Page 87 of These Thin Lines

“I bet you are.” Aoife wagged her eyebrows suggestively, then tugged at Chiara’s hand when a knock sounded on the door. “Oh, speak of the devil. And a handsome one.”

Vi stood at the entrance to the apartment, clad in a tuxedo. Frilly lace covered her hands to the knuckle, but there was no sign of a blouse under the jacket. In fact, there was just a wide expanse of completely naked skin under all that gorgeous velvet carelessly being held together by only one button.

Chiara felt her mouth water as Vi took a few strides into the room in four-inch, red-soled heels. After one look at Chiara’s face, Vi tilted her head.

“You’ve been crying?”

Trust Vi to notice things she wasn’t supposed to.

“No!”

“Yes!”

Aoife and Chiara replied at the same time.

“The two of you need to get your stories straight.” Vi raised an eyebrow, and now Chiara wanted to lap at her like a cat would at a bowl of milk.

Binoche chose that very moment to stroll in, slinking her small body against Vi’s leg, who didn’t even blink at the fur being generously transferred onto the expensive-looking tuxedo.

Chiara opened her mouth to say something, but Vi just smiled at the cat’s antics.

“Nice to see you too, Brioche.”

The cat meowed in obvious protest but didn’t move away, rubbing more diligently at the velvet-clad legs.

And when Vi bent down and gave the already purring Binoche an ear scratch, that old yarn holding together Chiara’s chest slowly tore. A stitch, then another, and the protective shell around her heart gave in some more.

If she’d had the notion she could still stop this, still control this after that night in Vi’s bed, listening to her breathe and whimper in her sleep, then the simple gesture of kindness shown to a finicky feline—who immediately proceeded to bite Vi’s fingers—did irreparable damage to that conviction. And now Chiara wasn’t at all certain she’d ever be able to mend what Vi had been steadfastly rending without even realizing it.

* * *

To saythat Arabella knew how to throw a party was an understatement. A larger-than-life version of the cover, with Chiara’s naked shoulders, lace, and eyes that screamed ‘enigma’ even when displayed at this size, surprised her.

She thought she’d had an idea of the direction Vi was heading for with the photoshoot, yet here she was, charmed and disarmed by the woman holding her hand and her breath, waiting for Chiara’s verdict.

“You’ve got such talent, darling.”

The tangled lashes flickered once and the eyes that had held such anguish closed, a smile that looked both unpracticed and sincere playing on the full mouth.

“She’s fantastic, isn’t she?” Arabella’s voice sounded simultaneously bombastic and intimate, as if she was loudly sharing a secret—one meant only for Chiara, even though she was pretty certain half the venue heard them, since several glasses rose in salute.

“That is why I plucked her out of the obscurity she was languishing in years ago, and made her a Poise house photographer, before unleashing her on the world at large. And now Poise and I have to stand in line like simple peasants for a day of her time.”

Vi actually laughed, the sound even rustier than the smile.

“Right. The ‘peasants’ who booked me with a simple phone call a few nights before, for several weeks of a full-on emergency issue that involved me sleeping maybe two hours a night, working on the images?”

“A few nights before?” With her head clear, Chiara latched on to some of the more nuanced details of this conversation.

Arabella had the decency to look sheepish.

“Chiara, would you fault me for believing in myself? In your ambition? For simply realizing you would not be able to say no to me? So very few ever could, after all.” Her eyes flitted to the middle of the ballroom, where Renate was holding court with some people who looked suspiciously like bankers and investors. Arabella’s smile blossomed with such honesty and affection, Chiara blinked.

Well, she would deal with that later, as she would deal with her friend keeping personal secrets from her, because while she hadn’t spent any considerable amount of time with her, she still couldn’t remember the last time Renate had cussed Arabella out and cursed the day she’d darkened their doorstep. Something had clearly given, and it looked like thatsomethingwas Renate.

With that non-apology apology, the matriarch sailed away in a cloud of perfume and small talk, moving on to some familiar faces, leaving Chiara and Vi alone again.

“I’m glad you like it.” Vi’s voice tickled her ear, and Chiara wanted to shiver, wanted to fan herself, because surely the temperature in the room had jumped by a hundred degrees.

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