Page 24 of These Thin Lines

“How did Alberto react?” Charles’ voice held all the nonchalance of a summer breeze, yet it set Vi’s teeth on edge. He wasn’t the family member who’d care about any of this. Gwyneth was the gossipy fashionista. But her stepmother held her tongue.

Kylie—pleased to, for once, attract Charles’ precious attention—preened at being center stage at the family table. Vi could practically see Gigi fuming in helpless bitterness at being downgraded to ‘of no consequence’ again.

“Alberto was turning all kinds of different shades of color. I’ve never seen a man go from pale to red to purple in the span of minutes. I swear, I thought he’d suffered some kind of heart attack. He’s such a handsome man. Dunno what he’s doing with that insipid Romina.”

“Romina is the heiress to the vast Lucci fortune. The man is a leech. Albeit a handsome one.” Gwyneth’s remark made both Kylie and Gigi stick their heads together and giggle.

“You mean like Chiara?” Gigi’s remark was thrown out there carelessly, yet Vi dropped her fork with enough clatter to suddenly find all eyes on her.

“She isn’t a leech.” She heard the words drop out of her mouth and, more so than usual, desperately wished to grab them, to swallow them, to have never uttered anything at all. She so rarely gave her family any ammunition because, without fail, they’d load their viciousness onto those bullets and turn them against her.

“And what is she, Genevieve? Come now, impart your dubious wisdom on us…” Her father’s sharp gaze was unwavering. She’d given him an opening, shown a vulnerability, and he’d taken it and made that bullet hole wider.

“She… um… She does designs.” She looked anywhere but at Charles as she spoke and could sense the irritation radiating from him.

“Speak up, girl!Mumble, mumble. If that is how you speak at Lilien, it’s no wonder Frankie walks all over you.” His voice dripped with so much disdain, Vi, for the thousandth time, wondered why he hated her so much, and what she could do so her own father would look at her with something at least resembling love for once. She’d probably give her left hand for that. Right hand too. How pathetic was it to wish for love from a parent who had nothing but contempt for you?

Still, he glared at her expectantly, and Kylie and Gigi grinned from ear to ear, enjoying her misery. Gwyneth was scrolling through her phone and predictably could not be bothered.

“Chiara designs most of Lilien’s concepts. Frankie is just there. A figurehead, if you will. From everything I’ve seen, Chiara is solely responsible for all the new collections and has been for much of the past decade.” For a second, a pin could have dropped and it would have been as loud as thunder.

If Vi thought imparting this massive bit of information to her family would make her feel accomplished, she was mistaken. Because—despite the whispered ‘omg’, ‘no way’, and ‘this is huge’ from her stepsisters and stepmother—observing the sly smile curve her father’s lips, she instantly regretted divulging this tidbit to him.

To them, information did equal currency, after all. If Charles Courtenay had taught her one thing, it was that. And she had just given him power in some wicked game he was playing in which she knew she was nothing but a pawn. A pawn who seemed to have done her job for the day, because as his lips stretched back into a thin line, he looked at Vi with approval.

Still, something in Vi sensed that the approbation was dangerous. To whom or why, she couldn’t say, and so she did the only thing that remained. Misdirection. Call the fire onto herself and make him forget. Strange how she was doing so much of that these days. And all for Chiara. Maybe it was something she needed to think about more, but right now it was imperative he be distracted from whatever sinister plot he was concocting.

“And she is teaching me photography. I think she believes I can be one of the in-house photographers.”

That didn’t get Charles to even lower his wine glass.

“You? A photographer? Are we back to those useless ‘visions’ of yours, Genevieve?”

Charles reached for the newspaper again, obviously not impressed with either the conversation around him or his dinner.

“She believes in my abilities.”

Well, now she had his full attention.

“Genevieve, once this summer is over, you will go back to being what a Courtenay is, and all this ridiculous idiocy you call ambition andvisionis just that…idiocy. A Courtenay is not a goddamn gopher taking pictures! They serve us. I have been teaching you for years, and you still don’t understand the place you occupy in society. You should aspire to marry, have children, continue my line. Bar that, at least make something useful of your life, not hide behind pipe dreams—”

“Charles.”

To Vi’s surprise, a quiet word from Gwyneth stopped the customary tirade. Her stepmother touched her temple and closed her eyes. Well, Charles’ outbursts were known to give headaches to those unfortunate enough to be nearby.

“Genevieve, that’s enough.” Vi almost smiled. Gwyneth knew Vi wasn't the one causing the commotion, but chastising her father wasn’t something her stepmother ever attempted. Funny how women always played this game of deflection in the name of peace.

Gwyneth’s eyes were as disinterested as always when she spoke again.

“Before Chiara realizes that she’s wasting her time, the minimum you can do is try to learn something. There’s a Nikon in the second parlor. At least have good enough equipment not to embarrass your father further, since I can only imagine what the people at Lilien think of the way you dress and conduct yourself.”

Vi mumbled her apologies and her thanks, but inside she was soaring. In spite of her long-term interest in photography, she’d never had money for a good camera. And while Chiara would surely have provided her with the right equipment, she knew she actually brought something to the table now, and there wouldn’t be any pity for her in Chiara’s eyes this time around.

Charles, clearly having moved on from the subject, leaned over to Gwyneth to ask about some reception or other they were going to after dinner.

Vi had never been more glad not to be invited, but when the housekeeper cleaned the table and brought her father his ever-present after-dinner glass of port, she again found herself alone in his presence as the other women went to get ready.

They were silent for a long moment, him sipping his wine and not paying any attention to her, and her trying to figure out how to unobtrusively get up and ask to be excused—from this exorbitant penthouse, perhaps from this family, if only that were possible.

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