V & V (wlw)

Chapter 9 - The one on the beach

This chapter's dedication:

🙄😜😀😅😳😘🔥😎😘😊😊😍

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The resort was all the way down south, and they were taking a plane. As they breezed through the airport, Veronika whispered, "I figured you might have had a private plane."

"I could. I don't have a need for it, but I could get one."

Having had their luggage taken out of their hands, they were being walked to their suite. Once there, Victoria laid down on the bed. Ron grimaced.

"Overkill?" said Victoria placidly.

Ron shook her head and reclined on one of the seats.

"Mm. Not an overnight flight, even, but it was offered and I took it."

Victoria wanted to nap the three hours away, so Ron opened her laptop to fiddle around in her drafts.

Her novel, if she could ever debut it, was queer narrative of vampire-adjacent creatures in a fantasy world. It was surprising how hard it was to get a book deal for an ensemble cast of mostly lesbians, even in this day and age. Or maybe it was a skill issue.

Time passed without either of them noticing, and soon they were asked to strap in for landing. Half an hour later, they were in a private car on the way to the beach. Victoria was in board shorts and a white button-up; Veron thought of yesterday.

She had exited the home gym immediately and had went straight for the fridge. She had posed deep in thought at the very empty, very unused kitchen, even until after Victoria had come out to check on her.

Ron understood she was being weird about this. But she'd seen women before, obviously, and it didn't matter that Vic looked more like her than the women she was used to seeing. She only wished she could get her shit together.

Presently, she stopped staring at Vic's calves when they entered the gated resort. Ron looked at cabanas and cabins, trussed up in white sail canvas and distressed-on-purpose driftwood tones, until they drove up to a noticeably larger two-storey house on the beachfront, out of place in its flat, blocky form; it was a cube and a half, all bare concrete and glass.

They got out of the car and to the driver Vic insisted they would carry their own luggage, which meant Ron was going to carry their luggage.

"Welcome to my bungalow," said Victoria.

"That's not–" said Veron, looking at the high, second floor balcony and demonstrably flat roof. "What do you think a bungalow is?"

Victoria paused for a beat, slipped her sunglasses on, and said, "Big house."

It's like Vic knew she would argue, so the woman trotted to the house before Ron could say anything.

Inside was a beautifully furnished, sterile open-plan living room. Large parts of the walls were glass, and the couch at the center of it all was impractically wide, more bed than chair.

"Oh my god," exhaled Veron. "This is your sex bungalow, isn't it."

Victoria went theatrically still and rolled her eyes back into her head so far that Ron started to worry, and padded upstairs with the luggage in tow. Ron climbed up after her.

Upstairs was a bedroom; Veron sat on the bed and stroked the silk sheets as Vic dumped their things in a corner. She said, as she kicked a bag, "You want to get changed now? Bathroom's over there."

They were at the beach, and Ron wanted to make the most of it. She emerged wearing the swimsuit Vic got her, which really wasn't a suit at all – she was dressed in low cut bottoms and a tight cropped tank.