11. Once Upon a Well-Attended Ball
ONCE UPON A WELL-ATTENDED BALL
G enevieve Courtenay was never good at being the center of attention.
Maybe that was why she was so comfortable behind the camera.
She was an observer by nature. Well, one really had to be, since her life had not facilitated much participation, unless one called cleaning up her family’s messes ‘participating’.
So when she was suddenly thrust into the limelight as unceremoniously as she was now, Vi wanted to disappear.
She really should have known better. Much, much better with the gown she was wearing.
Vi had dressed quickly, with Aoife’s help. Though perhaps ‘help’ was too generous a word, since the assistance mostly revolved around oohing and aahing over every element of the design, exclamations, curses, and alternatively praises and damnations, directed at Chiara’s talent.
When she was done, Vi had handed Aoife her soggy slip and bra. The room didn’t have any mirrors, but she knew what she looked like, down to the feverish sheen in her eyes. She looked the part. As she assessed her image again, her mentor reached behind her and came back with a new camera.
“No mice or pumpkins to finish off your ensemble, but you might need this, Cinderella.”
Vi’s hands shook when she lifted the camera to her face, tears stinging her eyes. Her dream of shooting the new collection was alive once again.
“Wish me luck, Aoife. This really does feel like a fairytale.”
She gave her mentor—still clucking over some tricky fold that Chiara had sewn into the skirt—a brief hug. Though Vi couldn’t see anything of the kind since the skirt looked rather simple, flowing down her body in waves of emerald silk, judging by Aoife’s reaction, the dress was a work of art.
It certainly felt that way, the bodice hugging her closely, filling her with affection and tenderness.
Chiara had taken the time to do this for her.
Chiara had noticed that the silver gown didn’t suit her.
Chiara cared. Vi closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Aoife flicked her on the nose and grinned.
“You won’t need luck. You are a whiz with that thing, if any of the thousands of pictures you’ve taken are any indication. As for all the fairytale bullshit…” Aoife gave her a direct look. It was remarkably steady. “Just remember that your princess is married. For better or for worse—”
“Aoife!” Vi was horrified.
“Frankie is many things, but oblivious is not one of them and neither am I. You’re a good kid and hell, half the people down on that beach will be in love with Chiara by the time this evening is over.
” Aoife bit her lip and focused on Vi’s eyes again.
“For your own sake, Vi. Just remember that there’s no happy ending here. You understand?”
Vi’s stomach dropped and her mouth went dry. So she really was transparent. Not that she hadn’t suspected, but this warning, this warding her off, away from Chiara, away from the flame she was a moth to…
“Tell me you understand, Vi. And go do good work out there tonight.” Aoife had gripped her free hand tightly, too tightly, and Vi took a deep breath. Yes, she understood all too well. She squeezed Aoife’s hand back and ran out of the room.
* * *
Within mere hours, the collection was successfully shown on the improvised catwalk occupying a private strip of beach on the lake, with yachts and the bluest of waters Vi had ever seen serving as backdrop, and a hundred or so distinguished, hand-selected guests cheering and applauding.
All that, coupled with the exquisite evening breeze full of scents of fame and fortune, created an atmosphere of distinct contentment and luxury.
Frankie walked the stage at the end, hugging models, bowing deeply and effusively, her gait relaxed and easy.
And Vi took her picture on autopilot, yet craving to capture Chiara, who was inevitably backstage, having touched every swatch of the collection, making sure every single piece was perfect, each model was immaculate, from clothes to makeup, to hair.
Vi craned her neck as Frankie took her umpteenth bow. She bit her lip and couldn’t bring herself to take more pictures of this hypocrisy.
“I understand the true star of the show doesn’t take the stage at all. What a shame.” Vi nearly jumped out of her skin as a low voice, more bourbon than gravel, sounded right next to her ear. She turned and, as was par for the course for her, lost her footing, stumbling in her high heels.
Predictably, the tall, willowy woman caught her by the hand, steadying her. Predictably, because the woman just looked like she would never fail, be it to scare or to save.
“I apologize for startling you.”
It took Vi a moment to register what the other woman had said and how strange it was. Did she know? Chiara’s involvement in the creation of Lilien Haus’ collections wasn’t something the public at large was aware of. Except, this wasn’t anyone from the mere public. This was—
“You’re Neve Blackthorne!” She blurted out the words and immediately wanted to give anything and everything for a do-over.
Oh, great job, Vi. How embarrassing!
But the woman simply shook the inky hair out of eyes that seemed to glow purple in the sunset and raised an eyebrow. Vi had the sensation that this was a characteristic gesture, it came so naturally and fit so perfectly.
“Guilty. And you must be special. Two people have pointed you out to me. And not just because of the gown.” Before Vi could answer, or actually ask what the hell was going on because she really wasn’t that , Neve Blackthorne reached out her majestic hand with its red-tipped fingers and traced the line of emerald fabric along Vi’s shoulder.
“If this were part of the collection, I’d have paid Chiara millions for it. But she tells me it’s bespoke. Pity. Because it’s exquisite. And that makes you special, Ms. Courtenay.”
“I would tell you to unhand my cousin, Neve, but I don’t think I have any power here.”
Vi desperately tried not to stare. First Neve Freaking Blackthorne and now… Vi swallowed hard. Standing in a flawlessly tailored navy pantsuit with her hair flowing freely down her back, was Her Royal Highness, Princess Allegra of Savoy.
Vi curtseyed instinctively, having been taught since early infancy, even if the only time she had to avail herself of the gesture had been decades ago.
At their last meeting, Vi was five and her father made a scene at court.
That had been the final straw for King Aleric, and the Courtenays were never received in Savoy again.
“Charming, Genevieve. Or is it Vi? I understand from Chiara it’s what you’ve chosen.
” Vi had the presence of mind to nod. The fact that Chiara spoke about her, and with Princess Allegra in particular, made Vi’s heart flutter.
And Allegra, a member of her own family, calling her by her chosen name. It was incredible.
“But no need to be so formal. We’re amongst friends here, even if Neve does tend to intimidate people.”
Allegra winked at her, and Vi smiled back into gray eyes so like her own.
A current of recognition passed between them, and Vi wanted to say something, something smart and important, but Princess Allegra simply shook her head.
“We need to talk, cousin. Perhaps it’s time the two of us bury the hatchet our fathers so recklessly sharpened.
But not now…” She reached into her suit’s breast pocket and quickly produced a card before nodding towards the approaching Frankie.
With a barely perceptible narrowing of her eyes, she turned in the completely opposite direction and disappeared into the crowd.
“Very special indeed.” The low drawl by her side made Vi turn and run straight into the purple gaze of their hostess.
Neve Blackthorne gave her a long look before her eyes locked on the graceful back of the retreating Princess as the crowd parted for her, bowing and staring. Vi was once again lost for words.
God, let me think of something…
“You have a beautiful home, ma’am.”
Really? This? Thanks for nothing, god…
“I imagine Allegra’s is nicer. However, even Her Royal Highness does not look as exquisite as you do tonight, Ms. Courtenay. Quite a feat.”
“Careful, Neve, she’s already a fan. You don’t want her swooning.
And hands off.” Chiara carefully stepped between them, and Vi suddenly had the sensation that there wasn’t enough air on the entire beach.
Neve Blackthorne, Chiara Conti-Lilienfeld, Vi thought her sins in a previous life must have been enormous to have been thrown into the deep end like this.
The gown that had attracted so much attention didn’t have a high collar, or she’d be pulling it up posthaste and hiding behind it.
It didn’t even matter that they were squabbling over the gown and not her.
She just looked from one to the other and grinned, before she remembered she was still holding the camera and raised her lens, a bit apprehensive to point it at the absolutely gorgeous vista of two of the most beautiful women in the world on the backdrop of Lago di Como.
“Oh, we’ve got a crafty one, Chiara.” Neve’s lips curled slightly at the corners as she reached out her hand and angled the lens towards herself, leaning in slightly, suffusing Vi in soft notes of vanilla.
Vi finally shook herself out of her stupor, of being allowed to take a picture of the ever-elusive Neve Blackthorne.
When she finally lowered the camera, Neve stepped behind her and gently pressed the view button, perusing the last couple of shots. Vi held her breath.
“She is good, just as you said, C. I’ll allow this.
Give me a call if you need a place for her.
” And with those last words, she gave Chiara an actual kiss on the cheek, rather than one of those fake air kisses everyone had been engaging in all evening, and departed, leaving a trace of her scent behind.
“Wow…” Vi felt like maybe she’d been given a second lease on life.