V & V (wlw)

Chapter 12 - The one where they get married

"Must we do this?"

"No questions! It's my turn."

Victoria glared at her from the sofa. She was in wool trousers and linen shirtsleeves, her jacket and cravat slung over one arm of the couch. Vic had her arms crossed, sullen as the other woman stood looming over her, hands on her hips.

"I've got a list and we're going to go over them one by one. First, what the hell is Enigma?" Veronika had looked it up and got nothing outside of social media analytics and foundation, and World War 2.

"Start with an easier question."

"You're not making the demands here – "

"I'm saying it won't make sense unless you ask the establishing questions first."

"You may make a suggestion," said Ron, meditatively.

"It's my day off," muttered Victoria under her breath.

And it was, which was why Veron chose now. If Vic just came home from work, she could brush off the topic and Ron could not, in good conscience, push it. But Vic had just returned from the bakery they've been buying from – while overdressed, mind you – and was free to answer.

The interrogatee did not make a suggestion. Ron said, "What do you do? Like, your job. Aren't you a lawyer?"

Victoria stayed silent and, instead of answering, unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged out of it. Underneath, she wore a tight tank.

"You can't distract me, you saucy bitch – "

"Excuse me?" Victoria looked incredulous more than anything. Ron exploded in mirthless laughter for a dramatic second, and then snapped back into her mask.

"Answer the question."

Vic gently put her shirt over her jacket on the couch. "I'm not actively practicing law right now. I work for the family company. A subcompany under it. The official title is Senior Public Relations Agent."

"What is that? Marketing?"

"Yes, marketing. In a sense." Victoria seemed reluctant, as if bracing herself from something.

"And what's Enigma?"

"Mm. An analytics entity. A think tank."

"I'm not following."

"You know when companies say 'studies show...'?" Ron nodded as Vic continued. "Whose studies? Ours. And other entities like us, I suppose. My job is convincing people."

"Is that allowed?"

"Technically, yes. When there's no legislation about it, yes." Victoria had crossed her arms again, looking Ron in the eyes. "We get hired to sell things. Products, politicians, it's all the same."

"You sound ashamed." Ron had wanted to say it since Vic said technically.

"I am."

Veron stopped standing and moved to sit next to the other woman. "Tell me how it comes together."

"This business started before I was born, before my father, even. My grandfather, he set aside a trust fund for me. To be turned over when I get married."

Ron had more questions, but waited.

"He's passed, but his estate is ironclad. My parents." Here Victoria paused and rubbed her face. "They don't approve of my lifestyle."

Veronika laughed and then apologized. Composing herself, she said, "You told me this when we started. Tell me why you need the money."

"For when I quit," said Vic.

"Quit? Quit what?"

"My job. This job." Victoria's face was a mask.

"Why?" Ron was asking an obtuse question, and she knew it, but she wanted to hear the answer from Victoria's mouth.

"It's not what I want to do." Through Vic's eyes Ron could see that she'd rolled the shutters down on this line of inquiry, and from personal experience, further questions will be stonewalled. So she changed tact.

"Why do you need it? Don't you have finances squirreled away or something?"

"My parents have made it clear that they're cutting me off if I ever get, ah," Victoria paused to think. "Too loud. They're traditional."

Ron made a sneering, huffing noise as Vic continued. "Cut off means off from their money, their connections, and every privilege they've been able to give me."

"And you don't want to lose that."

"Quite the contrary. I'd be glad to be free from having to do my parents' bidding. I'd finally be rid of having to perform this role. I never cared for their friends either." Victoria looked like she wanted to say more. Veron made their knees touch, and Vic rested a hand on top of Ron's thigh. It was warm.

"In that fund is enough to let me live comfortably upper middle class for the next 80 years, with room for four medical crises per year. Even then, I don't really need the money. I am a professional."

Ron briefly wondered what life was like with that kind of safety net, and also that 80 years was very optimistic. She said, "What's stopping you from just - ? Why not just leave?"

"Theatrics," said Victoria. "Consider it a closing salvo."

Veron could appreciate that. "A wild and final fuck you."

Victoria looked immensely pleased as she nodded. "I don't need it. But wouldn't that be a way to go."

Ron said, "Was grandpa also a bigot?"

"Yes. Which was why he never knew I was gay."

She put her hand on top of Victoria's, still on her knee, and squeezed. "Well fuck to him too. We're getting married."

...

She was wearing a sweater to her wedding. It was a nice one, a black turtleneck. Victoria was wearing a white shirt and a vest the color of rough dirt.

They sat in the uncomfortable steel chairs of the room they were put in, awaiting their turn in the office.

When they discussed the wedding, Vic had communicated to her that their best option was a council one. Ron had no conflicting opinions about this, and so they had called it in.

Two other couples were getting married today, and when the second pair had exited, they entered.

The city mayor shook their hands and married them in a matter of minutes. Veronika had not paid attention to any of it, except for her lukewarm vows, the same white gold ring Vic had shown her prior to today, and when the photographer stood to position himself by them.

"Would you two prefer to kiss?" he said, from behind the camera.

Veron seized with momentary panic and looked to Vic, who squeezed her hand and met her eye. Ron decided to hell with it and grasped the other woman by the waist.

Victoria put a hand on her neck, on the skin just below her ear, and Ron realized how much she missed human touch. Vic leaned in, and so did she, taking in an involuntary gasp of air and inhaling the scent of Victoria's skin.

Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips met in a gentle meld. Victoria's very soft mouth, fitting perfectly in hers, made her all the more aware of how chapped hers was. But Victoria's fingers shifted to caress the short, downy hair on the back of her neck and she deepened the kiss only the slightest press deeper before retreating.

The whole ordeal lasted perhaps three seconds – three seconds that spun in her head even as Victoria went to talk to the photographer, even as they drove home together, even as Ron dodged the other woman's attempts at conversation and locked herself in her room.