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“Hey Cinderella, want another drink?” Aoife offered, her face somber, watching Chiara leave and Frankie intercept her. Their hostess, though, smiled at Vi from afar, approval clear on her face. Vi was glad she had done something right. But as she looked at the Lilienfelds walk away, her heart bled all over again.
No, she had no power here, even if she wanted to whisk Chiara far away from all this.
When she turned back, Neve Blackthorne was still looking at her appraisingly. It felt like very little escaped her, especially in her own house. Vi lifted her almost empty glass in the direction of their hostess and turned back to Aoife.
“Hey, Fairy Godmother. No drink, thank you.” But she gave Aoife a half hug and laid her cheek on her mentor’s head, surely messing up the spiky updo she was sporting. Aoife, for once, didn’t complain or give her any grief.
As she straightened and Frankie and Chiara disappeared into the distance, they shared a look, and Vi felt an understanding pass between them. They would not talk about what had happened. At least not now, and she was happy for it. Now was not the time, not among the hordes of gossipmongers and socialites who lived and breathed for these kinds of rumors.
“You know, I’m too young to be your godmother, kid.” Aoife poked a finger at her arm.
“I wasn’t aware there was a cutoff for these things. Theoretically, we could be the same age and you still could have baptized me… Also, you’re forty-three, so if you’d hurried up in your misspent youth, you could have been my mother—”
“Oh piss off, you!” The beloved and delightful Irish accent sprang to life, just as Vi had intended. Aoife nudged her and looked like she was about to stomp away when she suddenly stopped and squeezed Vi’s shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, missy.”
“Aoife, let it rest. Chiara almost got me to spill my guts about her wife attacking me a second before Frankie herself slobbered all over her, so I claim this as a win. Maybe not the whole night, but certain incidents aside, I’ve had an amazing time. Thanks to Chiara and to you and your poopy-schmoopy, though I’m sure the Fairy Godmother doesn’t use those words.”
“The words are whatever I say they are, get that straight, Cinderella.”
“First of all, if this is my fairytale, it is not ever going to be straight. And second, I did feel like Cinderella, Aoife. Everyone was so nice, from the models to Neve Blackthorne. God, I don’t know why people say she’s a witch.”
“Because she is one. She just took a shine to you, ‘cause you are hapless and cute and hopeless. People like clumsy, adorable little things.” Vi pushed at Aoife’s shoulder, outraged, and Aoife laughed loudly, the pleasure at her own joke so clear, Vi couldn’t help but join her.
“I heard Princess Allegra claimed you as one of her own? Frankie damn near broke out in a sweat chasing after her throughout the whole party. Too bad, so sad Her Majesty made herself scarce so early.”
“It’s Her Highness. She’s not queen yet. Aleric is king, she’s his heir, and next in line for the throne. So get your titles straight.” Vi threw a sideways glance at Aoife, trying to hide her grin.
“Why should I? She’s not.”
Vi groaned and covered her face with her hands. She didn’t want to think about the implications of her cousin being gay. She liked Allegra, and if she was indeed queer, the sheer amount of trouble that would spell for the royal was beyond Vi’s comprehension. Savoy was a very conservative kingdom.
“God, Aoife, how should I know…?”
“Nobody looks that good in suspenders and is heterosexual. It’s a crime against… well, suspenders.”
The mischief, the teasing in Aoife’s tone, made Vi peek from between her fingers, then smile and throw her arms around her now squirming and cursing mentor.
“I love you. Please never change.”
“If you don’t let go of me, and I mean stat, I will takebothof your shoes and throw them in the goddamn lake. Not sure even your princess will be able to save you then. Now unhand me!”
But Vi did not let go, and a few moments later Aoife’s arm folded around her waist, and over her mentor’s head, she caught Chiara’s smiling eyes watching her with affection. Frankie be damned, this was the best night ever.
12
ONCE UPON A PARISIAN SUNSET
Genevieve Courtenay probably shouldn’t have been as dependable and good as she was at her job, if nothing else, then for her own self-preservation.
Sadly, self-preservation had never been in her blood. It must have skipped a generation of Courtenays.
But she was very good and very dependable. Thus she hadn’t stopped taking pictures when the door opened and Chiara stepped into the sunlit studio, right into Frankie who was face first in… well,thatpart of Véronique—the Lilien Haus lawyer, who, for someone usually so elegant, had absolutely nothing covering that rather splendid body that Vi always avoided looking at.
After all, Aoife had told her to never mess with Véronique. Frankie had obviously ignored that particular advice, and judging by the state of her face, had made quite a mess of Véronique herself.
If only Vi had averted her eyes in that particular instance as well. If only she had averted hercamera,too…
Instead, for the next few seconds, she automatically continued to be great at her job and to take those few shots of Frankie’s glistening face and shocked, caught eyes. And of Chiara’s shaken, ashen features, her limp hand sliding off the door handle.
