Chapter Text

Prologue

8:17 PM, Waldorf Astoria Amsterdam

30 Days AV (After Villanelle)

"I’ve been thinking that maybe I'm not a good person."

They’re standing alone in a ridiculously lavish washroom with enormous mirrors, gold plated sinks and spotless white marble counters. Eve grimaces that her crimson Dior lipstick has smudged ever so slightly at the corner of her mouth. She fruitlessly dabs at it with a dampened four-ply Waldorf-Astoria branded paper napkin.

Eve watches as Villanelle’s reflection goes through her five stages of amusement. A small wrinkle forms on her forehead. One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows cocks upwards. Her full, bow shaped lips curve mischievously, betraying her standard stoic facial expression. Her other eyebrow raises. Finally, Villanelle snorts once, uncharacteristically ladylike but very Villanelle.

"What makes you say that?" Villanelle says in a low, playful tone as she carefully applies her signature perfume, two dabs on each slender wrist.

Eve thinks back to how her life was only thirty days before then. The humdrum of comfortable normalcy. An ex-husband who still gave her shepherd's pie once a week in tupperware containers in an effort to make up for his extramarital affair. An unstimulating but occasionally amusing job, a 42-minute bus-train-walk commute. A too-full purse stocked with twelve once-stamped café loyalty cards, faded receipts, crushed granola bars and a three-year old drugstore makeup pallet. A flat just a door down from a chip shop, small and messy and greasy smelling and perfect.

Eve takes a moment to take in her own reflection.

Gone are the days of four year old boots, ponytails, grey Primark raincoats and coffee stained shirts. The Eve in the mirror looks like a stranger, dressed in an asymmetrical midnight black Helmut Lang cocktail dress that hugged every vulnerable curve of her body. Gone is her ten year old mystery bag purse, and in its place is a slim and minimalistic Prada clutch.

"I just…" Eve struggles to find the words, her voice trailing off. "I just don't think good people do the things I've been doing."

Villanelle hums thoughtfully to indicate she’s listening. Eve looks at Villanelle’s reflection in the glass, touching up her already perfect mascara.

"I know bad people," Villanelle says finally. "I know very bad people. You are not like them, so I don't think you are a bad person. Probably."

Villanelle produces a thin metal credit card blade seemingly out of nowhere, sorting it between her Chanel VIP card and her fake ID in her Chloe clutch.

"Very convincing," Eve mumbles sarcastically, giving up on her lipstick being immaculate. "I'm probably not a bad person. Possibly. Potentially. "

"Eve," Villanelle says as though the name is cradled in her mouth. “I’m not sure if that matters very much."

"Sure it does. I want to know I'm doing the right thing.”

Eve adjusts her earrings. She's careful not to fiddle with the mechanism that causes the three inch (eyeball poker) pin to spring out.

"It's like math," Villanelle reasons. "We kill bad men. We kill very bad men…"

"In very bad ways," Eve says, interrupting Villanelle's train of thought.

"...so it cancels out. We are not good, not bad," Villanelle says with a shrug. "It's like math."

Eve checks her watch and sighs. "We should go."

Just as they both turn to leave the washroom, Villanelle stops abruptly, causing Eve to gently collide into her slender back. Eve feels her breath hitch and her chest tighten as Villanelle languidly turns around, studying Eve’s face with a deadly seriousness and an unreadable expression. Their faces are inches apart, eyes locked, and Eve feels an indescribable dizziness only Villanelle can make her feel.

Villanelle wordlessly brings a hand up to her strawberry red lips and licks her thumb, dragging her tongue villainously slowly and carefully across its pad, just once, without smearing her lipstick. Eve hopes, in a silent panic, that her expression isn’t betraying the ache in her belly. She almost curses audibly when her eyes instinctively drops Villanelle’s gaze to watch the blonde’s tongue.

Without warning, Villanelle’s other hand is gently cradling Eve's face, fingertips grazing against her skin. Eve feels Villanelle’s thumb, barely wet, trace the corner of her mouth in a punishingly gentle swipe. For an unbearable moment, Villanelle’s thumb lingers slightly between Eve’s lips.

Eve wonders, much to her own embarrassment, what Villanelle’s thumb would feel like in her mouth. She wonders what her own thumb would feel like in Villanelle’s. She wonders what else Villanelle’s supple mouth is capable of.

Just as Eve feels her eyes close shut, Villanelle’s hands pull away from her face. When she opens her eyes she sees the blonde’s pleased smile, boyish and ridiculously charming.

“Perfect.” Villanelle murmurs, pointing to the mirror even though her eyes are still affixed on Eve.

Eve sees that Villanelle has fixed the smudge of her lipstick. Behind her, Villanelle stands with her usual perfect posture, stupidly beautiful as always. She is in a lux sheer evening gown constructed with navy lace flowers, a nude barely-there bralette leaving very little to the imagination under a plunging neckline. Her impossibly long neck looks even longer with her honey gold hair up in a tasteful chignon.

Eve feels like every time she looks at Villanelle she's doing something she's not supposed to be doing. She was never good at following directions, anyway.

"Shall we?" Villanelle prods, pressing a soft leading hand into the small of Eve's back.

Eve nods, and they turn to leave the washroom to the main ballroom. Villanelle takes a couple steps ahead, and spins on her heel to face Eve.

"Eve, I know you'll do a good job… on our bad job," Villanelle says with a knowing wink.

If they do their job right, three men will die in forty-five minutes. They will have to escape in five minutes. The getaway vehicle can only be parked in position for thirty seconds. There's a formula. It's like math.

Eve sighs but follows Villanelle anyway. And she'll continue to follow Villanelle, she reckons, until she can't.

Because, Eve realizes, she may never stop wanting to.