Page 84 of These Thin Lines

The light in those wondrous eyes dimmed with such starkness and speed, Chiara gasped.

“Well, here’s me putting my foot into it twice in one day.” She tapped two fingers on her lip, thinking how to proceed. Except the truth was always more expedient. And she had fewer difficulties wielding it than any lies she ever could.

“Last night was a revelation, Vi. In more ways than one, and not just that you mumble rather endearingly in your sleep.”

Predictably, that made Vi’s smile appear again, and Chiara soldiered on, regretting now that she’d even waded into these accursed waters of Vi’s familial trauma.

“They were awful to you. Well, he was, since I don’t imagine you exist for her on this planet. I’m so sorry.”

Vi’s shoulders sagged before she drew a long breath and bit her lip. She looked like she was weighing the words, or even the decision of saying them at all. Chiara sat silently, counting in her head, feeling her heartbeat match the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Finally, after another measured breath that seemed to come from a place deeper than Vi’s chest, she spoke haltingly.

“I’ve cut them off.” The teeth bit harder into that plump lower lip, and Chiara felt her own throb in sympathy. “After Paris.” A gulp and another sigh. “I’ve not seen them since. And I don’t interact with them at all. I’ve been very careful to avoid them at all costs, no matter how…” She trailed off, and Chiara had a distinct notion that the Courtenays had been making life unbearable for Vi, in spite of being away from her.

“So it was just a shock to see him.” The change to the singular pronoun wasn’t lost on Chiara. No, she herself didn’t know her father, but she understood love for one’s parent. Knew how deep it went. How unfair it was in most cases.

Something in Vi’s words pulled at her, tempting her to pry, to ask more.

After Paris… After what?

But with the continued overwhelming pain behind her eyes and at the base of her skull, everything felt murky. And one look at Vi told Chiara that, although she may be the one struggling with a migraine, she wasn’t the only one in pain.

And so she chose not to prod any further. Vi would either tell her more, or she wouldn’t.

As it was, Chiara had seen and heard enough to understand a few things. Others she did not, as the elusive thread of premonition once again simultaneously seemed close and far.

She chose to change the subject.

“By the way, in answer to your earlier question, I feel fine.”

Vi looked up, a speculative eyebrow in such contrast with the relaxing shoulders, Chiara wanted to laugh. She almost did.

“I have seen dead people who looked finer, Chiara.”

“My, no wonder all these Manhattan women are dying for you to get into their knickers, Vi, I mean the sweet talking alone…” Chiara waved her hand dismissively, but Vi simply caught it between hers and intertwined their fingers, stilling the motion entirely.

“This is the second time you’ve brought up my romantic exploits, and I sense perhaps you have some hangups about me not living like a nun for the past five years—”

Chiara swallowed hard.

“I don’t care how many women you’ve slept with, Vi—”

“Good, because it’s no one’s business but my own and that of the women everyone keeps throwing in my face.” The steady rhythm of Vi’s voice was doing something to Chiara’s stomach. Surely it must be anger. She was making Chiara really mad. By flaunting it all in Chiara’s face… Yes, anger. It was only anger she was feeling. Either that or the pills were making her nauseous. And no, her vision was definitely not turning green at the edges. She had no right, just because she had suddenly realized that she had feelings for Vi.

“Surely, you’ve lived as you please.” Another reasonable argument from Vi, one to which Chiara would sooner drop dead than reveal she had not taken anyone else to her bed—or her wall, or her desk or whatever other surface may have been available—since Vi.

No, better dead than to confess to something like that to the one woman who’d had her last, and who, in all honesty, had her in the one and truest form that mattered. Five years ago and now.

“It’s none of your business how I’ve lived, Vi.” Her voice could really rival the muscles in her neck, taut and full of knots.

“Well then, we are in agreement.”

Again that reasonable, calm tone. Chiara was getting tired of being lectured. Yes, she knew she was being petulant, but she didn’t care how it looked.

She tugged at her hand, still held loosely by those long, once again warm fingers, ready to get up and seek refuge in her bedroom. Except Vi didn’t let her go. Instead, she tightened the hold, making Chiara’s eyes fly up to meet hers.

“What we seem to be in disagreement about, however, is our current arrangement.”

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