1. Once Upon a Fairytale #2
Vi had enough Italian to understand the remark.
Courteous. Yes, it was quite the courtesy to fall flat on your face in front of the lady of the house.
And she probably should have fixed her clothes, or her face, or put her shoe back on.
Really, done something other than stare.
But the voice… silk over steel with a note of…
melancholy, was it? The voice had her enraptured.
It had her imagining slaying whatever dragons were making this princess sad.
Then the massive amber eyes crinkled at the corners, the beautiful crow’s feet deepening, and an eyebrow rose up regally. Not a Princess then, a Queen. Would genuflecting be too much?
“Take a picture, darling. It will last longer. Though judging by the suspenders, you probably had several of mine on your wall growing up.”
The words were sarcastic, but the smile curving the wide mouth grew warmer.
Vi stupidly found herself smiling back. Of course she’d be pegged as a lesbian.
She’d long ago stopped pretending to be something she wasn’t.
But this was impressive gaydar, nonetheless.
And of course it would be this woman who’d be in possession of it. Chiara. The Chiara.
Still, Vi didn’t think she was necessarily telegraphing anything.
She’d pulled back her long, auburn curls and covered her freckles with makeup.
Her outfit was straight enough that her father hadn’t rolled his eyes at her when she’d stopped by his house earlier.
She did sneak the suspenders under the blazer, so maybe…
Then she remembered that she was in the presence of lesbian royalty, and figured being seen and being known was nothing unusual within these walls. Which made her both terrified and brave—never a good combination for Vi, because it led to her saying inane things.
“I might have. This surely proves my good taste.”
Silence reigned, and the smiling mouth opened just a touch in obvious shock at the brazenness—or stupidity—of the remark. Vi wanted to sink through the carpet. She was desperate enough to disappear that she’d dig her way through the marble underneath.
But then the smile bloomed fully, and the silence was broken by gorgeous, deep laughter, sincere and contagious.
Vi stared before averting her eyes. Of all the times to so boldly exhibit her innate clumsiness and foot-in-mouth disease, today was not the day to do it.
Today was important, her one chance to make something of herself, a chance so rare she hadn’t even been sure her father would ever allow it, yet he had, and the gravity of her situation weighed heavily on her.
Still, as she peeked from under her lashes, the object of her befuddlement winked at her. Vi felt the tips of her ears go pink.
And then, as she sat awkwardly on the soft carpet, sinking deeper into the woolen luxury, the woman from her posters knelt down beside her, and long fingers gently encircled her ankle, sliding her foot into the runaway sneaker.
Vi hyperventilated and was fairly certain Chiara could feel the pulse hammering under her skin where the cool fingers touched her. The smug lift of the lips told her as much, and as the graceful hand offered to pull her up, Vi felt her color turn ruddy.
“My god, she’s delicious. And ridiculous. Aren’t you, love? Who might you be?”
Belatedly, Vi realized there were other people in the room.
Two, in fact. The one speaking with a pronounced Irish accent was much shorter, with wild hair and wilder clothes.
Was she really wearing an elaborate wife-beater?
But her eyes were kind, even if Vi could tell they were laughing at her.
Little devils played in them, twinkling and teasing, and Vi found herself grinning.
“I think this is our new summer intern, Aoife. Consider acting professionally. We don’t need lawsuits.
Of any kind…” The words sounded ominous, and this woman was taller, statelier, and older.
The severe, no-nonsense face was devoid of the mischief so easily found in the other two women who were looking at Vi.
“Oh, oh, the Courtenay!” Aoife made a gesture that Vi could only assume was some kind of elaborate curtsey. Vi felt like sinking through the floor from a different kind of embarrassment.
“Sully…” Now Chiara’s velvety voice had a tone of warning in it, and Vi’s eyes followed the staying, long-fingered hand laid on Aoife’s forearm. Vi licked her lips. Such a simple gesture, it made her envious. Not of Aoife and not of Chiara, but of the ease to touch and be touched by another person.
“Ms. Courtenay, welcome to Lilien Haus of Fashion. This is Renate Lilienfeld, the company’s financial director.”
Renate inclined her head, but didn’t offer her hand, and Vi was silently glad she hadn’t stuck hers out like an overeager kid.
Perfectly comfortable with the other woman’s brusque manner, Chiara went on.
“This is Aoife Sullivan, head of production. She’s in charge, so be afraid.” After an awkward beat, all three women laughed. Aoife had no misgivings about pumping Vi’s hand several times, the shake strong and warm. Vi unclenched her jaw.
“Yeah, not so much. But you’re gonna be with me, kiddo. So stick close.” The Irish accent was strong, musical to Vi’s ear.
“Regardless of what she says, Ms. Courtenay, I’d listen. Though perhaps, only believe half of her stories.” As she spoke, Chiara’s wide, amber eyes looked at her with so much playfulness, Vi swallowed nervously and wanted to tug on her non-existent tie. Was it really this hot in the foyer?
“And I’m Chiara Conti-Lilienfeld. But you already know that. It’s a…” She seemed to be searching for a word, but when she finally spoke, Vi had gotten her confirmation that, not only was the space hot, it was also small and devoid of oxygen. “…Pleasure to meet you.”
Mercy, oh mercy.
“Who’s playing dirty now? Stop messing with my intern’s head and take your amazing ass to the studio, love.
I will see you at lunch.” Before she knew it, Aoife grabbed Vi’s forearm with little ceremony and dragged her towards the massive awning at the end of the hallway.
Vi glimpsed Renate shaking her head at their antics as Chiara’s laughter followed them all the way to the door.
* * *
As they made their way through a series of doors, Vi barely kept up with Aoife.
“Um—”
“Not now, Cinderella. Let me show you around first, and then you can bombard me with all the questions you undoubtedly have.”
“I assume the Cinderella bit will not be going away any time soon?”
Aoife spared her a sideways glance.
“You make that kind of entrance, you get a nickname, and there are only so many times I can call you ‘kiddo’ before I start to feel old, kiddo.”
Finally, Aoife dragged her up two flights of stairs into what looked like a gallery that occupied the entire floor. She pushed Vi inside and turned in a circle.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” She twirled once more, and Vi smiled.
“Not much humble about it—”
“Ha, mouthy. I like you.” Aoife gave her a slap on the shoulder and Vi almost lost her footing. “Puny though. We’ll have to toughen you up some, Courtenay.”
Vi rubbed her shoulder and grimaced.
“It’s Genevieve. Well, Vi.”
“You do realize that I was given power here, kid. Which means I will now proceed to get drunk on it, and so it’s nicknames from here on in, each one more demeaning than the next, all under the guise of not showing my soft and cuddly side.
” Aoife’s eyes danced merrily, and Vi knew she was being messed with.
Strangely, it felt good, like a warm hug of acceptance.
“Yes, because you are a mean and domineering kind of person.” Voice dripping with sarcasm, she looked down at her new supervisor.
“I definitely like you. You speak my language. Sarcasm is underrated, Cinderella, so underrated. So is clumsiness. You got brownie points from me the moment you swan-dived across the threshold. Not Renate, she believes things such as humanity are entirely passe and everyone should be functioning like her beloved Swiss watches. But fortunately, Chiara has many a soft spot for an underdog and a spectacular fall will always endear you to her.”
Vi rubbed the nape of her neck exposed by the messy bun her hair was pulled into.
“I suppose asking if it was at least a graceful swan dive is pointless?”
Aoife laughed and Vi found herself smiling, the sting of embarrassment dissipating.
“I’ve seen bears do smoother pirouettes. But, I was wondering what kind of stuck-up, rich, asshole intern was being sent over to ruin my summer, and that single event dispelled that notion.”
“What, rich, stuck-up assholes don’t fall on their faces?”
“They do. But something tells me you’re not one of those? Fancy-ass ‘niece of the King of Savoy’ lineage aside.”
Vi rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Well, disregarding my fancy-ass family tree, I try not to be either of those things.”
“Either rich or an asshole?” Aoife’s eyes narrowed for a second as she spoke, but she waved her hand at Vi not to answer and the conversation moved on. Vi tried not to exhale her relief too loudly.
“Well, enough small talk. Take a look around. You like?” There was so much pride and pleasure in the voice that Vi didn’t have the heart to tell her she had no idea where she was and what was supposed to be happening. Aoife’s brow was already furrowing.
“From the vacant expression on your face, am I to understand you have no clue what any of this is?”