Page 2 of These Thin Lines

The hotels, beyond their majestic beauty, didn’t interest her anyway. Neither did the other fashion houses and their luxurious stores. No, this particular building was why she’d made the long trek to the 1starrondissement. This one had a certainje ne sais quoi…

Her breathing shallowed. There was a stirring in her chest that made her slightly lightheaded. And with it, a premonition arose of something coming, an event, an occurrence that would change everything. A line was about to be crossed. She felt like the second she stepped over the threshold, magic would happen.

And happen it did. Magic. Or something like it. And much more of thatsomethingthan Vi had ever intended. But that also was par for the course for her. Vi’s family didn’t call her ‘clumsy’ on a daily basis for nothing. She had come by that adjective honestly.

In her awe of the place she was finding herself in, Vi knocked, the beautiful lily-shaped knocker heavy and cold in her fingers. And as the door opened, she did what was so in character for her that she didn’t even find it ironic.

She stumbled over her own feet and landed face first on a plush, ivory carpet, which probably saved her from a broken nose. And then Vi just sighed. Or maybe she groaned. Whatever it was, she hoped that unlike her fall—since there wasno hopefor that—whatever sound she’d made had been somewhat graceful at least.

As she stood up and tried to catch her breath, she looked around, then simply closed her eyes. In her relief over her unbroken face, Vi realized she had lost her shoe, the too-big-for-her good-as-new Converse from the secondhand store down the street from her apartment sliding easily off her socked foot and landing somewhere in front of her in the vast expanse of the foyer.

She said a silent prayer to whichever guardian angel of hers was on duty that day. Vi needed her wits about her. She touched her face. Her glasses seemed intact. But as she squinted and tried to fix them from their crooked position, her last cogent thought was that it must have been the wrong angel—a very amorous one and not the sanguine one she desperately needed.

All her proper musings evaporated, and only the improper ones remained. She was looking at the most beautiful woman in the world. Universe. What was bigger than a universe? Something, surely, because the woman was… Ethereal. And she was looking straight at Vi with the ghost of a smile on her incredible face.

The early morning light landed on the chiseled sharp features, caressing those planes and angles of cheekbone and jaw, and Vi was mesmerized by the play of shadows, hiding the familiarity of the face. But even in her flustered and embarrassed state, Vi knew this woman.

“Che cortese… You certainly know how to make an entrance, Cinderella.”

Vi had enough Italian to understand the remark. Courteous. Yes, it was quite the courtesy to fall flat on your face in front of the lady of the house. And she probably should have fixed her clothes, or her face, or put her shoe back on. Really, done something other than stare. But the voice… silk over steel with a note of… melancholy, was it? The voice had her enraptured. It had her imagining slaying whatever dragons were making this princess sad.

Then the massive amber eyes crinkled at the corners, the beautiful crow’s feet deepening, and an eyebrow rose up regally. Not a Princess then, a Queen. Would genuflecting be too much?

“Take a picture, darling. It will last longer. Though judging by the suspenders, you probably had several of mine on your wall growing up.”

The words were sarcastic, but the smile curving the wide mouth grew warmer. Vi stupidly found herself smiling back. Of course she’d be pegged as a lesbian. She’d long ago stopped pretending to be something she wasn’t. But this was impressive gaydar, nonetheless. And of course it would be this woman who’d be in possession of it. Chiara.The Chiara.

Still, Vi didn’t think she was necessarily telegraphing anything. She’d pulled back her long, auburn curls and covered her freckles with makeup. Her outfit was straight enough that her father hadn’t rolled his eyes at her when she’d stopped by his house earlier. She did sneak the suspenders under the blazer, so maybe…

Then she remembered that she was in the presence of lesbian royalty, and figured being seen and being known was nothing unusual within these walls. Which made her both terrified and brave—never a good combination for Vi, because it led to her saying inane things.

“I might have. This surely proves my good taste.”

Silence reigned, and the smiling mouth opened just a touch in obvious shock at the brazenness—or stupidity—of the remark. Vi wanted to sink through the carpet. She was desperate enough to disappear that she’d dig her way through the marble underneath.

But then the smile bloomed fully, and the silence was broken by gorgeous, deep laughter, sincere and contagious.

Vi stared before averting her eyes. Of all the times to so boldly exhibit her innate clumsiness and foot-in-mouth disease, today was not the day to do it. Today was important, her one chance to make something of herself, a chance so rare she hadn’t even been sure her father would ever allow it, yet he had, and the gravity of her situation weighed heavily on her. Still, as she peeked from under her lashes, the object of her befuddlement winked at her. Vi felt the tips of her ears go pink.

And then, as she sat awkwardly on the soft carpet, sinking deeper into the woolen luxury, the woman from her posters knelt down beside her, and long fingers gently encircled her ankle, sliding her foot into the runaway sneaker.

Vi hyperventilated and was fairly certain Chiara could feel the pulse hammering under her skin where the cool fingers touched her. The smug lift of the lips told her as much, and as the graceful hand offered to pull her up, Vi felt her color turn ruddy.

“My god, she’s delicious. And ridiculous. Aren’t you, love? Who might you be?”

Belatedly, Vi realized there were other people in the room. Two, in fact. The one speaking with a pronounced Irish accent was much shorter, with wild hair and wilder clothes.Was she really wearing an elaborate wife-beater?But her eyes were kind, even if Vi could tell they were laughing at her. Little devils played in them, twinkling and teasing, and Vi found herself grinning.

“I think this is our new summer intern, Aoife. Consider acting professionally. We don’t need lawsuits. Of any kind…” The words sounded ominous, and this woman was taller, statelier, and older. The severe, no-nonsense face was devoid of the mischief so easily found in the other two women who were looking at Vi.

“Oh, oh, the Courtenay!” Aoife made a gesture that Vi could only assume was some kind of elaborate curtsey. Vi felt like sinking through the floor from a different kind of embarrassment.

“Sully…” Now Chiara’s velvety voice had a tone of warning in it, and Vi’s eyes followed the staying, long-fingered hand laid on Aoife’s forearm. Vi licked her lips. Such a simple gesture, it made her envious. Not of Aoife and not of Chiara, but of the ease to touch and be touched by another person.

“Ms. Courtenay, welcome to Lilien Haus of Fashion. This is Renate Lilienfeld, the company’s financial director.”

Renate inclined her head, but didn’t offer her hand, and Vi was silently glad she hadn’t stuck hers out like an overeager kid.

Perfectly comfortable with the other woman’s brusque manner, Chiara went on.

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