Page 20 of These Thin Lines

“Yes, Chiara.”

“Yes what?”

Oh, mercy…

“I consent.” And then, just because, and to try to lighten the tense mood, Vi added, “Do you want it in writing? In duplicate? Notarized? Or should we, you know, get to it already?”

Chiara’s mouth opened and that laughter—the one Vi was becoming addicted to and craved to elicit at all times, the open sincere one—sounded brightly, smokily right next to her ear.

“Touché, Cenerella. Cheeky as always. Let’s… get to it then, as you so eloquently put it.”

Vi decided that, if she was to keep her thoughts at bay about how close Chiara was and about the things her hands were doing, gently brushing against Vi’s body, her best bet was to distract herself.

“Why did you choose the fifth floor? I imagine you had your pick when you bought the building?”

Chiara hummed absently, her mind clearly on the task at hand now, and when she spoke, her voice was muffled around a pin in the corner of her mouth.

“You’d imagine correctly. You know about where I grew up. So very rural. So very rustic.” Chiara pinned a fold on the shoulder, and Vi looked up a bit to see the face in deep thought, a small furrow between the inky eyebrows.

For the first time, Vi noticed a dusting of silver among the stark black on the temple. She forced herself to stand very still as her fingertips itched to trace the few lines. Chiara’s hair looked like satin, shining and so very soft.

“… the idea of a view was very different there than what I have here. I’m grateful for it. Change is… welcome.” Chiara put a few more pins in her mouth and stepped to the side, and Vi thought the floor was tilting as breasts brushed her arm. She heard her own breath catch sharply, but the competent hands did not waver. Vi watched in the tall mirror in the back of the room as Chiara diligently continued her task, her eyes focused on the material.

She wanted to shake herself. Of course she was in this alone. The woman was married. Yes, to an asshole who did not appreciate her. But married nonetheless. She sighed and shook her head. Chiara’s eyes met hers in the mirror.

“What has gotten you sad, Ms. Courtenay? I don’t think I’ve seen you brood much. Joyful, mischievous, scheming to get Aoife’s food out from under her nose, but not brooding. Not that it doesn’t suit you, mind.”

Suddenly, Chiara stepped out of her heels with what could only be called a sigh of relief, and Vi kept watching as their eyes were now level. They were of the same height, and for some reason, her stomach clenched.

“Sorry, I am so used to them, I tend to forget that, as much as I love them, they don’t love me back.” Chiara’s pout at her Jimmy Choos was endearing and so very her, Vi wanted to shoo away the hundreds of butterflies that nestled in her chest.

Married… Married.. Married… Not cute, nor adorable, nor as gorgeous in bare feet as she was in those gorgeous high heels that made her already gorgeous legs go for more gorgeous miles than was legal…

God, even her thoughts had gone haywire, unable to stop repeating the same word over and over where Chiara was concerned.

Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous…

Chiara looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and Vi realized that there must have been a question she’d either ignored or left unanswered.Oh, brooding. Yeah, okay.

“Ah… No reason? A long day? Family stuff?”

“You want me to pick?” Chiara reached for another set of pins and gently lifted Vi’s left arm, her fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Hold it like this for me for a bit.”

Vi gulped as she both felt and saw those hands slowly move up her side from waist to armpit, and as they inched closer to the side of her breast, Vi was afraid she’d break into a sweat and the dress would need to be dry-cleaned. The thin platinum wedding band caught the last of the dusk sunlight, and Vi swallowed around the lump in her throat.

“No, not pick. Just a lot of things going on.”

“Tell me about your family.” Chiara traced the seam of the bodice before taking Vi’s hand and allowing it to come down to her side. But Vi shook her head, and when Chiara looked up suddenly, their faces were inches apart, worried amber eyes on dejected gray ones.

“Family… is hard. So no family talk. Plus, you promised me an answer to a question.” Where had that boldness come from? Desperation for her own secrets to not be touched? Vi didn’t know, but Chiara’s eyes narrowed minutely before she gave a small nod and bent her head to her task again.

“Didn’t I already answer the one about the view?”

Vi tsked, and Chiara gave her a mischievous gaze from under those impossibly inky lashes.

“Another one then? Please?” Vi knew she was pouting, and even as she tried to swiftly pull back her lower lip, Chiara bumped her hip.

“If you’re allowed to keep your secrets, Ms. Courtenay, and be nosy, the least I can do is tease you, wouldn’t you say?”

---