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“I—”
“No, Vi, please don’t. On some level, I knew. You don’t go from a loving, fulfilling sexual partnership to barely touching for years without reason. I should have done something sooner. Confronted her, or even walked away. I carry so much guilt where my mother is concerned, despite years of therapy and knowing full well that her disappointment is not my fault.”
Chiara sighed, and the exhalation seeped into Vi’s bones. “There were lovers I left with broken dreams and broken promises. Projects, people. And I just wanted to make things work. To try. To do my best and for my best to, for once, be enough.”
Chiara’s voice trembled on a sob. In the distance, it seemed that Paris stood still, the usual bustle of the capital suddenly quiet. Perhaps the City of Light was giving its queen her due. Oblivious to Vi’s thoughts, Chiara went on.
“And I was afraid, Vi. Of failure, yes, of disappointing again, yes. But also of being alone. Unloved, untouched, unwanted. And then you appeared, you and your noble bloodline and your lost shoes.Cenerella. You, with your complete understanding of my thoughts and impulses, of my creations, and of my emotions. You, of these gray eyes and that gorgeous auburn hair and adorable freckles, and this face that gives away everything you’re thinking and everything you feel.”
An unknown and seemingly unknowable emotion of profound happiness washed over Vi. She was full to the brim with something she had never experienced before. The sense of being elated. Everything was magnified, the city suddenly alive around her, vivid colors and sounds enveloping her, as much as Chiara’s scent and her warmth.
Vi closed her eyes to hold on to this emotion, only to re-open them swiftly to not miss a thing, a single second of looking into Chiara’s, whose mouth was now hiding a smile, as she spoke on.
“You’ve given me inspiration, you’ve given up your evenings and your nights to help me, you held back Frankie’s secret for me and from me, and even now you’re fighting your terror, just to be here, with me…”
Chiara trailed off, still looking at her, and Vi gulped. Because the light of that magical understanding between them, like a silken thread, like one of the many Chiara used in her studio to create masterpieces, had tied itself between their two rib cages, just as Chiara’s voice wound itself around Vi, rendering her completely still, incapable of moving, of saying anything.
“I’ve never once felt like this in my life. Never. Seen, touched, wanted. And I have been somebody’s wife for twenty years. You gave me all of this in mere months. Can you blame me then?”
The soft chuckle at the end of the question made Vi shiver. She wasn’t yet ready to process that Chiara had known about her feelings, about her desires all along. And she sure as hell wasn’t ready to delve into the fact that Chiara perhaps welcomed all of them.
But that one word,wanted, washed over her like a consecration. A dream that she scarcely dared to even acknowledge was within reach, as unbelievable and unattainable as it had been to Vi throughout their summer.
The air around her appeared warmer, saturated with her emotion, an emotion that she’d held locked away, a covenant of her own making, to herself, to never ever reveal, yet here it was, out in the open. All she had to do was reach.
She took a few steadying breaths, bracing herself for the answer to the question she felt compelled to ask. That reach, she was suddenly brave enough to attempt.
“Blame you for what?”
Chiara’s face was sober, all traces of amusement gone. She lifted her hands, cool and soft, and cupped Vi’s face so gently, her eyes watered at the gesture. She wanted to close them and let herself lean into the cool, beloved hands.
“For being tempted? For wanting this light? This steadiness? This joy that you are? For wanting you all these months?”
And just like that, all the oxygen she’d so diligently inhaled just a moment ago left Vi’s lungs in a whoosh. Her heart in her throat and her mind suddenly blank, all she saw were the kind, warm eyes with the fire in them. That same fire she’d never quite been able to explain. Now she knew what it meant.
In the twilight falling like a blanket over them, covering both their bodies and the city that was hurrying along its early evening, busy and beautiful and elegant, Vi felt like the dusk was lulling her into a dream.
Her hand rose of its own accord and she covered Chiara’s, turning her face and leaning into their now entwined fingers.
Bravery or foolhardiness overcame her disbelief, her reticence, and she took a chance, kissing the now warm skin of the palm, feeling a shudder pass through Chiara.
And suddenly the city came to life, the birds sang and the cars honked, and the moon’s shadow peeked at them, so out of place in this still light sky. Maybe as out of place as Vi herself, on this roof, her lips on the skin of this woman who trembled under her touch.
When she raised her eyes, Chiara’s were dark, much darker than the dusk warranted, much hungrier than a single kiss to the palm, and so Vi did the only thing she could. The only thing she, in fact, had been doing for months now. She gave Chiara what she wanted. Vi leaned, closing the distance between their lips halfway, and paused waiting for Chiara to make the final decision.
Chiara’s eyes fluttered shut, perhaps at the raw display of her own hunger reflected back at her, or maybe at being allowed to take the final step, at being given a choice. A choice she did not hesitate to make.
She leaned in too, still holding Vi’s face in her hands, and their lips touched. Tentatively, gently, brushing once, twice, before Vi found her courage and carefully grasped Chiara’s lower lip between hers. A gasp and tiny whimper were her reward, and Vi’s heart soared.
She knew there was no way it was still beating in her chest, with the air around them pulsating with something like a rhythm, a rhythm she followed with her mouth. Then, emboldened, she raised her own hand, the one that was not still holding Chiara’s, and gently slid it up that sharp edge of the jaw she’d admired so many times, up to the delicate ear, which made Chiara whimper again.
The sound made Vi tremble but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough of the glorious hair, her fingers delving into the still sun-warmed silk and fisting there, causing Chiara to gasp and open her mouth slightly.
But Vi didn’t hurry, didn’t use this opportunity to press forward. She simply licked tenderly at Chiara’s lower lip and waited, waited patiently until Chiara uttered a sigh of total frustration, let go of Vi’s face and slid her arms around her shoulders, finally bringing them chest to chest, pushing the forgotten camera still dangling around her neck to the side, as she herself deepened the kiss.
Overhead, Vi’s soaring heart pulsed and trembled, full of love and full of Chiara. And it would stay that way, since the rest of Vi’s life had already begun.
13
