Page 7 of These Thin Lines

An elbow to her ribs rather rudely interrupted said fascination.

“Honestly, kiddo. Stop with the staring. We get it. You actually did have her posters on your wall.” Aoife’s smile cushioned the sting of the words somewhat.

“Don’t let her bully you, Ms. Courtenay.” Chiara came back to them and laid her chin on Aoife’s head, affectionately hugging her from behind. Vi felt the envy at the ease of their touch in her bones. And then the anger at her own need for affection singed her stomach even as she tried not to turn away.

“Hey, hey, I may be a short-arse, but there’s no need for such a public display of superiority, Conti!” Aoife bristled and half-heartedly tried to extricate herself from the embrace.

“There’s no ‘may be’ about you being short, Sully.” Chiara’s laughter was bright and unrestrained, peels of it echoing across the studio’s tall ceiling, and to Vi’s surprise, Aoife stopped struggling and allowed herself to be held, turning around and burying her face in Chiara’s shoulder.

Chiara just tsked and pulled her closer. The poison of envy dissipated, and Vi soaked in the happiness and genuine affection. She just wished she could bask in the sunshine that radiated off Chiara a little bit, her locks catching the glint of the beams of light trickling through the small forest of post-its and her eyes alight with humor and mischief.

“You have an eye, Ms. Courtenay. For what I don’t yet know. And given that I’ve read your CV and found no visual artistic pursuits of any kind in there, I am intrigued by it. Do you draw?”

Chiara’s amusement remained evident in her tone, but the eyes had turned shrewd on a dime, assessing, as if looking right through Vi, who really wanted to explain her nascent attempts at photography mostly hidden from her family who’d deride them for their amateurism, but the words did not come. She wasn’t any good at any of that, anyway.

And when she shrugged, unable to really voice how much that eye for things and drawing had gotten her into trouble and ridiculed as a child, the shrewdness was replaced with understanding. The soft, warm expression of a person meeting one of their own. Like knowing, like recognition. Of what, Vi had no idea, but the gaze made her want to confess all her sins and some that weren’t her own at all.

She shook her head and took a deep breath. This was getting absurd. How would Chiara know? How could she see? Chiara’s sketch showed so much skill and talent, there was no way… Distracted by her own musings and worries, Vi missed Chiara moving closer to her.

And then, just because it seemed to be Vi’s lucky day—her falling flat on her face already forgotten—she was suddenly enveloped in those gentle, willowy arms herself, Aoife cackling next to them, and Chiara’s voice, low and so warm, murmured in her ear.

“We will have to explore this penchant of yours. It’s quite ingenious that you’ve given me direction with one word. That, with one glance, you saw and understood thatsomethingthat was inside of me yet eluded me.” And there was that word again.Understanding.

Her brain wanted to latch on to it, except all her senses were overwhelmed. That hunger, that starvation-like longing for a touch, was currently being sated with soft skin gliding over hers as Chiara’s fingertips cheerfully ran along the nape of her neck, making her want to sob. How long had it been?

Vi stood very still in Chiara’s embrace, afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Afraid to make a sound, because this surely had to be a dream and she would wake up at any moment alone in her bed.

Chiara’s voice had her by the throat.

“You’ve given me something precious today, so you deserve a hug as well.”

“Aww, this is so sweet. The newbie gets a very warm welcome indeed, as I see. Are we celebrating something?” And just like that, the dreamlike state was broken like glass into jagged, painful slivers, as a loud, abrasive voice she’d heard just half an hour earlier interrupted.

Frankie swaggered in, her boots loud on the polished, oaken floors. Vi stilled, apprehensive about whatever would come next, but Frankie made no other comment about Chiara still holding her in her arms and instead zeroed in on the sketch.

“Not this again!” The unpleasant voice rose, scratchy and rough. “I thought you were hugging it out because you finally managed to figure things out for the next spring concept. And you’re still stuck onthiscrap? Is this you being hyper-focused again? Just take something and stop this, Chiara!”

Hyper-focus?

As she was trying to form cogent thoughts among the confusion and the cotton clouding her mind, Vi could swear she heard Aoife actually growl. Before anyone could say anything, Chiara let go of Vi and moved towards Frankie, who raised her hands in surrender and leaned in to give her wife a rather long, sloppy, and thoroughly inappropriate kiss, considering Vi’s proximity and Aoife’s presence in the room.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just a lot of stress. Nothing came to me either, even if I did lock myself in the office, and we’re getting rather close to the start of the campaign for the spring collection. Poise and the rest of those scavengers will be knocking on our door any moment now, and I’m not telling them that the best fashion house in Europe doesn’t even have a concept to draw from.”

If Chiara had been serene and radiant before, all open smiles and joyful laughter, then Vi thought the light had been turned off the moment Frankie metaphorically stomped all over the sketch. Her eyes were shadowed as she slowly and carefully took the paper out of Frankie’s hands.

“We will figure things out.” Chiara’s tone was resigned, conciliatory even, as her eyes returned to their earlier sadness. “We always do. How was your day?”

And now Vi did feel like she was indeed intruding. On something she not only had no business being privy to but also had no wish to see. As if reading her thoughts, Aoife tugged on her arm and unceremoniously dragged her out of the room.

The last thing Vi saw was Frankie enveloping Chiara in an awkward embrace, to which Chiara reluctantly submitted, before relaxing into her wife’s arms and wrapping her own around Frankie’s shoulders.

* * *

“… that bloody...”All the way down to the second floor production studio, Vi was catching snippets of mumblings coming from Aoife who was now several steps ahead of her, despite Vi’s much longer legs.

“… had I not sworn to shut up… disrespectful bitch…”

As they finally entered Aoife’s space, Vi decided to take matters into her own hands. “Hey, that seems to be a fascinating subject you’re discussing there, Ms. Sullivan. Do you want to share with the class?”

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