11. Once Upon a Well-Attended Ball #3
Vi breathed in and out, slowly, as quietly as she could, to not disturb Chiara, who seemed a million miles away. Did she realize the sheer horror of what she was telling Vi? The way these moments and these memories shaped her as a person? Vi didn’t think so.
She wanted to reach out, to wipe it all away, because Chiara was brilliant, yet here she was, totally unmoored, consumed by guilt and self-loathing.
Vi thought about her own boarding schools, all six of them, and how girls with these types of difficulties were supported from an early age with appropriate interventions, and how they eventually thrived. Some were lawyers, actors, hell, even damn accountants…
Chiara visibly shook herself from her memories and continued.
“In any case, nothing could be done at the time. We didn’t have the kind of money a private school and tutors would require, and underneath it all, I simply couldn’t.
Not until much later, when I was finally diagnosed and pursued the appropriate management for my conditions.
I wish I could do my childhood over, knowing what I know now.
” The smile was self-deprecating. “Still, sticky notes, phone reminders, planners, little marks with a pen on the backs of my hands… Whatever it takes, I do all right, don’t you think? ”
Vi blinked, not expecting to be asked questions. Chiara did more than all right. Chiara was a genius. Everything she touched turned to gold. Her struggles as a child could have been avoided in a better system and with more support. If only Vi knew how to express all that.
“I drew. I had no attention span for anything else, but drawing was an escape. And then modeling became one, since I was so numb from losing mom, losing her in a way that made me think I was responsible. I still very much feel that way…”
Chiara trailed off, and Vi thought that so many other things in Chiara’s life were now more clear.
Those shrouds of mystery, of bafflement that Vi often imagined surrounded Chiara, were now less shadowy.
Her devotion to lost causes, to Frankie, to Lilien Haus even when nobody else cared and even when she was never given credit.
Chiara was atoning. For her mother? That seemed plausible but also not quite.
So what was the woman who carried so much guilt from such an early age doing penance for then?
Chiara’s voice reached for her and pulled her out of the gloomy thoughts and into a chillier reality.
“She died when I was seventeen. Just two weeks before I was discovered on the streets of Milano.” Chiara lowered her face, and Vi wondered if she even saw the beauty of the lake in front of her. Whether it was beautiful to her at all.
“She never watched me walk the most prestigious catwalks in the world, become an ambassador for the biggest brands. She never got to see that. Her heart gave out, Ms. Courtenay, because she was stressed all her life. Anxious and worried out of her mind about how a widow with no education or major skills would feed the toddler she was left with after her husband died in a boat accident. On this very lake.”
Chiara gestured with her free hand, the one holding Vi’s never leaving its place. “And you know, I never really knew about any of that stress and that anxiety and that worry until she was so close to the end and I asked her to look at how gorgeous the evening shore was.”
Vi saw tears shimmer in Chiara’s eyes and felt her own fill.
“She was so tired, she could barely lift her head, but she glanced up and she said something about how it was probably nice, but she couldn’t look at it, because this goddamn place had taken my father.
She returned to work and I just stood there.
My mother hated the damn lake. And despite loathing it as much as she did, she worked on it all her life, to provide for me.
So in the end, the lake took my dad and then took her too, in a way. ”
When Chiara finally faced her, Vi almost flinched away. She needed all her self-control to remain still as those eyes bored into her, the hand on hers cold and steady.
“Anyway, as you can see, when I am fascinated by a subject, I do tend to go on about it forever, and nothing has made me more of an expert than my ADHD.”
Chiara tsked, and Vi lifted her face only to observe her interlocutor shake her head.
“I always shy away from using the term. Even now. I know exactly where the guilt comes from. I have worked for years to extricate myself from its metaphorical embrace. But it’s such a deeply ingrained thing, feeling the way I do.
My mother, who had nothing and who wanted me to have everything, really built her dreams around my future.
And despite knowing that it’s not my fault, I feel like I failed her.
The fact that I’ve been diagnosed now doesn’t change that.
I can’t talk to her and explain. It’s too late, she’s gone, and half my life I didn’t even know I function differently. ”
Chiara smiled crookedly, but her eyes remained sad.
“Anyway, my extremely roundabout point—and I really have one with all this droning on about my mother and my neurodivergence—is that I may be doing my penance for sins seen and unseen. But overall, I quite literally don’t give a fuck about Frankie being stressed.
My mother was stressed. Died from it, in fact.
And yet, she never doused anyone in her poison of choice, not that she had one.
She never threw temper tantrums about other employees interrupting her.
I assume that’s what happened since Frankie abhors interruptions… ”
Vi knew her eyes grew comically wide, and she sensed the hair stand up on its end at the nape of her neck. Did Chiara know? What should she say? Should she be saying anything at all?
“Ah, and here’s my wife! Resplendent in moonlight and fannish worship.
” Frankie’s glistening red lips swooped, and she stood on her tiptoes to plant a wet kiss on Chiara’s cheek, giving Vi an exaggerated wink.
“I can’t escape you, kid! Everywhere I turn, there you are.
Quite the little stalker, eh, Courtenay? ”
“Stop it!” Chiara’s cutting remark coincided with a sudden lull in music, and half a dozen heads turned in their direction, including that of the hostess. Neve gave them a long gaze out of those unreadable violet eyes and lifted an eyebrow at Vi.
What was it with all these older women around her executing the one maneuver that always made Vi totally helpless? All that was left for any of them to do was smirk or purse their lips. Miranda Priestly had a lot to answer for, Vi decided.
After a subtle shake of the head at Neve, she quietly stepped away from Chiara, who stood rigid and taut like a violin string ready to snap at any moment in Frankie’s arms. Before Vi could say anything undoubtedly unsuitable, Chiara shook off Frankie’s hands and walked in the direction of the mansion without a second look.
Vi made to follow, only to have her forearm caught.
“Hey Cinderella, want another drink?” Aoife offered, her face somber, watching Chiara leave and Frankie intercept her.
Their hostess, though, smiled at Vi from afar, approval clear on her face.
Vi was glad she had done something right.
But as she looked at the Lilienfelds walk away, her heart bled all over again.
No, she had no power here, even if she wanted to whisk Chiara far away from all this.
When she turned back, Neve Blackthorne was still looking at her appraisingly. It felt like very little escaped her, especially in her own house. Vi lifted her almost empty glass in the direction of their hostess and turned back to Aoife.
“Hey, Fairy Godmother. No drink, thank you.” But she gave Aoife a half hug and laid her cheek on her mentor’s head, surely messing up the spiky updo she was sporting. Aoife, for once, didn’t complain or give her any grief.
As she straightened and Frankie and Chiara disappeared into the distance, they shared a look, and Vi felt an understanding pass between them.
They would not talk about what had happened.
At least not now, and she was happy for it.
Now was not the time, not among the hordes of gossipmongers and socialites who lived and breathed for these kinds of rumors.
“You know, I’m too young to be your godmother, kid.” Aoife poked a finger at her arm.
“I wasn’t aware there was a cutoff for these things. Theoretically, we could be the same age and you still could have baptized me… Also, you’re forty-three, so if you’d hurried up in your misspent youth, you could have been my mother—”
“Oh piss off, you!” The beloved and delightful Irish accent sprang to life, just as Vi had intended. Aoife nudged her and looked like she was about to stomp away when she suddenly stopped and squeezed Vi’s shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, missy.”
“Aoife, let it rest. Chiara almost got me to spill my guts about her wife attacking me a second before Frankie herself slobbered all over her, so I claim this as a win. Maybe not the whole night, but certain incidents aside, I’ve had an amazing time.
Thanks to Chiara and to you and your poopy-schmoopy, though I’m sure the Fairy Godmother doesn’t use those words. ”
“The words are whatever I say they are, get that straight, Cinderella.”
“First of all, if this is my fairytale, it is not ever going to be straight. And second, I did feel like Cinderella, Aoife. Everyone was so nice, from the models to Neve Blackthorne. God, I don’t know why people say she’s a witch.”
“Because she is one. She just took a shine to you, ‘cause you are hapless and cute and hopeless. People like clumsy, adorable little things.” Vi pushed at Aoife’s shoulder, outraged, and Aoife laughed loudly, the pleasure at her own joke so clear, Vi couldn’t help but join her.
“I heard Princess Allegra claimed you as one of her own? Frankie damn near broke out in a sweat chasing after her throughout the whole party. Too bad, so sad Her Majesty made herself scarce so early.”
“It’s Her Highness. She’s not queen yet. Aleric is king, she’s his heir, and next in line for the throne. So get your titles straight.” Vi threw a sideways glance at Aoife, trying to hide her grin.
“Why should I? She’s not.”
Vi groaned and covered her face with her hands. She didn’t want to think about the implications of her cousin being gay. She liked Allegra, and if she was indeed queer, the sheer amount of trouble that would spell for the royal was beyond Vi’s comprehension. Savoy was a very conservative kingdom.
“God, Aoife, how should I know…?”
“Nobody looks that good in suspenders and is heterosexual. It’s a crime against… well, suspenders.”
The mischief, the teasing in Aoife’s tone, made Vi peek from between her fingers, then smile and throw her arms around her now squirming and cursing mentor.
“I love you. Please never change.”
“If you don’t let go of me, and I mean stat, I will take both of your shoes and throw them in the goddamn lake. Not sure even your princess will be able to save you then. Now unhand me!”
But Vi did not let go, and a few moments later Aoife’s arm folded around her waist, and over her mentor’s head, she caught Chiara’s smiling eyes watching her with affection. Frankie be damned, this was the best night ever.