10. Once Upon an Unwelcome Revelation #2
The speed, the determination, the play of light and shadows on that resolute face, wiped away the beauty and the habitual affection in those eyes, leaving only anger, and Vi shrunk.
Simply drew into herself, the hand that wasn’t already holding the camera cradling it to her body.
Belatedly, she realized what she had done.
There was no fixing it. Her breaths were coming out as sobs, chest rising and falling fast, sweat covering her now cold and clammy skin.
Vi staggered into a room that looked like a large closet, away from prying eyes, sinking to the floor, her knees unable to hold her, the panic rising like bile in her throat. Would she throw up and allow that to be the final indignity on this day that was already full of embarrassment?
Then she lifted her unfocused eyes that had been darting from one thing to the next, to the next, only to catch sight of Chiara, who’d followed her in. She watched the color drain from her cheeks and the understanding dawn on her that she must have caused Vi’s panic attack to set in.
Chiara’s own eyes widened in shock, in pain, filling with tears, and now the heat of shame flushed Vi’s entire body, surely evaporating the remnants of vodka on her dress.
She turned away, trying to get up, to run, anywhere as long as it was away from here, because she couldn’t stand Chiara knowing, Chiara looking at her with this kind of dejected pity…
“Vi, please… I need to fix your dress.”
Was it the ‘please’, or was it the actual uttering of her name, her real name, the one she claimed, the one she so often hid behind, the one she so rarely heard pass Chiara’s lips that stopped her from struggling to get up?
She sensed more than saw Chiara approach, and she wanted to weep all over again, so careful, so gentle. The hands on her shoulders trembled, and Vi trembled with them.
“Vi, Vi, Vi…” Just her name, in that voice and the tears spilled in earnest now, the floodgates opening and only those two tender, strong hands held her together, kept her from breaking at the seams.
“Chiara!” Aoife’s arrival broke through the cocoon of safety, and Vi startled anew.
“Frankie is drinking again—” Vi’s thoughts began to race in anticipation of what was to come, but Aoife waved off any further explanation, and Chiara’s expression didn’t change, as if Frankie was of no consequence at the moment.
Then Aoife spotted her, and her eyes softened. “Oh, kid, you’re here. Yes, good, now don’t cry, we will fix this somehow… Though, honestly, who the hell thought silver was a good color on you?”
The bluntness and the matter-of-fact delivery, so Aoife, so true to who she was, made Vi smile.
When she caught the echo of that smile in Chiara’s eyes, she hiccuped a giggle, followed by another, until she was laughing.
Both Aoife and Chiara watched her with concern, as both mirth and tears mingled on her face.
“Yeah, okay, I don’t deal well with waterworks.
” Aoife’s aggrieved expression was so cute, so hilarious, Vi’s laughter only raised in pitch, and she hiccuped when she realized that she was probably smearing the remnants of her makeup on the now most certainly wrecked dress.
“That other thing…” Aoife hesitated, shooting Chiara a quick look.
“We will talk about that later, but now if this is all because of the gown—”
“Sully, stop.” As Vi tried to control her ragged breathing, Chiara crouched down next to her and carefully lifted her chin, running cool fingertips over her jaw.
“Are you okay to come with me? Aoife will join us, and we will fix this, okay?” Vi watched her speak, but the words didn’t register with her as much as the movement of those patient lips forming them.
But then the fingers on her skin firmed a little, making her focus, making her blink away the remaining tears. “Do you understand me, Vi? Use your words, darling. Please.”
The tightness of the grip was gone as the second hand joined in, Chiara cradling her face in her cool fingers.
Vi began to feel them warm and take away her own angry heat, just like Chiara’s voice was taking away the shame, the embarrassment over her panic attack, over her instinctive response to withdraw that she’d been unable to help or hide.
“Yes.” This time when her heart stuttered and sped up, it wasn’t sheer panic that was driving her. She felt loved, and for once, bathed in Chiara’s light, Vi’s chest did not hurt.
Before she knew it, Aoife was pulling her up by both hands, and Chiara was leading the way to a secluded room among the maze of others in this immense mansion. Soon, Aoife was tugging her into another smallish space with a myriad of garment bags and looked at her expectantly.
“All right, kid, strip!” Vi—now very used to commands of all kinds issued by Aoife and gentler ones, but still rather in the same vein, coming from Chiara during their many evenings spent fitting—immediately reached for her side zipper, the smell of alcohol clinging to her hands and chest, even as she peeled back the stained chiffon and lace.
As every other time, Chiara tactfully turned away and pulled on Aoife’s forearm.
“What? Nothing I’ve not seen before—” Vi’s vision was obscured by material, and she could vaguely hear the subsequent thoroughly disgruntled, “honestly, nothing you haven’t seen before either and she’s wearing knickers! ”
Vi chuckled, and when she was certain her slip, bra, and underwear were more or less in order—the dress having taken the brunt of the impromptu vodka shower—she called for them to turn around. She appreciated their efforts, but there was no fixing this.
“Well, the gown is ruined and the smell… I guess attending the ball is out of the question now. Can’t really go out there and take pictures in my jeans and t-shirt.
I really am very sorry about this. And I think the camera is beyond repair at this point…
I know you counted on me for the photography—”
“Kid,” Aoife just waved her protestations away impatiently. “There are like twenty photographers out there, so don’t worry yourself—”
“Shhh, Sully.” Chiara circled Vi, then leaned in slightly. Vi’s knees buckled again when she realized Chiara was smelling her. “And yes, you will need something. Aoife, bring me one of those large washcloths, since she can’t take a shower, it will ruin her hair.”
For once, Aoife disappeared in a second without any argument, simply sniffing loudly and muttering about how some people really ought to mind their booze consumption. Vi briefly wondered how much Aoife had actually seen or suspected.
“Chiara, I really… listen…” Vi had no idea what she was trying to say, except it seemed like she and Aoife were attempting to somehow salvage the situation. One that was unsalvageable. Vi closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. The words weren’t coming to her anyway.
“Do I have to shush you too, Ms. Courtenay?” Chiara still circled her, and her voice sounded from Vi’s side. There was a tug on the hem of her slip, then another on the spaghetti strap, followed by a characteristic “tsk” and an even more characteristic “ Santo cielo! ”
Vi shook her head as much in answer to the question as to clear it. Chiara’s proximity was wreaking havoc on her already battered system. The silky touch of those fingertips, her scent mingling with the smell of vodka, completely overriding it. Chiara was all Vi could sense.
“I won’t ask.” Vi opened her eyes and turned her head so quickly towards those words that the room tilted. Chiara stepped even closer, their shoulders touching now, and it was Vi’s turn to take her warmth, to absorb as much of it as she could with goosebumps running down her exposed arms.
Vi wondered whether Chiara knew that her reaction had nothing to do with her being cold. She wasn’t. She was burning up now. And her earlier shame and embarrassment didn’t have anything to do with it either. Because Chiara usually knew. Chiara usually knew everything.
“I won’t ask.” This time when Chiara repeated the sentence, their eyes were on each other, and Vi understood that she wasn’t speaking about the dress, the vodka, or anything related to her now certainly absenting herself from the ball.
She was speaking of Vi’s panic and Vi’s reaction to being seen. She closed her eyes and nodded.
When Aoife blasted through the door a second later, Vi startled and flinched, and the silence was broken even if Chiara’s eyes remained all-knowing and all-seeing. There was no hiding from that gaze. So the end of their tête-à-tête was welcome.
For the better , Vi thought, because she’d been on the verge of opening her soul to this perceptive woman, and she knew she simply couldn’t let go of her secret. Or her father’s. Or Frankie’s for that matter. She closed her mouth, and Chiara stepping back reverberated in her bones.
“Here you go. It doesn’t smell of anything.” Aoife thrust the warm washcloth into Vi’s hands and stepped back as Chiara motioned at her.
Vi tried to clean up unobtrusively, but she still didn’t want to discard her mangled slip, and there really was no other bra. Her sigh was loud. Why was she even doing this? There was no use in any of it.
Somewhere behind her, Chiara and Aoife were murmuring to each other in hushed tones before Chiara raised her voice slightly to make sure Vi heard her. “Ms. Courtenay, I have to run. The models will not pin themselves, sadly. I will wait for you out there. Please don’t take too long, okay?”
Vi wanted to counter that there really wasn’t anything or anyone to wait for since she was done for the night, soggy as she was. But as Chiara exited the room, carefully sidestepping her, she turned to Aoife to argue her point and stopped dead.
Or as good as dead. Surely she was having some out-of-body experience, because there was no way… Aoife was holding up one of the most beautiful gowns of vibrant emerald Vi had ever seen.
“You shall go to the ball, Cinderella.” Aoife must have been waiting to quote the iconic line for a long time, because her face nearly split in the most joyful grin as she looked exceedingly proud of herself.
“Damn…”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I said when Chiara showed it to me.” Aoife lovingly caressed the silk in her hands.
“So you didn’t…?” Vi made a vague gesture towards the absolute beauty in front of her. She didn’t have to worry about being understood though.
“No, kiddo, this was all Chiara herself. Every stitch, every fold. And it’s not part of the collection either.
I don’t know when she worked on this, because both you and I know she had no time to sleep to begin with, considering everything being as late as it was.
But, Goddess, if this isn’t one of her most amazing works!
Ever, Vi. And I’ve watched her create for nearly twenty years. ”
They stood motionless, simply looking at the glory in Aoife’s hands, and Vi felt her chest expand again. She thought there was no longer any space left there. After all, she loved so many people, but this was different.
This love swept in on the brilliant emerald wings made of silk and lace.
It tore through her, through her feeble defenses already weakened by all the moments, big and small, that they’d been having these past months and finally settled down, pushing and pulling until it was sitting comfortably among all the others, resting closest to her heart, enfolding it, keeping it safe.
“No, no, no! You are not going to cry on me again, kiddo! Chiara can’t come in here and do that romance movie crap she did before, holding your face or whatever you all swoon over.
I don’t do that! I will smack you and pull this thing on you and be done with you.
No crying! There’s no crying in fashion. ”
But Vi didn’t care. She simply moved forward and threw her arms around Aoife, placing her chin on top of her head, obviously making Aoife even more aggrieved with this show of their height difference and the disregard for her earlier instructions of no tears.
Vi let go of her disgruntled mentor and carefully wiped her eyes, and she could swear she heard Aoife sniff.
“Okay, okay, enough mush. Poopy-schmoopy, or whatever the fuck the Fairy Godmother says. Get your skinny ass into this thing, Cinderella. I can’t wait to see it on you, and we really need to be going. She can only hold down the fort for so long, and you know Frankie will be half-drunk by now and…”
Aoife trailed off, and her face was no longer sentimental.
It was sad, and there was an edge to it, a resolution of sorts that made Vi curious.
Aoife just shooed her and thrust the hanger in her hands before demonstratively turning her back to her.
But Vi had to ask just this one thing before she could take another step.
“Aoife… About earlier and what you walked into with Frankie and me…”
“Are you gonna tell me what I walked into? Or are you gonna pretend like it was no big deal? Because I have a lot of time for the first scenario and no time at all for the second.”
Under the steady glare, Vi simply shook her head and Aoife’s shoulders sagged.
“Whatever.” There was little inflection in the word, but Vi sensed there was more relief than disappointment and didn’t know what to make of that. What would Aoife say if Vi confessed? And what about Chiara?
Vi knew that, despite what she’d seen, nothing had changed, and Aoife’s reaction was perhaps proof of that.
So she shook her head again. And Aoife seemed to move on.
“Put it on, Lady Rae. I’m getting older by the minute here.
And while I am like vintage wine and only get better with age, I kinda want to spend some of that time with other people. ”
This time when Vi laughed, it held no tinge of panic or regret. She was going to the ball.