Chapter 11: Just Friends
The slam of the paper bag was like a gunshot in the tense quiet. A dark red stain of jam immediately began to seep through the brown paper, spreading across Veronica’s desk and threatening a stack of tort law textbooks.
Maya’s cheerful mask was gone, completely shattered. Her hands trembled at her sides. “How long?” she whispered, the words tight and venomous. “How long have you been fucking the French princess?”
Stephanie flinched, the crude word hitting her like a physical blow. She saw Veronica’s whole body go rigid, a statue of controlled fury.
“Maya,” Veronica said, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t.”
But Stephanie found her feet, standing up from the floor. The fear from moments before was now eclipsed by a surge of protective indignation. This was her fault. She was the one who had brought this storm to Veronica’s door.
“I am her best friend,” Stephanie said, her accent thickening with emotion. “For fifteen years.” She took a small step forward, putting herself slightly in front of Veronica, a gesture so instinctual it was breathtaking. “And I have never… I have never been with anyone. So you can take your nasty words and you can leave.”
Maya’s eyes widened slightly, the raw shock in Stephanie’s confession cutting through her anger. The information didn’t compute. The heiress, the beautiful girl from the magazines, a virgin? She looked at Veronica, searching for confirmation, for a lie.
A different, colder strategy dawned on Maya’s face. A cruel, calculated calm. If she couldn’t wound them with anger, she’d try with possession.
“Right,” Maya said, her voice slick now. She smirked, closing the distance between her and Veronica in two quick strides. “The innocent little best friend. How sweet.”
She grabbed the front of Veronica’s t-shirt, pulled her down, and kissed her. It wasn’t a kiss of affection; it was a performance, a claim staked. Hard and demanding.
Stephanie watched. She saw the way Veronica’s hands remained clenched at her sides, not rising to hold Maya. She saw the tight line of Veronica’s jaw, the lack of softening in her posture. It was like watching someone get branded. It was violent, not romantic.
And she felt… nothing. No jealousy. No pang of loss. Just a profound, aching sadness for Veronica, that this was what she had settled for to try and forget her.
Maya broke the kiss, her eyes flashing triumphantly toward Stephanie, expecting to see devastation.
Stephanie just looked back at her, her expression unreadable, her light blue eyes clear and calm. “Are you finished?” she asked, her voice quiet.
The silence that followed was louder than the slammed bag or the accusations. Maya had played her card and it had meant nothing. The foundation of her relationship, the very thing she’d used to assert dominance, was revealed as hollow. She took a stumbling step back, her confidence evaporating into confusion and humiliation.
“Get out, Maya,” Veronica said, her voice barely a whisper, but it carried the full weight of her fury.
Without another word, Maya turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that echoed in the small room.
The jam continued to bleed onto the desk. The spicy scent of last night’s candles was now entirely gone, replaced by the cloying sweetness of ruined pastries.
Veronica didn’t move. She was staring at the closed door, her breath coming in slow, measured pulls. The performance for her father’s associates had begun sooner than they’d planned, and it had cost her something.
Stephanie moved to the desk and started carefully mopping up the sticky, red jam with a napkin. The silence stretched, but it was different now. The danger was outside the door. In here, it was just them again.
“You did not have to say that,” Veronica finally said, not looking at her. “About never being with anyone.”
“It is the truth,” Stephanie replied, focusing on the stain. “And it shut her up, non?”
“It’s not a weapon for you to use to defend me.” Veronica turned around, her green eyes blazing with a protective fire that took Stephanie’s breath away. “That is yours. You don’t throw that out there to win an argument with some jealous girl.”
“She was not just a jealous girl,” Stephanie countered, dropping the soiled napkin into the trash. “She was a complication. And I removed her. For us. For the long game.” She parroted Veronica’s words from earlier back to her, a faint, determined smile touching her lips. “We are ghosts now, remember? We cannot have complications.”
Veronica stared at her, truly looked at her. The sweet, innocent girl who flinched at loud noises was gone, replaced by this steel-spined young woman who could face down a hostile girlfriend and clean up a mess without missing a beat. The transformation was terrifying and exhilarating.
The plan was in motion. The lies had begun. And Veronica realized, with a jolt that felt like falling, that the person she was meant to be protecting was suddenly, undeniably, her equal.