Page 81 of These Thin Lines

“Missed you too, sis. And how are you?”

Before Renate could blow a gasket and do anything drastic, such as throw something heavy and sharp at Frankie, Chiara started to take the steps to the studio two at a time and motioned for her ex-wife to follow her.

“Renate, please, I will handle this. Go see if Aoife needs any help—”

“I will do no such thing. I will be right here in case you need assistance or ifshegets up to no good.”

Chiara closed her eyes, counted to ten and kept walking up towards the studio. She didn’t want to let Frankie into her apartment, so her work area with its large, open floor plan would have to do. Plenty of space there to avoid whatever it was her ex-wife was trying to achieve with this early morning, five-years-too-late visit.

“I love what you’ve done with the place, Chiara. Though I have to say that this is like running a gauntlet before reaching Sleeping Beauty. All those dragons downstairs…” Frankie laughed again, the low, raspy tones of the familiar sound doing nothing to calm Chiara’s thundering heart.

A second later, Frankie yelped and clutched at her ankle as Binoche stubbornly swiped at her. The sound of the angry cat, the curses of Frankie trying to protect herself, along with the shouts emanating from downstairs as Renate and Aoife sparred over something in the showroom, started to overwhelm Chiara.

Yesterday’s clothes chafed, seeming too small and suddenly uncomfortable. The level of the sounds coming at her from everywhere made her want to put her hands over her ears. But she couldn’t do that, no matter how much she wanted to. Instead, she scooped up Binoche and glared at Frankie.

“I’m exhausted, I didn’t get any sleep last night, and I have a very long day ahead of me. So before I sic the cat on you again, why are you here, Frankie?”

Binoche squirmed in her hold, but she figured it was premature to let her go just yet. Not that she pitied Frankie’s ankles, which, by the looks of them, had taken considerable abuse from the cat’s attack. But another round of screeching and yelping would simply be too much, regardless of the sadistic pleasure she might deride from allowing the protective feline to have one more go.

Frankie straightened and looked Chiara dead in the eye, hands finding her trousers’ pockets.

“I’m here foryou.”

Well, maybe she should give Binoche one more shot after all. Especially when Frankie was talking nonsense like this.

“Here for me?” She repeated, trying to process her ex-wife’s point even as the meaning of the sentence was all too clear to her tired mind.

“I want you back, and I am prepared to do whatever it takes.” Mindful of the cat, Frankie approached Chiara carefully, laying a hand on her cheek. A sudden movement in the doorway interrupted Binoche’s loud meow.

“You forgot your phone at my place, Chiara. And I’m sorry I was still too out of it to see you on your way this morn…”

Vi trailed off, seeing Frankie standing much too close, her hand still on Chiara’s face, and the devastation in those beautiful features, still pale and bearing the signs of yesterday’s disastrous encounter, was painful to observe.

Frankie gave Vi a long once-over and raised an insouciant eyebrow at Chiara, who wanted to bang her head against the wall. Frustration, exhaustion, and guilt over Vi seeing her with Frankie were bubbling inside her.

On cue, sensing Chiara’s mood, Binoche made a valiant leap onto the floor, and with one last swipe at Frankie, stalked towards Vi, who scooped her up gently, and in whose arms the cat started to purr loudly.

The same cat who had completely ignored Vi when she’d been there before, the one who hated absolutely everyone, was taking sides?Well, wasn’t this swell?

“Courtenay.” Frankie’s tone was measured, but Chiara could hear the territorial inflection in it.

“Frankie.” Vi’s own voice landed somewhere between Chiara’s exhaustion and pure rawness. Somewhere very close to pain.

“I see you’ve done very well for yourself…” Frankie had been so restrained, so careful with how she spoke to Renate, and even to Aoife, despite the anger that Chiara sensed boiling under that sheen of carelessness. But now Chiara knew the veneer was cracking and that Frankie’s restraint had reached its tether’s end.

She could tell what was coming next, and she was all too aware that Frankie would not care about the collateral damage she was making of Vi as she aimed her guns at her. “Photographer extraordinaire about town. Major publications. Too bad not a lot of people know you started your career in the yellow, paparazzi-fueled rags.”

Frankie stared at Vi with raised eyebrows. Yes, she still gave no thought or quarter to any bystanders when she was vengeful. Vi scratched Binoche one last time before carefully setting her behind her and standing back up, just a touch taller, shoulders tense and hands in her pockets. Her thoughts racing, Chiara desperately tried to say something, even as Frankie continued.

“You had this sick obsession with my wife five years ago, and I see you finally took your shot—”

“Frankie!” Chiara’s own voice sounded hoarse, her throat scraped raw.

God, was it only eight am? Would this day ever end?

“I’m sorry, Chiara.” It was a very close call on what offended Chiara more, the insults to Vi or the meekness of Frankie’s insincere apology given with down-turned eyes and hard-set mouth.

“Vi… Thank you for the…” She tried to remember what she was thanking Vi for. She hadn’t had her meds yet, and everything was so jumbled, she wanted to curl up and sleep for a week.

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