@๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐. ๐๐๐๐๐๐ & ๐๐๐๐๐.
It is really no secret to the great congregation of Saltburn, nor the neighboring seaside villages, nor any corner of England's dwindling aristocracy, that Venetia Catton believes the world of her brother. Felix has always been the sun around which she willingly orbits.
She has never attempted to disguise it. There is no embarrassment in the way she seeks him out first in every crowded drawing room, no hesitation in the effortless way her laughter answers his before anyone else's. At dinners she drifts instinctively toward the seat nearest his, stealing chips from his plate as though they are still children tucked away in the nursery. During long summer afternoons she curls beside him on threadbare garden loungers, their conversations dissolving into private jokes no one else is quite invited to understand.
People notice. They always have. And she never cared. Never will.
The staff smile indulgently. The neighboring families exchange knowing glances over crystal flutes of champagne. Older ladies murmur that the Catton children have always been unusually devoted, while younger guests mistake it for something stranger before realizing it is simply the consequence of a lifetime spent existing as halves of the same impossible whole.
Because Felix is not merely her brother. He is her safest place.
The only person who has never looked at her with pity when she relapses, or irritation when she becomes too sharp, too loud, too difficult. He has held her hair back in marble bathrooms after nights gone catastrophically wrong. Sat beside hospital beds with ridiculous magazines because he knew she'd refuse flowers. Lied to their parents on more occasions than either could count, covering bruises, broken hearts, eating disorders, drunken escapades, and every other spectacular catastrophe Venetia seemed magnetically drawn toward.
And Venetia, in return, loves him with a fierce, almost territorial loyalty. If Felix is adored, and he always is, she is the first to beam with pride. If he is wounded, she feels the cut deeply, herself. They are twin flames, soul family. Not in a romantic sense by any candor, no. Absolutely not. It's a bond deeper, and greater, than none can comprehend unless they themselves have lived the traitorous life of being a Catton.
All the more for Venetia to become a curious kitten when Felix phones her that the Waldorf family would be coming to stay with them this Summer...and in tow, a girl.
Felix has always belonged to everyone and no one all at once. He collects people the way others collect postcards, scattering affection with such effortless generosity that it rarely means anything permanent. Friends come and go. Admirers bloom and wilt. The occasional flirtation fizzles out before anyone can remember a surname.
But bringing someone to Saltburn? Let alone, allowing a family, inward? Different. Saltburn is sacred. At least, to her it is. For the most part. It is the place where the performances end, where the Cattons retreat into themselves, beautiful, eccentric, impossible creatures living in a world that obeys only its own peculiar rules. Outsiders pass through, certainly, but very few are invited int othe heart of it. Fewer still by Felix.
So when he appears with a young woman in tow, smiling with that unmistakable softness reserved for things he genuinely cherishes, the entire house shifts around the unfamiliar gravity of her presence. And Venetia, for perhaps the first time in years, finds herself looking at her brother not with certainty...
Venetia does not ask permission. She simply slips her arm through Blair's as though they've been co-conspirators their entire lives, her bracelets chiming softly as she guides her away from the terrace and into one of Saltburn's sprawling corridors.
"Oh, come on." There is no accusation in her voice. No sharpened edge of jealousy. If anything, she sounds delighted by the mystery. She studies Blair from the corner of her eye...not clinically, but with the unabashed curiosity of someone presented with a painting they've heard whispered about but never seen in person.
"So..." She turns to face Blair fully now, walking backward with complete confidence that the land will accommodate her, hands clasped behind her back.
The question lands with surprising warmth. Not what's your angle? Not who are your parents? Simply... "What did you do that made my brother look at you like..." She searches for the right words, then gestures vaguely toward the gardens where Felix had disappeared moments earlier. "...that?" She grins before Blair can scramble for an answer.
"Oh! I'm Venetia, by the way." As if introducing herself after interrogating someone is the most natural thing in the world. "Felix has almost certainly warned you about me."
