Page 100 of These Thin Lines

“But I was wrong, wasn’t I, Gwyneth? Look at him. This man? A co-conspirator in commercial espionage? I bet he never even suspected a thing.”

Gwyneth rolled her eyes and sucked on her teeth with disdain.

“Yes, he is rather pathetic for anything, really.”

“Gwen?” For a moment, the silence could have fooled Chiara into thinking that they were alone. Not even breathing could be heard from either of the other two people in the room. But now things were suddenly very loud. Charles' voice booming with sheer shock and his ragged breathing like thunder in the distance.

“What, my dear?” Gwyneth spat the word, then turned away from him, her shoulders completely relaxed, her countenance clear, as if the actual weather was the subject of their conversation, rather than the storm brewing inside the room.

“You like to dress well, and you like to be the center of attention, and you like to be seen for the Earl that you are. Except you squandered everything you had when I married you! And you’re well aware of it, yet you’ve never once asked how it is that there is money in our bank accounts.”

“Gwen—” He was no longer screaming, he was pleading with her, and Chiara looked on in astonishment at how little Gwyneth actually cared. Vi stood completely still, her face impassive, pale as a sheet.

“The camera was connected to the cloud. I had every photo she ever took. And I would have gotten the pictures of the collection from Como, too, except this klutz damaged my Nikon, and I couldn’t get access to them. So no Charles, don’t worry. I didn’t ever need your help. It was already a done deal when you brought back the camera. I had everything I needed the moment Genevieve clicked the shutter. All her sappy infatuation with Chiara, all four months of it. It seems pathetic runs in the family.”

Vi’s eyes that had been hollow now filled with so much rage, Chiara thought she’d be forced to restrain her. But Gwyneth just waved her hand and continued, ignoring the two Courtenays and the hearts that seemed to be breaking all over the threadbare carpet, betrayal and anger evident on both their faces.

“I was the only one who knew what was going on. Her puppy-dog adoration, his obliviousness, and the complete stupor every time he as much as glanced at her—”

“Stop!” And now there was indeed something of an Earl in Charles’ bearing, in the authority with which he stepped between Vi and Gwyneth.

“Father?”

Charles rubbed his face with his thin, bony hands, and when he finally spoke after what seemed like forever, his voice was full of sorrow.

“I could never look at you and not see your mother. You are such a strange child, Genevieve. It’s like genetics were punishing me from the start. I loved her. Her death broke me, and I couldn’t reason that it really wasn’t your fault. That she died to give life to you, but you did nothing wrong. I blamed you for years. I couldn’t stop missing her and then you… You are her! Down to the tips of your ears, to the way you tilt your head, how you sometimes bite your lower lip…”

Gwyneth tsked before speaking up, disgust permeating her voice. “And you couldn’t look away either, my dear. I could have slit my veins in front of you, but if Cinderella was in the room, I didn’t exist, my daughters didn’t exist. And all throughout you wallowed in your grief and in your pathetic ambitions of royalty. Well, someone had to do something. Someone had to take charge. How do you think I single-handedly ensured this family would still be received all over the world?

“Not for long.” The words took so much out of her that Chiara wanted to sag, wanted to curl up on the windowsill like Binoche and just sleep. Twice in one day she’d thought of the finicky cat. She might just buy her a new toy. Although Binoche would probably ignore the toy and play with a pipe cleaner instead. Maybe Chiara should just resign herself to buying packs of them from now on. It would be much cheaper that way.

She was rambling inside her own head, while Charles and Gwyneth were arguing in high-pitched voices, accusations and insults hurled angrily back and forth.

In the meantime, Vi looked so sad and so lost that Chiara went to her.

“How about we take a cab to Mercer Street, darling? I could sleep for a week.” The fingers that she laced hers with were shaking, and Chiara lifted that pale hand to her cheek, cradling it there, warming it up, feeling like Vi was slowly coming back to life, her eyes getting some of their fire back even as her parents were still screaming obscenities at each other.

“I think just for once in my life, I would like to stand my ground, Chiara. You have been doing so much of it. Maybe it’s my turn?” She bared her teeth in something not even closely resembling a smile and tugged her hand free of Chiara’s. Then she strode over to Gwyneth, grabbed her by the forearm and marched her towards the door, Charles being forced to scramble behind the two of them.

The front door slammed, and when Vi came back, she was alone, although the screams were now audible from outside the apartment. But Chiara didn’t care.

“That was… well, hot? It’s the only word that comes to mind.”

And now the smile on Vi’s face was shy and achingly familiar, the girl from five years ago back and here in the room with Chiara, so sweet, so kind, so beloved. Chiara’s chest seemed to crack, and she touched her sternum, trying to hold whatever was escaping in, except there was no more containing it.

“I love you, Vi Courtenay.”

She closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her, feeling that thread gain strength and finding roots of it in Vi’s chest, tying them together, making them whole again after so much wandering and so much fractured misery.

“You weren’t the only one who was wrong that morning in Paris five years ago, darling.”

Vi’s graceful eyebrow lifted, and the smile playing shyly on her lips wobbled. But Chiara would have none of it, so she leaned in and kissed the corner of that mouth, desperately trying to make the joy last. And if not that, then at least taste it, feel it, keep its memory in her own heart.

When she pulled back, she traced the tense jaw with her fingers and looked into Vi’s eyes, trying to convey with every word, with every caress, the truth she’d kept hidden for years.

“I loved you then. I’ve loved you since you fell at my feet and lost your shoe, Cenerella. Some stories are that simple and we are the ones complicating them. Ours should have been easy, straightforward. And then we started crossing all these thin lines, one by one, until they turned into a tangled mess.” She sighed and placed her hands on Vi’s cheeks, thumbs tracing the beloved sharp cheekbones.

“I should have believed you. I should have had faith in you. In your heart. Because I’d known it for months, and it had been the one thing that was true the entire time.”

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