5. Once Upon an Unraveling
ONCE UPON AN UNRAVELING
G enevieve Courtenay wasn’t a blushing teenager, but she would bet the color of her cheeks was so intense, it could paint the entire length of the Champs-élysées. And there would probably be quite a bit left.
Had she heard Chiara right?
Strip?
What?
Instead of helping center her, a low chuckle from the woman who’d caused this state of utter panic only made her thoughts scatter more. Chiara was looking at her with such amusement, Vi got a bit offended. Binoche was characteristically unperturbed.
“Ms. Courtenay, really, you fluster too easily. A woman of your illustrious lineage should not jump to the puerile this quickly.” Chiara laughed again. “You mentioned wanting to help. Is that offer still on the table?”
“Y-yes.” Vi tried to hide her stammer behind a cough.
“Well then, strip.” Chiara’s graceful hand made a sweeping gesture across her body, and Vi almost spontaneously combusted. “The dress isn’t entirely ruined, but to change the shape and to see how it moves, I need a live model. And you’re about the right size.”
When Vi just kept staring at her, mouth agape, Chiara let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, how about this? If your offer to help still stands, would you mind modeling the dress for me as I start making the necessary changes?”
The lightbulb went on. Binoche meowed, surely in disgust at her slowness, and Vi actually sagged, whether in relief or disappointment, she couldn’t immediately comprehend.
Given the course her life had taken, when all else failed, Vi thought the least she could do was to hang on for this unbelievable ride she was on.
Where it would lead, she had no idea, and if given more time to think, she’d perhaps realize it would take her straight to hell, but Vi did not, in fact, want to think about it.
So instead, she decided to hold on, because Chiara was watching her with those expressive eyes from under the few flyaways, and Vi’s heart, being the traitor that it was, thudded once and then again. How screwed was she?
“No, err, yes! I mean no, I don’t mind and yes, I’ll help!
” Vi registered that she was rambling, so she took a long breath and nodded eagerly.
Her hands reached the top button of her shirt almost automatically, and Chiara actually threw her head back, exposing the long line of her slender throat, and let out another peel of laughter.
“You are adorable, Cenerella. There’s a rack over there and there are a couple of slips, since I assume you aren’t wearing a camisole under the haute couture that is your GAP button down?”
Chiara’s adorable giggle accompanied Vi to the corner of the studio where a changing screen was set up.
To avoid feeling self-conscious, Vi latched on to something Chiara had said.
“Cenerella?” She had to raise her voice slightly and dropped her shirt when Chiara’s answer sounded just from beyond the paper thin screen.
“It’s one of the ways to say Cinderella in Italian.
But it also goes so well with your eyes.
It comes from the word cenere , meaning ash .
” Vi trembled, unsure if it was from Chiara’s proximity while she was almost naked or from the fact that Chiara had noticed the color of her eyes.
She decided that she really should stop asking questions that would only lead to more trouble and got busy dressing.
The silk of the slip felt strange and decadent on Vi’s skin as she put it on and padded barefoot towards Chiara who was holding the remainder of the dress with such care, Vi’s eyes pricked with tears.
As Chiara slipped the garment over Vi’s head, her predicament finally hit her. The patchouli and verbena reached her a second before Chiara stepped even closer, and Vi felt her body heat. The earlier prediction of being doomed returned tenfold.
What had she gotten herself into?
“Is this all right?” As if sensing her hesitation, hands particularly gentle, Chiara watched her carefully for any signs of discomfort. How was Vi to tell her that there was none of it, only gay panic?
“Yes, just…” Just what? Just what ? C’mon, brain, a little help. “Cold. A little cold.”
“Oh, hang on, I’ll turn the AC off.” As she stepped back, Vi felt like she could breathe again. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
“It will warm up quickly now. The upper floors can get really hot in the summer, and I tend to either forget and sweat all day or turn on the AC to cool it down quickly and then forget about that too and be cold all the time.”
“But you get the trade-off with the nice view.”
Chiara smiled at that, then her face suddenly turned serious.
“Ms. Courtenay, it occurred to me that I jumped over quite a few steps here.” Vi held her breath, both dreading and anticipating what was to come.
“Consent, darling. It’s paramount. We have way too little of it in our industry.
” Vi’s eyes widened and her throat bobbed as Chiara went on.
“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable and absolutely okay with this.
I am not your boss. You aren’t compelled to do this.
I could use your assistance, and I would appreciate it, but this involves me touching you, and I cannot do that without you being okay with this. ”
Vi wanted to marvel at the thoughtfulness of the words, of the gesture, but her mind screeched to a halt at the image of Chiara working so close to her, on her , in fact, and so she just stood still waiting for what was to come.
“Before you say anything and before I do anything, please know that I will try my best to work as carefully as possible and to touch you strictly the necessary amount.” Vi almost whimpered as the balloon of her daydream was being burst with tact and concern. “So, do we have an understanding?”
Still lost in her disappointment at Chiara’s practicality, Vi just nodded.
“Use your words, Ms. Courtenay.”
Vi could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Had she ever been this turned on with just words?
Mercy…
“Yes, Chiara.”
“Yes what?”
Oh, mercy…
“I consent.” And then, just because, and to try to lighten the tense mood, Vi added, “Do you want it in writing? In duplicate? Notarized? Or should we, you know, get to it already?”
Chiara’s mouth opened and that laughter—the one Vi was becoming addicted to and craved to elicit at all times, the open sincere one—sounded brightly, smokily right next to her ear.
“Touché, Cenerella. Cheeky as always. Let’s… get to it then, as you so eloquently put it.”
Vi decided that, if she was to keep her thoughts at bay about how close Chiara was and about the things her hands were doing, gently brushing against Vi’s body, her best bet was to distract herself.
“Why did you choose the fifth floor? I imagine you had your pick when you bought the building?”
Chiara hummed absently, her mind clearly on the task at hand now, and when she spoke, her voice was muffled around a pin in the corner of her mouth.
“You’d imagine correctly. You know about where I grew up. So very rural. So very rustic.” Chiara pinned a fold on the shoulder, and Vi looked up a bit to see the face in deep thought, a small furrow between the inky eyebrows.
For the first time, Vi noticed a dusting of silver among the stark black on the temple. She forced herself to stand very still as her fingertips itched to trace the few lines. Chiara’s hair looked like satin, shining and so very soft.
“… the idea of a view was very different there than what I have here. I’m grateful for it.
Change is… welcome.” Chiara put a few more pins in her mouth and stepped to the side, and Vi thought the floor was tilting as breasts brushed her arm.
She heard her own breath catch sharply, but the competent hands did not waver.
Vi watched in the tall mirror in the back of the room as Chiara diligently continued her task, her eyes focused on the material.
She wanted to shake herself. Of course she was in this alone. The woman was married. Yes, to an asshole who did not appreciate her. But married nonetheless. She sighed and shook her head. Chiara’s eyes met hers in the mirror.
“What has gotten you sad, Ms. Courtenay? I don’t think I’ve seen you brood much. Joyful, mischievous, scheming to get Aoife’s food out from under her nose, but not brooding. Not that it doesn’t suit you, mind.”
Suddenly, Chiara stepped out of her heels with what could only be called a sigh of relief, and Vi kept watching as their eyes were now level. They were of the same height, and for some reason, her stomach clenched.
“Sorry, I am so used to them, I tend to forget that, as much as I love them, they don’t love me back.” Chiara’s pout at her Jimmy Choos was endearing and so very her, Vi wanted to shoo away the hundreds of butterflies that nestled in her chest.
Married… Married.. Married… Not cute, nor adorable, nor as gorgeous in bare feet as she was in those gorgeous high heels that made her already gorgeous legs go for more gorgeous miles than was legal…
God, even her thoughts had gone haywire, unable to stop repeating the same word over and over where Chiara was concerned.
Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous…
Chiara looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and Vi realized that there must have been a question she’d either ignored or left unanswered. Oh, brooding. Yeah, okay.
“Ah… No reason? A long day? Family stuff?”
“You want me to pick?” Chiara reached for another set of pins and gently lifted Vi’s left arm, her fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Hold it like this for me for a bit.”
Vi gulped as she both felt and saw those hands slowly move up her side from waist to armpit, and as they inched closer to the side of her breast, Vi was afraid she’d break into a sweat and the dress would need to be dry-cleaned.
The thin platinum wedding band caught the last of the dusk sunlight, and Vi swallowed around the lump in her throat.
“No, not pick. Just a lot of things going on.”