Chapter Text
Villanelle had not planned this very well. But then again, she never did, did she? As she hastily weaved her way through the crowd, pushing past the growing hubbub as more and more people recognised her, she could practically hear Konstantin’s usual reprimands. You need to be more responsible. You have an image to maintain. You can’t keep feeding the paparazzi. Screw that. Villanelle wasn’t going to let them keep her from living her life.
Nevertheless, that motto often came back to bite her in the ass.
Villanelle was unfamiliar with this part of London, so it wasn’t long until she found herself cornered, having skidded into a dead-ended alleyway. Shit. She could hear the paparazzi, moments away, clammy fingers poised on camera triggers and shoulders hunched in expectation. Konstantin was going to kill her. It was then that, suddenly, almost miraculously, a door to Villanelle’s side swung open, revealing an Asian woman (with amazing hair, Villanelle might add.) Without thinking (though she didn’t really regard the consequences of much, these days), Villanelle barrelled forward, hooking one hand around the woman’s arm to tug her backwards and using her other to pull the door shut. She let her hand fall and leant against the door, breathing heavily.
The woman stepped back, fixing Villanelle with an affronted stare and crossing her arms. Villanelle, in response, just grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry about that.” She declared in her lilting Russian accent, and shrugged nonchalantly. “Cornered by paparazzi.”
She spoke smoothly, as though such a predicament was natural. The woman opposite her just raised her eyebrows. If she recognised Villanelle, she gave no hint of it, and that certainly made a change. Over the past three years, Villanelle had skyrocketed into the public eye; the movie franchise she starred in – ‘Vanquish’ – was loved by teens and adults across the globe. In fact, filming for the third and final movie was currently taking place, and Villanelle felt as though she was being hauled into studios for photoshoots every other week. Her face was everywhere; magazines, billboards, buses – even she was almost sick of herself. (Okay, that’s a lie.) But she was so used to being fawned over, now, that the woman’s abrupt nature was almost jarring. (Perhaps in a good way.)
“You can’t just grab people.” The woman scowled.
“I know. Believe me, I am all about consent.” Villanelle smirked, shifting slightly to lean on the arm of a sofa.
The woman just shook her head, checking her watch. “How long do you need to stay?” Outside, the paparazzi were still clamouring.
“I will call my manager; he’ll send a car. It should not be too long.”
The woman nodded, biting her lip. Villanelle took the moment to appraise her; noting the distinct alertness to her gaze, the fullness of her lips, the furrow to her brow. These features were accentuated even further by the dark curls framing her face. Villanelle almost let out a whine of disapproval as she pulled a hair tie from her wrist, moving to tie it up.
“Right,” Villanelle tore her gaze away and shifted her weight onto her feet. “I will call Konstantin.”
He picked up immediately. “Konstantin!” She called out, all false cheer.
“Villanelle, what the hell are you playing at this time?” He scorned. “Why are there pictures online of you coming out of a tattoo studio?”
“I could not help myself.” Villanelle shrugged. “But it’s okay now, I am safe. Can you send Marco to come and get me?”
“Send me your location. We are not done talking about this.”
He hung up, and Villanelle made a face at her phone, before sending her location.
“My manager is not happy.” Villanelle chuckled, and settled herself into the seat of the sofa she had been perched against.
“No wonder.” There was a long pause. “Look, I should get back to work…” The suggestion lingered in the air.
“Ah, yes. Speaking of, what is this place?” Villanelle glanced around.
The room was bare; furnished with two worn beige sofas and a clumsily placed table, it was neither clinical nor homely.
“The staff room. For my coffee shop.”
“Your coffee shop?”
“I co-own it.”
“With who?”
“My friend, Jess.”
Villanelle hummed appreciatively. “I like coffee.”
“Good to know.”
Her tone was bordering on sharp, so Villanelle leant forward, her feet planted apart and her forearms resting comfortably upon her thighs.
“Do you know who I am?”
The woman hesitated for a moment. Then – “of course I do. Your face is everywhere.” She seemed to immediately regret that comment, her cheeks colouring slightly. It was kind of adorable.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” Villanelle tilted her head in an almost puppy-like fashion.
“No, I –” The woman seemed to be losing her composure now, and Villanelle leaned into it. Which was, of course, when her phone sounded.
She picked up agitatedly. “Yes?”
“Marco is outside with the car. He says there are less paparazzi now, but you’re still going to have to make a run for it.”
She let out a sigh. She had been beginning to enjoy the back-and-forth. “Okay. Love you, Konstantin!”
Konstantin huffed in response and hung up.
Villanelle pulled the phone away from her ear. “Love you too, Villanelle!” She mimicked.
The woman opposite her raised a bewildered eyebrow. Villanelle decided not to satisfy it with an explanation.
“Right, well I’m off. It was nice meeting you…” She trailed off.
The woman dithered for a moment. “Eve.”
“Eve.” Villanelle tested the name on her tongue, catching her gaze. “Bye, Eve.”
Then she was gone.
…
Eve stepped into the coffee shop, pushing the staff room door shut behind her and letting out a slow exhale.
Elena waved her over. “Have you seen the raucous outside? I wonder what that’s all about.”
Eve let out a short laugh. “I – think I know.”
“You what?”
“I – um – Villanelle.”
Elena’s eyes widened almost comically. “Villanelle? Villanelle as in movie star Villanelle? As in my biggest girl crush aside from Kenny’s mother? As in gorgeous Russian hot shot actress? Is outside?”
“Was outside. Was inside, actually.”
Elena’s jaw dropped. “Eve.” She took Eve’s face in her hands. “Are you shitting me?”
“I – no. I was going out for my break and she just kind of pushed me back inside.”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
Eve grasped Elena’s wrists, moving her hands from her cheeks so she could busy herself with the coffee machine. “Come on, Elena. You know I don’t get the fuss around her. And she was just as I’d expected, arrogant with a superiority complex.”
“You were with her for ten minutes Eve, if that. You can’t have made that kind of judgement.”
“I can and I have.” Eve paused, her hands stilling. “Though, I may have been a bit rude too…”
Elena fixed Eve with a look of despair, turned around, and slumped onto the counter. She groaned.
“I can’t believe this. Are you sure you’re not shitting me Eve? You swear?”
“Elena, why would I lie about this?”
Elena let out a high-pitched wail, sending their one customer, who had been settled in the corner with a book, out of the café in a hurry.
“Elena. You’re scaring away customers.”
“DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE?”
“What is going on here?” Hugo stumbled inelegantly into the coffee shop, his apron slung over his arm. He looked thoroughly hungover.
“Hugo, you’re late.” Eve sighed, turning to stack some mugs.
“SHE –” Elena jabbed an accusatory finger at Eve, “WAS RUDE TO VILLANELLE.”
Hugo put a hand to his head, wincing. “Inside voices, please.”
Eve let out an exasperated sigh. “I need a break.”
“You just had your break.”
“I need another one.”
As soon as Eve was in the staff room she sank into the sofa, before registering the lingering warmth to the seat. This was where Villanelle had sat.
She hadn’t been lying – she didn’t like Villanelle. She seemed arrogant, and ignorant, and full of herself, and as if life was just so easy for her. She could do what she wanted, and still had an adoring nation of fans. And it had clearly gotten to her head.
But there was also… not jealousy. Eve wasn’t jealous of her. But she was young, and she was beautiful (who was Eve to deny that?) And she was also free. Everything that Eve saw online and in the papers showed that Villanelle didn’t care about what people thought of her. She travelled and she loved her job and she partied and she lived. Eve felt like she hadn’t lived in a long, long time. Sure, she had friends (well, work friends. Hugo was a bit annoying and Kenny was rather quiet and Jess was slightly, well, pregnant and Elena was a bit overbearing sometimes, but she liked them.) And she had a house, and a husband. Even if it felt as if that very same husband was maybe the reason she didn’t feel as though she had lived. Niko had never wanted more than the happy married life, a stable job, (and kids, at first. Though Eve soon made it clear that there was no way in hell that was happening.) And for many people, that was all the life they needed. So, Eve tried to be like them. She tried to fold herself up and fit into that box.
So maybe she didn’t like Villanelle because she represented what Eve couldn’t be.
But she was also arrogant. And irresponsible.
Eve let out a long, slow sigh. She needed to calm down and stop thinking so much.
It’s not like she would see Villanelle again.