@almostafantasia - Tumblr Blog

From The Same Star

a villaneve soulmates au | read on ao3

In a world where your soulmate’s initials appear on your skin after you meet for the first time, Eve’s life gets turned upside down when the single letter ‘V’ appears on her abdomen on the same day that a senior MI6 official gets assassinated just down the road from where she works.

- - - - -

chapter nine - woman to woman

Villanelle is pleased with her outfit. It had been easy enough to find a traditional German dress during her shopping trip earlier in the day, with countless shops across the city selling such costumes to tourists.

The dress itself is made of a dark green fabric, stopping just above her knees and given volume by the layers beneath the skirt. There is a red gingham apron tied around her waist, then the dress extends upwards into a bodice that is laced up at the front, accenting her cleavage which is revealed by the low neckline of the frilly blouse she wears beneath the dress. Villanelle has completed the Look by parting her hair straight down the middle and neatly plaiting each half, tying each braid with a ribbon that matches the colour of the dress.

It suits her, she decides, as she admires her reflection in the mirror before leaving her hotel room. Villanelle knows that she looks good in most things, but her blonde hair and fair complexion suit this look in particular and will allow her to blend in perfectly.

It’s laughable how predictable Eve and her companion are. Of course they decide to visit one of the city’s largest beer halls on their first night in Munich, just as Villanelle expected them to. She could have definitely still made it work if they’d made different plans, such as going out to a restaurant for dinner or even staying in at their hotel. The outfit would have been more conspicuous elsewhere, but Villanelle knows that being able to adapt to new situations as they arise is one of the reasons why she is so good at her job.

As it is, there is no immediate need to change her plans. She follows Eve and the man as they leave their hotel and descend into the nearest U-Bahn station. They’re too engrossed in their conversation with each other to notice that they have a tail, but Villanelle hops onto a neighbouring carriage and watches them through the grimy window that adjoins the two, just to be cautious. The last thing she needs is for Eve to recognise her and cause a scene before Villanelle can get her alone.

As soon as they leave the train a few stops later and return to the streets above, Villanelle is certain that she knows exactly where they are going and splits from them, taking a different route to the beer hall. It is easy - almost too easy - to blend in with the other staff in outfits that are almost identical to Villanelle’s, and the hall is far too busy for anybody to pay her any attention as she fills tankards with beer and serves customers as if she works here every day.

A few minutes pass before she sees them, easy to spot because nobody else has hair quite as magnificent as Eve’s. They order beers much further up the bar, laughing and joking together in the way that people who are familiar with each other do. Villanelle feels a surge of jealousy that this man gets to spend time with Eve, with Villanelle’s soulmate, and she hopes that there is no romantic involvement there.

That would just complicate matters further. Villanelle’s current plan doesn’t allow for that to be a possibility.

With their beers in hand, the pair move away from the bar and Villanelle watches them carefully, making a note of exactly where they sit.

Her first job - to make sure that the friend is out of the picture.

Tonight is going to be so much fun.

- - - - -

“Germany has the best beer in the world,” says Bill, taking a seat on the bench opposite Eve and placing two large tankards of light beer on the table between them. He lifts one of the tankards and holds it in the air between them, then says, “Prost!” before he takes a swig.

“Prost,” Eve mimics him, her American accent curling around the unfamiliar word in a way that feels very stilted, as she raises her own glass and then takes a sip. She mostly gets the frothy head that sits on top of the amber liquid, but then she takes a second sip and hums at the way the beer slides smoothly down her throat.

“Right?” asks Bill, his eyebrows twitching upwards as he asks for Eve’s validation. “Good, isn’t it? And where better to enjoy it?”

He gestures around at the beer hall, which is large and old, with pillars that stretch from the tiled floor to the elaborately decorated ceiling. It is furnished with long wooden tables where the visitors sit on benches, dining on plates of white sausages with sauerkraut while drinking from huge tankards of beer just like the ones that Eve and Bill have. The staff all wear traditional dress - lederhosen for the men and dirndls for the women - and there is even an oompah band playing a jaunty tune in the corner.

It’s almost as if somebody has tried to cram every possible German stereotype into a single place.

“It’s definitely something,” admits Eve.

Bill must be able to tell that Eve is a little distracted, because he reaches across the table and covers one of her hands with his own, before he asks, “What’s on your mind?”

Eve lets out a frustrated sigh, then confesses, “I just can’t believe our bad luck about the CCTV!”

“I know,” agrees Bill. “When Weber first mentioned it I thought it seemed too good to be true.”

“Can you imagine how great it would have been to go back to London and tell Carolyn that we had her on camera?” says Eve, letting out groan as she drowns her sorrows in another sip of beer. “It would have been huge. Monumental, even. She’s never been caught on CCTV before. Not actually killing, anyway.”

“She’s getting careless,” says Bill. “And as much as it pains me to admit it, I think she’s getting careless because of you.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it carelessness,” Eve counters, shaking her head. “Arrogance, perhaps. I think there is a part of her that thinks she can’t get caught. Maybe even a part of her that thinks I won’t let her get caught.”

“Because of the marks?”

Eve flings her arms out in a dramatic shrug, then says, “Maybe our assassin is a hopeless romantic.”

Bill sniggers at this.

“God, I hope not.”

“What do you think she meant by the letters she carved into the victim?” Eve asks Bill. “I mean, they’re obviously my initials but I can’t make sense of why she would do that? What message is she trying to send to me?”

“A warning perhaps,” suggests Bill. “Maybe she’s trying to deter you from looking for her. Or it could have been a really twisted love letter.”

“Bill…” Eve groans, slapping his arm playfully.

“I’m not joking,” insists Bill, though there is the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Perhaps she’s trying to appeal to your romantic side.”

“I don’t have a romantic side. Niko can attest to that. I forget to buy him a Valentine’s card every year.”

“And what’s his take on this whole situation?” asks Bill, looking over the brim of his tankard with interest in his eyes as he drinks from the glass.

“He doesn’t know it’s her,” Eve admits. “I told him I didn’t know who the mark was about, which was true at the time. And now we have this new policy where we just don’t talk about the marks - mine or his. We don’t even acknowledge that they’re there. We’ve been having sex in the dark so that we can’t see them.”

“Sounds healthy,” jokes Bill.

Eve wonders if she is supposed to tell Niko that she knows who gave her the mark on her stomach. Would he even want to know or would he rather she kept it to herself? The original argument that led to Eve sleeping on the couch for a few days stemmed from her keeping the mark a secret and when they made up with each other Niko expressed a desire for Eve to be honest with him. But how would he feel if he knew that Eve was connected to a world-class assassin in such a way? Would his opinion of Eve change based on this information, even if she tells him that it means nothing to her?

Once again, Eve’s mind wanders to Niko’s mark. Though he insists that Gemma will only ever be a colleague, perhaps a friend at most, Eve can’t help but see Gemma as a backup option for Niko. Since they reconciled, Eve has been trying to be the perfect wife - not staying late at work as often as she used to, trying to spend quality time with Niko when she is at home, even initiating sex more regularly than before - all in an attempt to keep him on her side. Despite his promises and assurances, Eve doesn’t want to give him a good reason to discard her in favour of Gemma, not when her own ‘backup option’ is nothing more than a heartless killer.

Sensing the turmoil in Eve’s mind, Bill leans closer across the table and gives her a reassuring smile.

“The marks don’t have to mean anything, you know,” he reminds her.

“That’s easy for you to say,” says Eve, reaching for Bill’s left hand and flipping it over to reveal the Japanese script on his palm. “You married yours.”

Bill looks down at his own mark with fondness, then back up at Eve.

“I’m going to tell you a secret,” he says, a glint of excitement passing through his eyes. “Keiko wasn’t my first.”

“First what?”

“My first soulmate.”

“You had another?” gasps Eve.

Her own soulmate woes are suddenly forgotten as Bill reveals this new piece of information. She has worked alongside Bill for the best part of a decade and he has been married to Keiko for almost as long. Eve thinks they make the perfect pair, different enough to keep things interesting but incredibly similar in their attitudes and opinions. Bill and Keiko have come over for dinner at Eve and Niko’s house countless times and she has always been a little bit jealous of the bond that they have, being able to communicate with each other through apparent telepathy via little glances and smiles across the dinner table.

Eve struggles to imagine Bill with anybody else, and though she has heard the occasional tale of a misspent youth that paints a picture of a man much different to the one that she knows today, he has never once mentioned another soulmate.

“When I lived in Germany, I got some letters on my chest,” he explains, touching his sternum through his shirt to show her where the mark was. “To this day I still have no idea who it was. But when the letters appeared, I was desperate to know and so I slept with nearly every man and woman in Berlin trying to find somebody with the right initials. It was completely self-destructive. I think if I’d found somebody who matched my mark, I would have clung to them, even if they were the wrong person.”

Eve knows that Bill is trying to warn her against doing something rash, but his words have little meaning to Eve because the situation is completely different. For a start, Eve actually knows who her mark refers to, and though she is more than a little bit curious about their assassin, her curiosity is professional and has little to do with the mark on her stomach.

“I’m not like that,” Eve attempts to dismiss his warning, though she finds it very hard to look Bill in the eye as she says this. “Anyway, I have Niko.”

“But does Niko have you?” asks Bill, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course he does!” scoffs Eve, trying to sound outraged. “What kind of question is that?”

“Forget I even asked,” says Bill, quick to reconcile.

“Niko has a mark too, remember? And he actually knows his and sees her every day. Some slapper at work called Gemma.”

Gemma may end up being perfectly lovely, but Eve finds that picturing her as a gorgeous seductress with long legs and enormous tits actually helps, because it would be so much worse if Eve ended up losing her husband to somebody completely average.

“Okay, but Niko has integrity. I’d be more worried if you suddenly met your soulmate and started getting to know them.”

Eve almost chokes on her drink and takes a few seconds to compose herself, before she asks, “Are you saying that I don’t have integrity?”

“No, I’m saying that your integrity is selective, and I think the sudden appearance of a hottie masquerading as your soulmate, psychopath or otherwise, might cloud your judgement a little bit.”

“The only chance I have of meeting her is if we catch her,” says Eve. “We should be working twice as hard as we are to make that happen, not getting drunk on German beer.” Eve takes a long sip from her glass, despite her words, and hums in satisfaction, before she reluctantly concedes, “Really good German beer.”

“We’re allowed to take a night off,” Bill reminds her. “After a couple of beers each we’ll both sleep really well and be able to look at the case with fresh eyes tomorrow morning. Maybe there’s another clue that we’ve missed so far.”

Eve hums in a non-verbal agreement, though her mind is still haunted by the memory of the face of the assassin who remains just a few steps ahead of them at all times.

“God, I hate her so much. It’s like she’s trying to ruin my entire life - my marriage, my job. It would be nice to know just something about her in return for all the hassle.”

“I get it, Eve,” says Bill. “The curiosity can be almost unbearable. Just promise me that you won’t ruin something good for a connection that might not exist.”

“I’m not about to leave Niko for anybody, least of all a psychopath.”

Niko is safe, he’s comfortable, like an old sweater that might have a couple of holes in it, still perfectly fitting and holding too much sentimental value to throw away.

The assassin is the exact opposite of him, dangerous and unpredictable, hard edges where Niko is soft and familiar. She is a stiletto heel to Niko’s comfortable jumper, an attractive prospect at first but increasingly painful as time goes on, to the point of complete agony.

Bill is right. Sweaters are much more Eve’s thing that stilettos.

She does look good in heels though...

“Good,” Bill says in a firm voice. “I know he doesn’t set your world on fire, but he’s a good man.”

“Does Keiko set your world on fire?”

Bill shrugs, and then replies, “Sometimes.”

Eve waits to see if Bill will elaborate on his elusive reply, but all that happens is that a slow smirk spreads across his face.

“Just to be clear, are you…?”

“I’m talking about sex,” Bill confirms, still grinning slyly at Eve.

Eve thinks of Niko and tries to figure out when the spark disappeared, when sex stopped being something exciting and became something that they do because it’s what a husband and wife are supposed to do. Eve knows that there must have been a time when Niko made her feel truly alive, but she struggles to associate that feeling of excitement with anybody other than the assassin. Niko makes her happy, he makes her feel appreciated, but he doesn’t turn her inside out with lust.

Maybe he never did.

Maybe that’s why she never got his mark.

“You believe in them, don’t you?” Eve asks Bill, gesturing towards the mark on Bill’s palm, which he traces fondly with the fingers of his other hand. “Elena thinks it’s all bullshit and Kenny is just indifferent but you believe the marks are real, right?”

Bill lets out a sigh that hangs heavy with introspection.

“I believe there is a reason for them,” he tells her, a more serious expression on his face than Eve has seen so far tonight. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s true love, just that there is a connection between two souls. Maybe you’re supposed to catch her. Maybe you’re the one who brings her down.”

Eve nods thoughtfully, hoping that what Bill says is true.

“What would you do if your mark changed again?” she asks him. “If Keiko’s initials disappeared and somebody else’s showed up? Would it change anything?”

Bill shakes his head and answers, “Not a thing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Bill says firmly. “There was a time when that kind of thing would excite me, but I’m too old for that now. I’ve had my fun, but I’ve got Keiko and Emiri now. With or without the mark, they’re my life.”

Eve contemplates this for a few seconds, then laughs under her breath as she shakes her head and reaches for her drink.

“You sappy git.”

Bill drains the rest of his beer and puts the glass down on the table with a thud. Getting to his feet and climbing over

“Come on. Drink up, I’m buying you another.”

Eve eyes up her glass, still half full of amber liquid, and shakes her head.

“No more for me,” she tells him. “I’ll get bloated if I have another after this and then I won’t sleep well.”

“Your loss,” shrugs Bill. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back in a sec.”

As Bill moves towards the bar to buy himself a second drink, Eve’s hand instinctively goes to touch her stomach, pressing her fingers into the mark through the material of her top.

If it’s purely professional, if Bill is correct that she is just supposed to be the one to catch this woman, Eve decides that she can be okay with that.

- - - - -

Eve Polastri is beautiful when she sleeps.

She is curled up on her side with the covers pulled up to her neck, knees tucked up to her chest so that she takes up the minimum amount of space on the bed. Villanelle smiles to herself as she realises that they will be compatible bedfellows when the time comes - after all, she likes nothing more than to stretch her long limbs out across as much of the mattress as possible while she sleeps.

Or perhaps Eve would want Villanelle to spoon her. Villanelle has never been one for spooning before, but that’s less about the actual position itself and more because she hasn’t slept with anybody that she likes enough to spoon them. There is no good end of the deal when it comes to spooning, either you get a mouthful of hair or you have to deal with somebody breathing down your neck all night. But Eve is Villanelle’s soulmate and she would do anything for her, which includes overheating at night to hold her from behind.

Maybe Eve would rather face Villanelle while she sleeps. Villanelle would like that too - she would be able to stare at Eve’s peaceful features just as she does now, to admire Eve’s flawless skin and the curls that splay out across the pillow, the way that her full lips are slightly parted and she lets out soft little noises sometimes when she exhales.

It’s not creepy to watch Eve in her sleep. It would be creepy if Villanelle wasn’t Eve’s soulmate, but she is, which makes it romantic instead. This is all just a big romantic gesture - luring Eve to Munich, working out what hotel she is staying at, breaking into the room in the middle of the night and watching Eve’s peaceful slumber from the chair in the corner.

It’s as romantic as hearts and flowers.

Shit. Flowers. Should Villanelle have brought Eve some flowers?

Maybe next time…

As nice as it is to watch Eve sleep, to commit each beautiful detail of her face to memory, it’s not why Villanelle is here. She hasn’t gone to such extraordinary lengths to be in the same room as Eve, only to not have a conversation with her.

Villanelle pushes herself up out of her chair and stalks silently over to the bed, stopping only to check her appearance in the mirror as she passes. Satisfied that she looks incredible enough to greet her soulmate, Villanelle approaches the bed and leans over Eve’s sleeping form.

“Eve,” she hisses softly.

When Eve does not stir, she tries again, slightly louder this time.

“Eve.”

Still nothing.

Reaching out with one hand, Villanelle gently prods Eve’s shoulder with her index finger and whispers, “Eve, it’s me.”

Eve stirs slightly, but her eyes remain closed and she just pulls the covers tighter around her shoulders as she lets out a sleepy hum.

God, she’s beautiful. It really is a shame to have to wake her up.

Villanelle gets bolder and uses her fingertips to brush aside some of Eve’s hair that is falling across her face, then rests the palm of her hand against the soft skin of Eve’s cheek.

Eve subconsciously leans into the touch, a tiny smile gracing her lips which seems to spread out through the point when their skin touches, along Villanelle’s outstretched arm, until she is smiling down at Eve too. As Eve continues to rouse, Villanelle squats down beside the bed so that her face is at Eve’s eye level, watching in delight as Eve’s eyelashes flutter open and she rubs at her face sleepily.

Eve blinks once, then twice, before the cutest little crease forms between her eyes as she frowns at Villanelle in confusion, perhaps still not quite awake enough to fully understand what is happening.

“Hi, Eve,” says Villanelle, a slow grin spreading across her face. “You’ve been looking for me?”

Eve’s eyes blink suddenly wide, then she rasps, “Oh my god,” before letting out a hoarse yell.

“No!” Villanelle cries out, shifting the hand on Eve’s cheek down so that it covers her mouth instead. “Shh! Stop screaming!”

Eve thrashes about on the bed, trying to free herself from the covers. With her hand still over Eve’s mouth, Villanelle quickly vaults onto the bed and mounts Eve, one knee on either side of Eve’s hips to pin her down to the bed.

“Stop it!” says Villanelle, wrapping the fingers over her free hand around Eve’s throat and squeezing just hard enough to temporarily limit her air supply. “I don’t want to kill you!”

Eve’s eyes go wide, almost bulging out of her skull as Villanelle’s fingers constrict around her windpipe, but the muffled screaming against Villanelle’s other palm stops.

“I came to talk,” continues Villanelle.

She relinquishes her grip on Eve’s throat and Eve starts to gasp and splutter as she draws air back into her lungs. Villanelle lifts her other hand too, but remains straddled across Eve’s hips, ready to pounce if Eve starts to scream again.

“Are you going to behave?” Villanelle asks, arching an eyebrow at Eve. “Don’t make me smother you with a pillow. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here?”

An American accent? Now that Villanelle wasn’t expecting. She wonders what else about Eve Polastri will end up surprising her.

“To talk,” Villanelle answers with a little shrug. “Woman to woman. I know you’ve been looking for me too. I’m going to get off you, but if you are thinking of trying something stupid, remember that I am faster and stronger than you.”

Villanelle climbs off the bed and checks out her appearance. Her outfit, which cost nearly two thousand Euros in this afternoon’s shopping spree, is slightly crinkled from her tussle with Eve on the bed, and she smooths it down with the palms of her hands until she is satisfied with the way she looks again.

When she turns back to the bed, she finds Eve now sitting up against the headboard, hugging her knees as she regards Villanelle with caution. There is fear in her eyes, and does she not realise that Villanelle is her soulmate? That she has nothing to be afraid of?

“How did you get in here?” Eve asks, her voice still husky from being choked.

Villanelle’s eyes flicker over to the sliding doors that lead out onto the balcony, then she answers elusively, “I have my ways.”

Villanelle returns to the chair she was sitting in earlier as she watches Eve sleep and moves it closer to the bed, before taking a seat again. She pulls a knife out of her pocket - the same knife that she used to carve Eve’s initials into her most recent victim just a few days ago, and flicks it open. She has no intention of using it, but she can feel Eve’s gaze drop to the blade and hopes that it provides sufficient warning against trying something stupid.

“My colleague is next door,” says Eve.

It feels like it is a thinly veiled threat, or at least a warning of her own to stop Villanelle from doing anything to harm Eve. Not that Villanelle would harm Eve - that would be like hurting a part of herself. Besides, Eve’s warning holds no actual weight, considering the fact that Villanelle dealt with the colleague much earlier in the night.

“He won’t be able to help you,” says Villanelle, twirling the knife between her skilled fingers. “He’s not going to hear you if you scream.”

Eve’s eyes widen suddenly.

“What have you done to Bill?”

“Relax, Eve,” says Villanelle, rolling her eyes. “I slipped a mild sedative into his drink earlier. He is sleeping like a little baby.”

“You did what?”

Villanelle smiles to herself in smug satisfaction. As expected, her earlier disguise worked perfectly. Nobody ever looks for something that is right in front of them. They were both far too absorbed in their own lives to consider that the assassin they’re looking for would dare to get that close, and it had been far too easy to spike the drink of Eve’s companion when he came up to the bar alone to order another beer.

“Didn’t you see me? At the beer hall? Did you not feel me watching you?” Villanelle pauses, then adds, “Shame. I looked really cute in lederhosen.”

“What do you want from me?” Eve asks.

“I want to see your mark.”

“My…” Eve pauses, then says, “I don’t have a mark.”

The lie itself is almost as cute as the little twitch in Eve’s eyebrows as she feigns confusion.

“Eve, please,” Villanelle snorts. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Villanelle stands up and untucks the hem of her shirt from the waistband of her trousers. She can feel Eve’s eyes burning holes through her body as she lifts the fabric to reveal her stomach, where the letters ‘EP’ sit, inky black against her pale skin, even in the lamplight.

“It’s not me,” lies Eve, though the way that her eyes are fixated on Villanelle’s mark with a combination of disbelief and awe. “I don’t have uncommon initials. Bill’s daughter...”

“Your friend’s daughter isn’t tracking me down on behalf of MI6 though, is she?” Villanelle points out. “This is fate, Eve. You and I are supposed to meet.”

“I don’t think the universe intended for you to break into my hotel room,” Eve replies, dragging her eyes back up to Villanelle’s face with a thoroughly unimpressed look in her eyes.

So this is how it’s going to be, huh? Eve wants to play hard to get. It’s lucky that Villanelle is very determined when she knows what she wants, and right now she wants to see Eve’s mark.

“Are you going to let me see it?” Villanelle asks once more, letting the hem of her shirt fall down to cover her stomach again, before she tucks it back into her waistband, careful not to crinkle the material.

“Why don’t you give me your name and I can tell you if the letters match?”

She’s clever too. Villanelle can only feel herself getting more and more excited with each second that she spends in Eve’s company. Nothing, not even the wild fantasies of Eve and this moment that have been keeping her awake night after night, could ever have lived up to reality.

But if Eve wants to learn her name, she’s going to have to work a little harder than this.

“Nice try,” smirks Villanelle, shaking her head. “Which letters did you get?” When Eve says nothing in response, Villanelle rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, before she continues, “Eve, I already told you that I’m not going to hurt you.”

Villanelle makes a show of flicking the blade of the knife back into its handle, then leans across to set the blade on top of a nearby dresser, where it is out of reach of both of them. She holds her hands up in a surrender, palms facing outwards to show that she has no intention of harming Eve.

Eve has no reason to know about the other knife concealed inside her shoe, nor the length of garroting wire coiled up in her back pocket. If Eve continues to behave herself, Villanelle won’t need either.

“Happy now?” asks Villanelle, raising her eyebrows at Eve in a challenge.

Eve waits a bit longer, clearly reluctant to give Villanelle what she wants. But then, with her eyes still firmly fixated on Villanelle as if afraid that Villanelle will reach for the knife again if she looks anywhere else, she sits up properly and lets her hands fall to the bottom of her pyjama top. Villanelle’s eyes follow the hem of the t-shirt as Eve drags it upwards, wondering how high she’ll lift it. But then the hypothetical glimpse of underboob no longer matters, because Eve has an enormous ‘V’ on her stomach and it might be the sexiest thing that Villanelle has ever seen.

Eve’s mark is in exactly the same place as Villanelle’s, just to one side of her navel, though slightly bigger. Villanelle had been curious as to whether Eve would have one letter or two and she is pleased that it is just the one. Villanelle hasn’t gone by her birth name in years and she doesn’t like the thought of giving anybody, not even her soulmate, access to her past. Villanelle doubts that Eve knows very much about her at all at the moment, not even what the ‘V’ stands for, and she quite likes the idea of leaving Eve to figure that stuff out by herself. Like a test of worthiness, just like leaving those clues in the art gallery. Having to listen to Konstantin berating her over the phone for ten minutes for being careless had been worth it when Eve showed up in Munich.

“That is so sexy,” says Villanelle, her voice barely above a whisper as she stares at the mark committing it to memory. “Can I touch it?”

Eve lets the material of her t-shirt fall down and cover the mark, as if covering it up is going to stop Villanelle from lusting over it. It’s futile - Villanelle can see that ‘V’ on the inside of her eyelids each time she blinks.

“No.”

“You can touch mine,” offers Villanelle, one of her hands going for the hem of her top again.

“I don’t want to touch yours.”

“Why not?”

Eve hesitated for a few seconds, and then answers, “Because I’m married.”

“To..?” Villanelle’s eyes flick to her right, gesturing with a little tilt of her head at the wall that stands between this room and the adjacent one where the man Eve referred to as Bill is currently passed out for the foreseeable future.

“To Bill? God, no. He’s just a colleague.”

The face of ridicule that Eve pulls at the mere suggestion fills Villanelle with relief because it would ruin her romantic night with Eve if she had to vault across to another balcony to murder the man next door. But Villanelle’s relief is only momentary, because if the drugged, easy-to-kill man next door is not Eve’s husband, that means somebody else is instead, an obstacle that will not be quite as easy to knock down at this present moment.

Villanelle shudders slightly at the thought. She has had to deal with husbands in the past, which means that she knows from experience that it has the potential to end badly.

This time will be different, Villanelle reassures herself. This time there are two marks instead of just one.

“You’ve seen it now,” says Eve. “So tell me this, what does the ‘V’ stand for?”

Villanelle takes a couple of steps over to the bed and perches on the very end, far enough away from Eve that she doesn’t think Villanelle is up to something. She isn’t up to something, she just wants somewhere to sit, but Villanelle can tell that Eve is wary of every move that she makes.

“I can’t give you all the answers,” Villanelle says, as she tucks one leg up beneath the other.

“You haven’t given me any answers.”

Villanelle smiles. This is what she has been craving her entire life. Somebody who will challenge her, somebody who will bite back. Over seven billion people on the planet and every single one of them has bored Villanelle, until now.

Until Eve.

This is fun. This is the kind of thrill that Villanelle only ever gets from killing.

“Then ask away,” says Villanelle. “I am an open book.”

She spreads her arms out, gesturing to show just how open she is.

“Who do you work for?”

Straight in there with the difficult questions. That’s my girl, Villanelle thinks to herself.

“I don’t know. I just kill whoever they want me to kill.”

“You have no idea who asks you to do it?”

Villanelle shrugs.

“Nope.”

“Surely you’re a little bit curious?”

Villanelle would be lying if she said that she wasn’t curious, but she knows not to ask questions. In her line of work, curiosity can get a person killed. Villanelle knows to keep her mouth shut and her eyes forward.

“As long as they pay me well, I don’t care.”

“How much do they pay you?” asks Eve, firing question after question at Villanelle, who is beginning to wonder if her ‘open book’ comment was perhaps a little too encouraging of Eve’s curiosity that borders on annoying.

Curiosity will get Eve killed, if she is not careful.

Not by Villanelle, though. Villanelle would never hurt Eve.

“A lot. I am very rich, Eve.” Villanelle leans slightly closer to Eve, propping up her body weight up on one hand. “I could take care of you, buy you anything you wanted. You wouldn’t need to work anymore.”

Eve folds her arms across her chest and replies, “I like my job.”

“Because I’m your job?” Villanelle challenges her.

Eve does not reply, but she regards Villanelle through slightly narrowed eyes, as if she is an unusual specimen in a lab to be examined.

“Your husband,” barks Villanelle, feeling slightly uneasy with the way that Eve looks at her. It’s not cool, Villanelle is supposed to be the one here with the upper hand. “What’s his name?”

Eve stays quiet, as if she thinks that the only way Villanelle can possibly learn this information is if she opens her mouth and tells her.

“You know I’ll find it out anyway,” Villanelle points out, raising an eyebrow.

Eve remains silent for a few more seconds, before she reluctantly conceded and says, “Niko.”

“Niko,” repeats Villanelle. The name leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. “You don’t have his mark, do you?”

“No,” admits Eve.

“And does he have yours?”

“No.”

Excellent news all round. It seems that the stars really are aligning in Villanelle’s favour. She can still sense some hesitation from Eve, but that’s probably to be expected. Eve has, after all, only just woken up to find that her soulmate is in the same room. All she needs is a bit of time to fully get used to the idea.

“I don’t know what you think is going on,” says Eve, “But if you think that I’m going to leave my husband for you because of these marks, then you’re wrong.”

Villanelle’s jaw clenches instinctively. Eve is stubborn, that’s fine. Villanelle would probably find Eve incredibly boring if she didn’t provide a little bit of a challenge.

“Why do you like him more than you like me?”

The look that Eve gives when she hears Villanelle’s very reasonable question, is as if it isn’t reasonable at all, but instead entirely ludicrous.

“Because I love him and I made a commitment to him and that doesn’t just change because of this.”

“Is it his penis?” asks Villanelle, her question fuelled by jealousy. It must be his penis - Villanelle can’t imagine this random man having anything else that is better than what Villanelle has. “Does he have a massive cock? Is that what it is?”

Eve’s face turns slightly pink as she gets flustered.

“It’s a completely normal size, thank you. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“If it’s a dick thing, I can give you any size you want,” Villanelle promises, thinking of her nice little collection in her apartment in Paris. “If you want a little one, or one that is big and girthy - I can do it all. I’ve even got one that curves a little towards the tip, I think you’d probably really like that one.”

“Stop it,” says Eve, her forehead creased into a cute little frown.

Ignoring Eve’s protest, Villanelle continues, “Or you can have the dick, if that’s what you’re into?”

“I said stop it!” says Eve, raising her voice and causing Villanelle to recoil slightly at the sudden outburst. “This isn’t a thing. I’m not leaving my husband for you just because we share marks. You’re hardly girlfriend material anyway. You’re a psychopath!”

Any semblance of being in a good mood that Villanelle has from finally being in the same room as Eve disappears from her body, trickling out as if Eve’s use of the word psychopath has pulled the plug out of a bathtub full of happy emotions. Villanelle has heard the word before, has been called that and so much more by everybody else in her life. Psychopath, crazy, monster - Villanelle has heard everything and it never affects her because she doesn’t care what other people think of her.

It hurts when Eve says it. Villanelle feels the word sting her, not in her chest like a knife to her heart, but in her abdomen, like Eve has taken a blade and sliced it through the flesh where Villanelle’s mark sits against her skin.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your soulmate, Eve.”

“You’re not my soulmate! You’re just somebody who happens to have my initials marked on them. Whatever big romance story you think this is, well it isn’t happening. We’re not having a happily ever after. I’ve already got that with Niko.”

“You’ll change your mind,” says Villanelle, certain that Eve will come to her senses soon. Destiny will prevail over whatever fear is holding Eve back.

“No, I won’t,” Eve says, shaking her head determinedly.

“Then that’s your loss,” says Villanelle, getting to her feet and standing next to the bed. “I’m amazing. I could have sex with anybody in this city if I wanted to.”

“Go on then,” says Eve, lifting her chin in a challenge, her eyes flitting briefly to the door and back again. “I’m not stopping you.”

If it was anybody else defying her, Villanelle would probably get angry and stab them, or if they were really pissing her off then she would strangle them with her bare hands, just to watch the life shrink from their eyes as she squeezes their windpipe with her strong fingers.

Eve’s disinterest annoys Villanelle, but not to the point of murder.

“Look at us, Eve,” she says in a soft voice, smiling instead of getting angry. “Our first fight.”

“You’re delusional.”

Delusional. Crazy. Monster.

Psychopath.

Eve doesn’t mean it. Eve is just trying to hurt her because she doesn’t know how else to respond to this.

Time. That’s what Eve needs. Time to consider what her current life is lacking and what Villanelle could offer her. Time to realise that the connection they share is worth far more than a piece of paper and a pair of rings. Time to understand that there is a reason for this, a reason for the universe bringing them together.

Villanelle reaches into her trouser pocket and takes out a smartphone, which she places flat on the palm of her hand and offers it out to Eve.

“What’s that?” asks Eve. “Wait, is that my phone?”

Villanelle watches in amusement as Eve scrambles about looking for her phone elsewhere, first checking the bedside table and then fumbling with the bedsheets to see if it has gotten lost somewhere under the covers. When she finds nothing - obviously, because her phone is in Villanelle’s hand - she scowls at Villanelle, apparently frustrated that she hadn’t already noticed that it was missing when she woke up.

“Take it,” says Villanelle, taking a step closer with the phone held in her outstretched hand. “Call your boss.”

Eve eyes the phone warily, as if Villanelle could have tampered with it to make it explode in Eve’s hand, but she doesn’t take it.

“Call your boss and tell them that you’ve caught me.”

Eve still doesn’t take the phone. The frown on her face only seems to get more intense.

“I thought so.” Villanelle puts Eve’s phone down on the nightstand, within Eve’s arm’s reach, then takes a couple of steps backwards as she says, “Just in case you change your mind. You probably have a couple of hours before I’m out of the country.”

“Where are you going?” asks Eve.

Villanelle sinks her hands into the pockets of her trousers and strides towards the door of the hotel room.

“Home.”

“Where’s that? Russia?”

Villanelle digs her teeth into her lower lip to fight off a smile as she shakes her head, before she purrs, “Eve. Darling. Either you want to know me or you don’t. You can’t pick and choose.”

Reaching for the door handle and pulling it open, Villanelle turns to Eve at the last moment.

“We’ll see each other again soon,” says Villanelle. “I am sure of it.”

And then she steps out into the corridor outside, closes the door, and leaves Eve Polastri behind.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs