7. Once Upon a Family Recipe #3
Vi almost tumbled off her stool, her bare feet slipping on the small stainless steel support, disturbing the lounging Binoche, and this time Chiara’s smile was a touch indulgent as Vi approached her with her own plate.
“I’m surprised you’re not all black and blue, the way you go through life, Vi.
” She said it quietly, and there was so much kindness in those words, in sharp relief from the earlier taunts of her stepsisters, Vi’s eyes filled again.
So she just stood there as Chiara rinsed her plate and closed the dishwasher before turning to her fully.
The sob caught in her chest, the full comfort of being seen and understood descending upon her like a weighted blanket, as a graceful hand lifted, and Chiara’s fingers smoothed the frown line between her brows.
“You are still so tender. Come. With your clothes in the dryer, you’re my prisoner for a bit longer. Would you help me with the gown again? I swear I get some of my best ideas when you’re wearing my work.” She said the last part as she took Vi’s hand, but did not tug, and Vi sighed.
Chiara, despite her words, was still giving her a choice, to say no, to leave. And after her dinner with her family, where she couldn’t even leave the table to go to the bathroom without being interrogated by her father, she felt her chest expand.
And so she was the one to tug on Chiara’s hand. They reached the mannequin, and Chiara gently removed the gown, handing it to Vi. “Can you manage to put it on yourself? Without rending it, if at all possible?”
“I’ve been dressing myself since I was about three, I think?”
“Ah, sarcasm, a fool’s clutch, Ms. Courtenay. Go get dressed, shout for me if you get stuck.”
Not a chance, Vi thought.
* * *
Vi jinxed herself. The gown was still held together by pins among the temporary stitches, and she got pierced by one. Then, as she pulled it over her, the unmistakable sound of something rending followed.
“Uh-oh—” She was tempted to smack herself over the forehead and might have, if her arms weren’t stuck inside the fabric that was covering her face. But the second she opened her mouth, Chiara’s footsteps could be heard hurrying towards her.
“Ms. Courtenay, don’t tell me…” She stopped on the other side of the divider still guarding Vi’s modesty, which was honestly dwindling by the second. In her panties and bra, the gown now a tangle, half on, half hanging off her arms, Vi closed her eyes and surrendered to her fate.
“How about I won’t tell you, but you come in and see for yourself?
” There was a sound of the divider sliding open, and then a deep, exasperated sigh.
Maybe Chiara would let her live or even leave?
Vi was beyond embarrassed, and for some reason, her sense of self-preservation was taking a back seat to her desire not to go.
To not cut her time with this woman short just yet, even if it was at the cost of her own humiliation.
But Chiara didn’t humiliate her. The sigh was followed by a few words that sounded suspiciously like “ diamine ,” but despite understanding very little of the murmured curses, Vi felt the warm palm on her shoulder blade through the material of the gown.
The touch turned into a careful pull as Chiara delicately guided her back under the studio lights.
Through the material over her eyes, Vi could see the bright lights and the outline of her savior standing in front of her.
“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin it? If you could just help me get it off, I’ll pay to replace the material—“
“Shhh, Ms. Courtenay.” The warm hands were back now, and the gown was tenderly, almost reverently, pulled off her face, then down her body.
Finally, as she opened her eyes, she saw Chiara now on her knees, tugging the tangled and certainly mangled gown past her hips—which were only covered by a flimsy, lacy pair of boy shorts—then down her thighs and calves. Vi’s brain promptly short-circuited.
Chiara was very careful with Vi’s naked skin, despite there being so much of it on display, and she was grateful for that. But even as the skillful fingertips turned and straightened and pulled, Vi could feel their lingering touch.
A loud, slightly disgruntled meow sounded from the now ever-present basket on the wide windowsill. Binoche was probably reading her mind again, because the sound was also decidedly judgmental. Well, Vi was judging herself, too. She was ridiculous.
Worse, her reaction was inappropriate, and any second now Chiara would realize it and send her home.
But Chiara continued on her knees, examining what looked like a torn hemline, and Vi’s imagination continued to run wild.
Chiara hummed and sighed again, before slowly getting up, sure fingers tracing a seam, from knee to breast, setting Vi’s skin on fire through the thin fabric.
When Chiara’s gaze wandered—surely perusing the gown for any other signs of Vi having been her good-old clumsy, destructive self—Vi felt that gaze in her soul.
“You know, Ms. Courtenay, if I was any other person, I’d be slightly more than pissed that, here I am putting all these hours into these creations, and then you stumble about, tear off and ruin hemlines, only to inspire me.”
She finished speaking when they were finally face to face and Vi gulped. Those eyes looked into hers, all-seeing, all-understanding. Vi had nowhere to hide, nowhere to shuffle her uncomfortable emotions that pressed so hard on her shoulders.
Chiara angled her head to the side, as she often did when she was trying to figure out the flaw in a design, and Vi found herself scrambling for words.
“A talent?” She quipped uselessly, but to her relief, Chiara’s mouth quirked at the corners, and when the expressive eyes crinkled—displaying those crow’s feet that were so dangerous to Vi—she felt like she’d touched the sky.
A real smile.
“Well, don’t let it go to your head, and please do not ruin any more of my creations. Do we have a deal?” She smoothed the silk at Vi’s shoulder, fixing a pin that was coming loose, her hands gentle as always.
“Only on one condition.” Where had this piece of courage even come from? Vi almost groaned. Sometimes she really wished she were just a bit better at controlling herself.
“My, you are cheeky. But given how you’ve just really inspired a breakthrough on this design by mangling the hemline, I’ll bite the bullet and ask. What’s your condition?”
Grabbing another handful of pins, Chiara was now standing behind Vi, her hands in the mirror a study of proficiency and skill, working fast, carefully, flying along the deep cut of the back.
The déjà vu was immersive. Despite having seen it only once before, Vi thought she’d never tire of beholding their reflections together in the mirror.
They should not fit, and yet they did. Of the same height, which was a rarity in itself for Vi, of the same build.
They looked good. Vi swallowed convulsively and Chiara’s eyes gazed up at her, full of concern.
“Can we go back to me asking you questions?” Vi shivered, and Chiara’s hands stopped before a shawl was gently placed over her naked shoulders, leaving the lower back exposed to Chiara’s ministrations, yet ensuring Vi was kept warm.
How was she to tell this woman that she wasn’t cold and her shiver had nothing to do with the temperature?
“I have a feeling I know exactly what you’re going to ask me, Vi. And if I’m right, I also have a feeling I will regret ever making that promise. But sure, let’s see if I can keep some of my secrets from those eyes of yours that are too smart for your own good.”
The words alone might have stung, but the kindness behind them encouraged Vi to continue.
“You think I’m too smart?” Okay, that was not what she planned to say. She cringed, the shawl not at all disguising her gesture of embarrassment.
“That is your question?” Chiara tugged on a piece of material at Vi’s waist, making her stand straighter and meeting her eyes in the mirror.
“Ah… No?”
“So is it ‘ah’ or is it ‘no’, Ms. Courtenay?” An eyebrow rose majestically, and it was just so unfair. Such a regal gesture, so evocative. And one that turned Vi completely useless.
Chiara let the other eyebrow join the first, and Vi could see a blush creep up her chest, generously exposed by the low cut of the unfinished dress. As she closed her eyes, she heard Chiara’s chuckle.
“You are so easy to tease, darling. Too easy. But even if that wasn’t your question, you are smart . And bright. Shining. You are so utterly new to any of this. Life, fashion…”
Chiara grew silent, and her eyes fell back to the pins she was working into a complicated fold on Vi’s hip, but Vi felt as if she’d been taunted again. Was that how Chiara saw her? As na?ve? As young and inexperienced and childish?
“I beg to differ.” This time, Vi didn’t cringe. She didn’t even care what she was saying and, more importantly, how. She felt like she’d been misunderstood enough for one evening. And while it was par for the course for her family, Chiara was a different story.
It must have been Vi’s intonation. Chiara’s head whipped up and her hands on Vi stilled. Again, their eyes met in the mirror, and Vi didn’t shy away this time. She let the hurt of the slight wash over her. She was so damn tired of everyone treating her like an ingénue, or worse, just gullible.
To her credit, Chiara didn’t mock her. Nor did she wave away the situation as Vi had expected her to. She bit her lip, thoughtfully chewing on it, still closely watching Vi in the mirror.
“I apologize, Ms. Courtenay. Sometimes, you remind me of myself at your age. Eager and wide-eyed. Life stepped in and fixed that pretty quickly, though. But please, do not for one moment assume that I don’t see the wounds reality already left on you.
I don’t know much about you. You keep your cards close to your vest, despite being a seemingly open and friendly person.
You have a secret, something mysterious about you, Cenerella.
There’s a reason that nickname stuck with you, and not because you keep losing your shoes. ”
She leaned just a touch closer, and Vi’s breath caught at the intensity of the gaze. “My words were meant to indicate that I envy you. Just a little. Just a touch. I envy you the joy and the serenity and the sheer kindness you carry everywhere despite those wounds, the deep and the shallow.”
Vi sighed, letting the air whoosh out of her lungs and taking another deep breath. The room did not tilt. Nor did she hear an operatic aria or anything equally as cliché, but the lamps did seem to shine just a bit brighter. And now Vi did feel foolish. And exposed. And very, very raw.
“I wish for you to always keep it. To hold on to it. To cherish and enhance it as you live. It’s so rare.
This light of yours. This newness.” Chiara’s voice sounded both wistful and regretful, and Vi almost turned around, but strong arms settled on her shoulders, over the material, warming her better than the shawl and grounding her like few things ever had.
“Now, before both of us get all weepy here, ask your question. The one you really wanted to ask. I assume it was about something I inadvertently blabbered on about earlier in the evening?”
Vi swallowed around the lump in her throat.
“Yes, I wanted to ask about the lack of apologies in your life. But I’m concerned that might lead to more melancholic moments?” Vi’s hand trembled, but she didn’t care. Under both their gazes, she lifted it and laid it carefully over the one on her left shoulder.
Chiara gasped, then coughed when their skin made contact, but Vi held on, in spite of being ready to be shaken off at any moment.
The touch, intimate as it was, had nothing to do with her feelings for Chiara or her marital status or anything in between.
Chiara was sad and Vi was there. In that moment, to Vi, that was the extent of it.
She gently squeezed her fingers over Chiara’s and felt the hand underneath hers turn so that they were now palm to palm.
A few seconds later, Chiara interlaced their fingers, soft skin gliding over soft skin, the lump in Vi’s throat getting larger by the second.
She gulped around it as Chiara let go and stepped away from Vi.
“And you doubted that you’re astute? Case in point. I shared something I shouldn’t have uttered out loud, Ms. Courtenay. My issues with my spouse are mine alone. And as much as I like you and respect you, I would never use you. Even as a shoulder to cry on.”
“You’d be welcome to it.” Vi squeezed her eyes shut. Chiara didn’t need her.
“You are very sweet and very endearing, Ms. Courtenay.”
Vi huffed and moved closer to the windowsill where Binoche was lying in a perfect cat loaf again, little feet tucked under her chocolate body.
“Brioche is endearing. Chiara, I can help you…”
As expected, Binoche threw her a decidedly dirty look before turning away and making biscuits on the large cat bed before settling down and presenting Vi with her tail end.
Chiara laughed, and this time, Vi thought, the laughter wasn’t sincere.
“We all make our choices, Cenerella. And don’t call her Brioche, or the Fairy Godmother might not help you go to the ball.”
The dark eyes sparkled with something, and Vi’s heart lifted.
“Ball?”