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“You look happy.”
Aoife’s mischievous tone from the doorway didn’t startle her, and Chiara took this as another checkmark in the positive column. Despite being tired, she was not feeling wired and jumpy. Perhaps the orgasms from last night and this morning had something to do with this languidness.
“I feel happy, Sully.”
The word just slid off her tongue, so strangely truthful, so easily spoken, unlike the struggle she’d experienced with it a few weeks ago, when Renate had asked, and she’d been forced to pretend, to dissemble, and eventually sidestep the question.
“It suits you.” Aoife stepped into the bathroom and fiddled with Chiara’s bodice, lips pursed as she adjusted some imaginary imperfection. Which could really mean only one thing. Chiara watched her friend in the mirror and braced herself.
“You know I felt guilty for everything that happened five years ago. And not just overall sorry about how the papers got the pictures and how you had to be humiliated in that awful way. No, it was more than that, because I considered myself personally responsible.”
Well, of all the times to rehash the past, Chiara thought tonight was the absolutely wrong moment. They were celebrating the culmination of all these years of hard work, and yes, humiliation had been part of that.
Still, the tense set of her friend’s shoulders told her that this was important, that this was something that weighed heavily on Aoife. Chiara turned around and smoothed her hands over Aoife’s suit jacket lapels and tilted her head to the side, listening silently.
“I knew…” Aoife faltered, took a long deep breath, and started over. “You see, I always hated Frankie’s—”
Chiara let out a bark of laughter, sincerely delighted at Aoife’s halting attempts to state the obvious.
“No, my dear, I was not at all aware. Not for years, not even a little.” She smiled to soothe the sarcasm she couldn’t hide from her voice. “Considering you never actually shut up about how you thought Frankie wasn’t respectful enough or loving enough. It’s okay, Aoife. It really is in the past. No matter what Frankie wants everyone to believe.”
“I was right about it, too.” Aoife stuck out her bottom lip, petulant, and Chiara ruffled her hair. “Hey, hey, easy on the mohawk. Took me an hour to get it right.”
“You look wonderful.” Chiara gave her a one-armed hug and laid her cheek on Aoife’s temple. “It’s okay. It really is.”
“Well, maybe it is now.” When Aoife pulled back, her eyes were serious and sad. “But you still haven’t allowed me to tell you how I feel. I believe I owe you that much, you know? Because I’ve let this guilt slowly eat at me for years. I was aware Vi was in love with you.” Chiara shivered and Aoife barreled on. “I knew she was. I mean, she was so obvious. A total puppy. And I didn’t discourage her. Especially when I saw that you were also quite taken with her—maybe not equally, but still—and how much good all that adoration did you.”
Chiara swallowed around the lump in her throat and lowered her eyes, not yet ready to look at her friend, smoothing the lapels of the jacket, allowing the material to sooth her angst away.
“Frankie was becoming unbearable.” Aoife’s voice sounded a bit choked. “The constant insults about your condition. Taking you for granted. I suspected she was up to something, but I didn’t know she was cheating. Not for certain. Still, I think her humiliating you in front of people about your medication was the last straw for me. I hated her then. And so I didn’t do anything to stop Vi. Not really. And when she sold the pictures… Let’s just say, I should’ve seen that coming. Her going for the jugular and making sure you and Frankie broke up unequivocally and irrevocably.”
Chiara absorbed the blow to her solar plexus with all the strength three hours of sleep, two mugs of coffee and a pair of Manolos could grant her. Which was both a lot and nothing at all. She knew her eyes were red when she finally faced Aoife.
“I have no idea why she did it, Aoife. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me since… well, since forever. But there’s no guilt for you to take on here, my friend. Whatever her reasons were, whatever everyone's reasons were, I have moved on.”
The lump in her throat grew larger, and she almost choked on the lie. No, she had not moved on, not entirely. Some ramifications of what had happened still rendered her numb. Except she wanted so much to believe herself.
She gave Aoife a forehead kiss before she stepped back, looking herself over in the mirror one last time. Red-rimmed and hollow, her eyes would need to be hidden under shades for a bit, because being seen like this at her own celebration simply wouldn’t do.
Chiara again wished Aoife had better timing. She didn’t want to think about the fact that Vi was still the girl who’d betrayed her, and that she was still the woman giving Vi a second chance despite not trusting her. Because if she allowed herself to look too closely, to remember too much, it would mean they were doomed. And Chiara desperately did not want them to be.
She grimaced and rubbed her temple, confused and perplexed at herself. Suddenly, she had a lot of sympathy for her poor mother, who’d never quite understood her. How was that practical, unpretentious woman to grasp her idiosyncrasies when Chiara herself couldn’t?
She shook her head, then mustered a smile at Aoife. It was time to change the subject before she ruined her mascara. Fortunately, her friend changed it for her.
“Anyway, I just wanted to say, unlike Renate, I really am on board with Vi being back. She puts that expression on your face. It becomes you.”
“The happy look?”
“The freshly fucked within an inch of your life look.” When Chiara gaped at her, horrified, Aoife laughed and smacked her arm. “Well, don’t look this blissed out then, and I won’t be standing here all envious of your orgasmic glow, woman!”
Chiara chose to ignore the teasing. That way lay trouble.
“Renate doesn’t approve?” She had to confess, she hadn’t spent any considerable amount of time with either Aoife or Renate in the past few weeks, with the magazine, sex, and creativity bursts occupying her days and her nights.
“Renate hasn’t been around much, for what that’s worth. But mostly she just sneers every time she gets a whiff of Cinderella. And Vi jokes and laughs it off in that offhanded, self-deprecating way of hers. You know, where you want to be mad at her, but mostly you’re just charmed?”
“Oh, I’m very familiar.” Chiara laughed again and tension loosened from her chest a bit.
