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A loud, slightly disgruntled meow sounded from the now ever-present basket on the wide windowsill. Binoche was probably reading her mind again, because the sound was also decidedly judgmental. Well, Vi was judging herself, too. She was ridiculous.
Worse, her reaction was inappropriate, and any second now Chiara would realize it and send her home.
But Chiara continued on her knees, examining what looked like a torn hemline, and Vi’s imagination continued to run wild. Chiara hummed and sighed again, before slowly getting up, sure fingers tracing a seam, from knee to breast, setting Vi’s skin on fire through the thin fabric. When Chiara’s gaze wandered—surely perusing the gown for any other signs of Vi having been her good-old clumsy, destructive self—Vi felt that gaze in her soul.
“You know, Ms. Courtenay, if I was any other person, I’d be slightly more than pissed that, here I am putting all these hours into these creations, and then you stumble about, tear off and ruin hemlines, only to inspire me.”
She finished speaking when they were finally face to face and Vi gulped. Those eyes looked into hers, all-seeing, all-understanding. Vi had nowhere to hide, nowhere to shuffle her uncomfortable emotions that pressed so hard on her shoulders.
Chiara angled her head to the side, as she often did when she was trying to figure out the flaw in a design, and Vi found herself scrambling for words.
“A talent?” She quipped uselessly, but to her relief, Chiara’s mouth quirked at the corners, and when the expressive eyes crinkled—displaying those crow’s feet that were so dangerous to Vi—she felt like she’d touched the sky.
A real smile.
“Well, don’t let it go to your head, and please do not ruin any more of my creations. Do we have a deal?” She smoothed the silk at Vi’s shoulder, fixing a pin that was coming loose, her hands gentle as always.
“Only on one condition.” Where had this piece of courage even come from? Vi almost groaned. Sometimes she really wished she were just a bit better at controlling herself.
“My, you are cheeky. But given how you’ve just really inspired a breakthrough on this design by mangling the hemline, I’ll bite the bullet and ask. What’s your condition?”
Grabbing another handful of pins, Chiara was now standing behind Vi, her hands in the mirror a study of proficiency and skill, working fast, carefully, flying along the deep cut of the back. The déjà vu was immersive. Despite having seen it only once before, Vi thought she’d never tire of beholding their reflections together in the mirror. They should not fit, and yet they did. Of the same height, which was a rarity in itself for Vi, of the same build. They looked good. Vi swallowed convulsively and Chiara’s eyes gazed up at her, full of concern.
“Can we go back to me asking you questions?” Vi shivered, and Chiara’s hands stopped before a shawl was gently placed over her naked shoulders, leaving the lower back exposed to Chiara’s ministrations, yet ensuring Vi was kept warm. How was she to tell this woman that she wasn’t cold and her shiver had nothing to do with the temperature?
“I have a feeling I know exactly what you’re going to ask me, Vi. And if I’m right, I also have a feeling I will regret ever making that promise. But sure, let’s see if I can keep some of my secrets from those eyes of yours that are too smart for your own good.”
The words alone might have stung, but the kindness behind them encouraged Vi to continue.
“You think I’m too smart?” Okay, that was not what she planned to say. She cringed, the shawl not at all disguising her gesture of embarrassment.
“That is your question?” Chiara tugged on a piece of material at Vi’s waist, making her stand straighter and meeting her eyes in the mirror.
“Ah… No?”
“So is it ‘ah’ or is it ‘no’, Ms. Courtenay?” An eyebrow rose majestically, and it was just so unfair. Such a regal gesture, so evocative. And one that turned Vi completely useless.
Chiara let the other eyebrow join the first, and Vi could see a blush creep up her chest, generously exposed by the low cut of the unfinished dress. As she closed her eyes, she heard Chiara’s chuckle.
“You are so easy to tease, darling. Too easy. But even if that wasn’t your question,you are smart. And bright. Shining. You are so utterly new to any of this. Life, fashion…”
Chiara grew silent, and her eyes fell back to the pins she was working into a complicated fold on Vi’s hip, but Vi felt as if she’d been taunted again. Was that how Chiara saw her? As naïve? As young and inexperienced and childish?
“I beg to differ.” This time, Vi didn’t cringe. She didn’t even care what she was saying and, more importantly, how. She felt like she’d been misunderstood enough for one evening. And while it was par for the course for her family, Chiara was a different story.
It must have been Vi’s intonation. Chiara’s head whipped up and her hands on Vi stilled. Again, their eyes met in the mirror, and Vi didn’t shy away this time. She let the hurt of the slight wash over her. She was so damn tired of everyone treating her like an ingénue, or worse, just gullible.
To her credit, Chiara didn’t mock her. Nor did she wave away the situation as Vi had expected her to. She bit her lip, thoughtfully chewing on it, still closely watching Vi in the mirror.
“I apologize, Ms. Courtenay. Sometimes, you remind me of myself at your age. Eager and wide-eyed. Life stepped in and fixed that pretty quickly, though. But please, do not for one moment assume that I don’t see the wounds reality already left on you. I don’t know much about you. You keep your cards close to your vest, despite being a seemingly open and friendly person. You have a secret, something mysterious about you, Cenerella. There’s a reason that nickname stuck with you, and not because you keep losing your shoes.”
She leaned just a touch closer, and Vi’s breath caught at the intensity of the gaze. “My words were meant to indicate that I envy you. Just a little. Just a touch. I envy you the joy and the serenity and the sheer kindness you carry everywhere despite those wounds, the deep and the shallow.”
Vi sighed, letting the air whoosh out of her lungs and taking another deep breath. The room did not tilt. Nor did she hear an operatic aria or anything equally as cliché, but the lamps did seem to shine just a bit brighter. And now Vi did feel foolish. And exposed. And very, very raw.
“I wish for you to always keep it. To hold on to it. To cherish and enhance it as you live. It’s so rare. This light of yours. This newness.” Chiara’s voice sounded both wistful and regretful, and Vi almost turned around, but strong arms settled on her shoulders, over the material, warming her better than the shawl and grounding her like few things ever had. “Now, before both of us get all weepy here, ask your question. The one you really wanted to ask. I assume it was about something I inadvertently blabbered on about earlier in the evening?”
Vi swallowed around the lump in her throat.
