Page 29 of These Thin Lines

“Oh, don’t worry, they are still the only balls that make anything better. The fact that you’ve eaten five by now just proves my point.” Vi startled and then laughed, guffawing, trying not to choke. “If you think I didn’t count, you are deluding yourself. I know I’m a good cook. And it’s obvious you love my food.”

God, that confidence. So sexy. So damn attractive.

“I’m not denying anything. I mean, after five meatballs, I have no defense left, ma’am. You’re fantastic at this. At a great many other things, I reckon…” Vi trailed off, uncertain how her words would be received. She desperately hoped Chiara wouldn’t think she was out of line. Because she really wasn’t flirting, she wasn’t, she meant—

“Fashion?” Chiara gestured towards the studio’s lights with her fork, and to the numerous workstations where her designs lay in various states of readiness. The ivory gown that Vi had modeled for alterations was separated from the rest, now on a mannequin, like a beacon, drawing Vi’s gaze. It was just so different from everything else, and she couldn’t help but find it the most beautiful thing in the room.

Its creator aside.

“Vision.” Vi hadn’t known what she was going to say until it was out of her mouth, and she wondered about this affliction she was developing—especially around Chiara—and whether it was her nascent feelings or the calm and kindness of her interlocutor that compelled her to speak her mind.

“That’s very kind, Ms. Courtenay.” Chiara averted her eyes as she spoke, and before Vi could say anything else, rose and took her plate to the sink.

“I am sorry if I upset you. Again, I must say. I didn’t mean to now, and I certainly did not mean to last time.”

When Chiara turned to her, hands under the running faucet, her smile was wistful. “You didn’t. I think I might have overreacted then, and it’s in the past now, anyway. And no, you did nothing wrong just now, either. You know how, when you hear something for the first time in a long time, it usually catches you unawares?”

Vi furrowed her brow. “Something?”

Chiara turned back to the sink, her shoulders tense and any trace of humor disappeared from her voice when she spoke.

“Apologies.”

Vi almost tumbled off her stool, her bare feet slipping on the small stainless steel support, disturbing the lounging Binoche, and this time Chiara’s smile was a touch indulgent as Vi approached her with her own plate.

“I’m surprised you’re not all black and blue, the way you go through life, Vi.” She said it quietly, and there was so much kindness in those words, in sharp relief from the earlier taunts of her stepsisters, Vi’s eyes filled again. So she just stood there as Chiara rinsed her plate and closed the dishwasher before turning to her fully.

The sob caught in her chest, the full comfort of being seen and understood descending upon her like a weighted blanket, as a graceful hand lifted, and Chiara’s fingers smoothed the frown line between her brows.

“You are still so tender. Come. With your clothes in the dryer, you’re my prisoner for a bit longer. Would you help me with the gown again? I swear I get some of my best ideas when you’re wearing my work.” She said the last part as she took Vi’s hand, but did not tug, and Vi sighed.

Chiara, despite her words, was still giving her a choice, to say no, to leave. And after her dinner with her family, where she couldn’t even leave the table to go to the bathroom without being interrogated by her father, she felt her chest expand.

And so she was the one to tug on Chiara’s hand. They reached the mannequin, and Chiara gently removed the gown, handing it to Vi. “Can you manage to put it on yourself? Without rending it, if at all possible?”

“I’ve been dressing myself since I was about three, I think?”

“Ah, sarcasm, a fool’s clutch, Ms. Courtenay. Go get dressed, shout for me if you get stuck.”

Not a chance, Vi thought.

* * *

Vi jinxed herself.The gown was still held together by pins among the temporary stitches, and she got pierced by one. Then, as she pulled it over her, the unmistakable sound of something rending followed.

“Uh-oh—” She was tempted to smack herself over the forehead and might have, if her arms weren’t stuck inside the fabric that was covering her face. But the second she opened her mouth, Chiara’s footsteps could be heard hurrying towards her.

“Ms. Courtenay, don’t tell me…” She stopped on the other side of the divider still guarding Vi’s modesty, which was honestly dwindling by the second. In her panties and bra, the gown now a tangle, half on, half hanging off her arms, Vi closed her eyes and surrendered to her fate.

“How about I won’t tell you, but you come in and see for yourself?” There was a sound of the divider sliding open, and then a deep, exasperated sigh. Maybe Chiara would let her live or even leave? Vi was beyond embarrassed, and for some reason, her sense of self-preservation was taking a back seat to her desire not to go. To not cut her time with this woman short just yet, even if it was at the cost of her own humiliation.

But Chiara didn’t humiliate her. The sigh was followed by a few words that sounded suspiciously like “diamine,” but despite understanding very little of the murmured curses, Vi felt the warm palm on her shoulder blade through the material of the gown. The touch turned into a careful pull as Chiara delicately guided her back under the studio lights. Through the material over her eyes, Vi could see the bright lights and the outline of her savior standing in front of her.

“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin it? If you could just help me get it off, I’ll pay to replace the material—“

“Shhh, Ms. Courtenay.” The warm hands were back now, and the gown was tenderly, almost reverently, pulled off her face, then down her body. Finally, as she opened her eyes, she saw Chiara now on her knees, tugging the tangled and certainly mangled gown past her hips—which were only covered by a flimsy, lacy pair of boy shorts—then down her thighs and calves. Vi’s brain promptly short-circuited.

Chiara was very careful with Vi’s naked skin, despite there being so much of it on display, and she was grateful for that. But even as the skillful fingertips turned and straightened and pulled, Vi could feel their lingering touch.

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