Page 26 of These Thin Lines

What was air?

“You called me Vi. Again.” She wanted the ground to swallow her. Why was her brain not connecting with her mouth today of all days? First at her father’s dinner and now here, twice already?

“I did, and I will go back to ‘Ms. Courtenay’ if you don’t relax. If I didn’t want visitors, I wouldn’t have come down, and if I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t have opened the door when I realized it was you.”

Vi almost shook her head when her heart sped up a bit at the double entendre. Or at what she desperately wanted to believe was one.

“You’re busy.” Vi didn’t ask. Chiara was here, in this studio, so she was obviously occupied. That was the default for this woman, whom Vi had seen bent over the drawing board at all hours. Wouldn’t she be home otherwise? With Frankie… Vi’s stomach plummeted at that thought, and then she felt embarrassed again.

But Chiara just shook her head and tugged on the soggy tails of Vi’s shirt, hanging limply at her waist.

“I have some of my clothes here. You need to get out of these. I can’t imagine it’s all that comfortable, wet as you are.” But just as Vi opened her mouth to argue, a fingertip landed on her lips, rendering her absolutely still, certain that a mere breeze could knock her over. The skin against her mouth was soft, the subtle fragrance of patchouli reaching her, no doubt from being applied to that wrist all those hours ago when Chiara had gotten ready for her day.

“Don’t fight me on this, darling. I’ll bring the clothes, you dry off, and we will see about the weight of the world on your shoulders that brought you here.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Vi with the ghost of her fingers on her lips and a whole heart full of longing.

7

ONCE UPON A FAMILY RECIPE

Genevieve Courtenay was in trouble. There wasn’t any other way to describe what was happening to her. Not when it came to Chiara Conti-Lilienfeld.

Thirty minutes ago, she’d basically sleepwalked her way to Rue Saint-Honoré and interrupted Chiara’s work, only to be smothered in fluffy towels, given a change of clothes that consisted of a pair of Chiara’s own jeans and a white, flowing button-down. It took all her strength of will to not bury her face in the soft, worn cotton that smelled like verbena, patchouli and something that could only be Chiara.

Vi mentally patted herself on the back for acting like a grownup and not a teenager with a crush. A teen she was not. Hrr feelings, however, was a lot tougher to disprove. She looked at herself in the mirror. Cheeks flaming, eyes alight. Yeah, some things she couldn’t deny. Like the crush. Or the sleeves that were way too long.

“I can’t help loving manly cuts.” Chiara murmured, reading Vi’s mind. It seemed this woman was always halfway in her head, and Vi fervently hoped she would be able to at least hide some of her thoughts from her. Some of her emotions. She was starting to recognize there were a lot of them. Hence her earlier realization that she was done for.

Vi rolled her eyes at herself. When you knew who owned a piece of clothing by simply sniffing it, you were indeed absolutely and completely in the deepest of troubles. The kind that was not only bothersome but also painful. Because, as Vi was used to reminding herself on a daily basis by now,thisparticular trouble, carefully rolling up the sleeves for her now—was it hot in here?—was somebody’s wife.

If Vi had any issue remembering Chiara’s marital status, her phone vibrated right on time, and one glance at the screen confirmed it was Frankie. Chiara’s eyes did not waver from her task of arranging the shirt’s open collar, and she kept at it until she was finished, giving Vi’s cleft chin a tap with her fingertip before she finally picked it up, only to lay it back down carefully. Too carefully.

“How about dinner? You didn’t answer me earlier when I asked if you’d had any?” The voice, again, was too careful, too precise, lacking any true emotion, and Vi found herself shaking her head. A few bites of fish and carrots didn’t count.

“Settled then. Any preference as to what you’d like to eat? I know Zizou kind of takes our opinions out of the equation, since he decides what we should eat every day, but tonight, we’ll feast like queens with our own free will.” She laughed, the joy just as forced as her nonchalant tone.

“Are you all right?” Vi’s words seemed to surprise Chiara, and maybe she shouldn’t have said them, but by now Vi was pretty much resigned to uttering things around this woman that were impossible to explain or contain. She briefly wondered if she’d offended again, and was ready with an apology for butting into what was obviously none of her business.

Yet Chiara didn’t look upset or annoyed. As the mask of nonchalance slipped for a moment, that dreaded sad look was back, the worry line between her brows deepening, before smoothing out as she visibly collected herself. She passed by the little bread loaf that Binoche made on the windowsill and gave the cat an absentminded pat, as if drawing strength from the tidy little animal.

“Why?” Vi wasn’t entirely certain that Chiara really wanted to know the reason behind her earlier questions.

“It’s, well…, late, and you’re still here.”

Somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang. Chiara’s face, half-hidden in shadows, looked angelic, like it was made for towers and damnation, gothic cathedrals and absolution.

“This is the time when I feel most like myself. Nobody calls, nobody needs anything, there are no expectations of me, hence no consequences for not meeting them.”

Vi felt her eyebrows rising, it was such a peculiar thing to say. But Chiara just waved her curiosity away.

“Never mind that. Honestly if you’re asking me about my time management, you might as well be asking me about dragon herding. I’m equally good at both. Or, well… equally as bad. The post-its only do so much, darling.”

As Vi’s eyebrows rose even higher so they damn near crawled off her forehead, Chiara simply took her hand.

“Actually, I think I’d manage dragons much better.” She winked at Vi, who felt herself smiling back awkwardly, as Chiara went on. “Listen, my mother’s recipes always make me feel better, regardless of how shitty my day is. Or how many bad memories are associated with my childhood. Any of those meals still reminds me of being cared for, no matter what. And I didn’t have manyno matter whatsback then either. How about I cook you dinner, darling, and you tell me what brought you here?”

Vi actually looked around herself on instinct and immediately felt ashamed of her own gesture. She hunched her shoulders, but Chiara just tsked and then tugged her by the hand to the far corner of the studio. Vi sighed at the continued skin-to-skin contact that felt so good. Too good.

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