My Leading Man | Timothée Chalamet

chapter twenty-eight

ONE WEEK LATER

"I just have one more question." We swung our held hands as we strolled down the hallway of my apartment building, with my paper-wrapped bouquet of flowers in my other hand.

"Okay," Timothée laughed.

"Why didn't you want me to know you were the donor for the movie? Why the anonymity?"

He smiled. "I didn't want it to affect the way you saw me- or how you felt. I knew you had way too much pride to accept it if you knew it was me," at this I widened my eyes and laughed, surprised by his candor. "But I had to help. I had to do something for you- I just want you to be happy, Violet. That's all I've ever wanted for you."

My heart beat happily, and I stood up on my tiptoes to peck him on the lips.

"What do you mean 'affect the way I saw you'?"

He shrugged, and I watched as his beautiful dark curls shook when he did so. "I didn't want you to think I saw you as a..."

"Charity case?"

He laughed, but nodded. "I guess, yeah. But I've been proven pretty wrong in that category so far," he added, and I feigned offense.

"What's that supposed to mean!"

"Well, I paid for the taxi, the plane tickets for next month, our breakfast, lunch..." He counted off the things on his fingers and I gasped, to which he laughed and kissed me. "You know I'm joking."

"I know." We reached the door to my apartment - the one I shared with my parents - and I stopped walking.

"This is it?" Timothée asked.

"This is it." I was kind of nervous; I knew my parents would be nice, of course, but I couldn't be entirely assured they'd love him - especially my mother. She was always pretty fickle with new guests I brought over, especially any male; even if he was Syd's boyfriend.

"It's that bad?" Timothée asked, aghast. "You look terrified!"

"I'm not! And it won't be bad; promise. They'll just need some... a warm-up period." I cringed; I was making it sound terrible.

He just looked at me. "'A warm-up period.'"

"Yep. Well, no time to waste," and I opened the door.

"Violet?" My mom called from around the corner in the kitchen.

"Yes, Manman."

"Well thank the heavens, you've been gone all day- who's this," she stepped into the room with her apron on and paused, looking at Timothée.

Oh dear. "Timothée, Ma! Remember? I told you he was coming..." I risked a glance back at him and he stood there frozen, smiling nervously at her.

"Uh, here-" he held out the second bouquet, one he got for her. "Thanks for letting me join you tonight."

She eyed him suspiciously then waved us in. "Alright. I may have forgotten, but it's okay. I made extra." She walked back into the kitchen and wiped her hands on her apron, then called back to us, "Put those in a vase, will you? Violet, get that boy a vase; he's standing there like a statue."

I snorted back a laugh and agreed, plucking two vases from the cabinet as he put the flowers in one and I put mine in the other.

"So what have you two been doing all day," she asked without turning from the stove, sautéing some peppers and onions.

"Wellll, Timothée took us to this really cool art exhibit and Indian restaurant- you'd like it."

"Sounds fun... but I hope you both are hungry," she glanced over her shoulder, and we both nodded furiously.