Page 35 of These Thin Lines

Just then, the trill of her phone sounded from her messenger bag and interrupted the tension. She all but flew to the sofa, pulling out the ringing device.

“Hi Chiara.”

The room froze and fell silent. Vi wanted to laugh again at how these people, who claimed blue blood in their veins, were so easily impressed by a famous name.

“I apologize for interrupting what I’m sure is an exciting evening, Ms. Courtenay—” Vi wanted to wrap herself in the low notes of that velvety voice.

“No, no, please, how can I help you?” Her father’s face lost some of its rigidity, and he sat back down, his eyes gleaming with a light Vi did not like at all. In fact, this avariciousness where Vi’s employment was concerned gave her a decidedly ominous feeling.

On the other hand, Gwyneth was watching her with a curious expression of something very close to actual approval.

“I was wondering if you have a gown to wear for the Blackthorne Ball.” The voice sounded far away, like Vi was on speaker while Chiara was doing something at a distance from the phone. Which she probably was. The woman was always working.

“A gown for the Blackthorne Ball? I am sure I will find something?” She felt ridiculous repeating, but Gwyneth’s expression grew even warmer, and she nodded slightly. It seemed like, for the first time in a long time, she had done something right.

“All right, then, Ms. Courtenay. But if you’d like my help to alter it, since I imagine it won’t be yours…”

Gwyneth must have guessed what was going on, because she smiled wanly and nodded again as Vi hurried to answer. “Yes, yes, that’s very generous… I will stop by tom—” Gwyneth’s frown had Vi coughing and correcting course, “Tonight! If you’re still at Lilien Haus?” Gwyneth had gotten up and motioned for Vi to follow her. Chiara chuckled in her ear, and it sent shivers down Vi’s spine. As if intuiting her predicament, Gwyneth just shook her head.

“I will see you soon then, Ms. Courtenay.” The line went dead, and Vi found herself in the inner sanctum. Gwyneth’s closet. It was probably larger than Vi’s shoebox apartment. Granted, the closet did also house several hundred shoeboxes.

She stood gawking, since the abundance of riches filling every cubbyhole, every shelf, never ceased to amaze her. Gwyneth returned with a long garment bag, the logo unmistakable on the front.

Vi’s eyes went wide, but Gwyneth simply handed it to her and turned off the light in the magnificent space.

“As your father is prone to say—though god knows why, since you never listen to him anyway—don’t screw up, Genevieve.”

* * *

Vi skipped morethan walked the few blocks to Rue Saint-Honoré, the gown in the garment bag giving her wings better than any energy drink ever could.

“I’m going to the ball!” She yelled as she passed Zizou who was quietly smoking on his corner and just shrugged, extinguishing his cigarette before motioning for her to wait. He went inside and returned a few minutes later with a small basket that resembled the traditional picnic variety. Indeed, a corner of a baguette was sticking out of it, and a checkered red and white cloth covered the rest.

“Leftovers. No olives. Now run along,” he grouched at her after practically shoving the basket in her hands.

“Zou…”

“Monsieur Zizou to you.” He tsked and lit another cigarette, waving her away. “And make sure Madame Conti eats something. She’s wasting away.”

Ah, Vi almost smiled. Almost. But who’d understand Zizou, who had the most obvious case of pining for Madame Conti, better than she did? The fact that he flat-out refused to call her anything other than “Madame Conti” warmed Vi’s heart.

Take that, Frankie!

And she would make sure his request, worded more like an order, would be fulfilled.Madame Contiwould eat tonight, because despite her always taking care of others, she never looked after herself. Must be all the herding-of-dragons skills she mentioned. Vi smiled at that. Only Chiara could make something challenging endearing.

* * *

Which was a travesty,really, Vi thought as Chiara unpacked the basket and her eyes danced with merriment and delight. Someone should imprint those emotions on this beautiful face, because Chiara, above all, deserved to be happy. It suited her so well.

Binoche made herself a nuisance around their ankles, despite her bowl being full to the brim with wet food. Vi gave her a meaningful look, but the cat studiously ignored her by loudly demanding her due from her mistress. Chiara, in turn, chose not to pay attention to the little chocolate ball in favor of discovering the treasures Zizou had bestowed upon them.

“He’s a good man, Zizou. Surly, but good. And for whatever else, he is an amazing cook.” Chiara took out several carefully wrapped items. Vi preferred to look at the beautiful hands rather than at the food. Then what Chiara said caught up with her.

“Whatever else?”

Chiara stopped halfway into inventorying the basket, but the smile that followed didn’t reach her eyes.

“He’s a man of mystery and a Jack of many trades, Ms. Courtenay. Just… don’t cross him.”

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