, yes?" asks Villanelle, unable (or unwilling) to suppress her glee.
Eve snaps out of her trance with an alarming suddenness, turning away from Villanelle and practically marching to the front door. "Goodbye, Villanelle," she says flatly, left hand grasping at the door knob.
Villanelle watches calmly as Eve fiddles with the doorknob, its chipped gold paint staining her fingers.
Eve removes her hand from the knob and stands up straighter, staring intently at the nothingness of the door in front of her. Then, when her vision has begun to blur from staring for too long and too hard, she turns around.
"Fuck it," Eve spits out, almost venomously. "My husband's dead. I have nothing left. And—" She pauses, stuttering and looking down at the ground. "And I want you."
Villanelle beams. "Ahh, Eve, at last—we are lovers. When should the wedding be?"
Eve laughs sarcastically. "We fuck, Villanelle, and then I leave. That's it."
Villanelle frowns. "Fine, have it your way. We will see what you say in the morning."
Again, Eve scoffs. "I'm not staying over."
Villanelle steps forward, grabbing the hem of Eve's turtleneck and using it to pull Eve closer to her. "I like this color on you."
Eve inhales sharply. Why the fuck am I so wet already? she thinks to herself. Villanelle hasn't even touched her skin.
Villanelle revels in Eve's blatant desperation. She raises her thumb to Eve's lips, brushing it against the border between Eve's top and bottom lip. "You really want me, huh?"
At this, Eve adopts an annoyed facial expression, but she quivers with desire, despite herself.
