12. Once Upon a Parisian Sunset #2
The bang on the stairs was followed by another and then another, and very soon Aoife was standing on the landing, cursing under the weight of several boxes that were teetering precariously in her arms.
“I lost several of them on the steps below, but I think I got the best pairs here. Louboutins and Manolos. Your favorite.” She placed four shoeboxes on the workstation, then reverentially opened the first and nodded at Vi.
“Hey, Cinderella, check out the loot, since shoes seem to be your specialty.” Aoife chuckled and Vi stepped closer to the treasure trove.
“Oh…” Vi had no idea she’d actually made a sound, but the shoes were a work of art, and she couldn’t contain her awe.
“This is actually quite a compliment to Monsieur Louboutin that, even after months at Lilien Haus, you are still so susceptible to pieces of history.” Chiara took out one of the gorgeous, red-soled heels, and Vi wished she could tell her that, yes, the shoes were wonderful, but it was how Chiara’s legs would look in these heels that had her by the throat.
Vi remained silent and picked up her camera, diligently documenting Chiara opening the remaining boxes and finally settling on a pair of bright yellow, suede Manolos that would be the absolute icing on the cake with her chosen, all-black outfit.
A simple turtleneck with low slung trousers allowed a peek at a strip of her toned stomach every time she raised her arms. The pants hung loosely, after giving her hips one final hug, and ended slightly above her ankles.
The lively heels were perfection, and when Chiara took a few steps towards her instead of Aoife, Vi decided not to read too much into it.
She was taking pictures after all, even if the angle was not the best. She didn’t want to get out of Chiara’s way, she didn’t want to say goodbye.
And she did not want the assignment to end.
Vi shook her head, trying in vain to dislodge her impossible thoughts about what, and more importantly who, she was leaving behind, causing her heartbeat to pound in her ears.
And when Chiara placed a hand on her shoulder as she passed Vi on her way out of the studio to begin shooting the documentary, she simply closed her eyes.
“Not long now, kid.” Aoife’s voice and a hand on her back were meant to be steadying, but the prospect of what would come after her stint at Lilien Haus was over, only made Vi nauseous. She took a breath, and then another, and lowered her camera.
“Time to get this show on the road, Fairy Godmother.”
Aoife laughed and gave her a good-natured slap on the same shoulder that still carried the sensation of Chiara’s fingertips, and Vi was propelled forward.
The rest of her life was about to begin, even if she did not know it yet.
* * *
Well, it didn’t take all that long for said rest of her life to materialize.
It was a shame Vi hadn’t cottoned on to it sooner, because in her desire to shake the malaise of her hopelessly pining heart, she gave the camera her full and undivided attention, foregoing her actual surroundings.
Especially those that were not directly relevant to whatever was in front of her lens.
Chiara’s excitement at showing them—and thereby their future audiences—around, was contagious. So when Chiara opened the heavy wooden door to Frankie’s studio and suddenly stopped in her tracks, Vi continued shooting.
Through her camera, she saw Chiara’s face go from joy to visceral shock, and then to complete numbness—a lack of expression even more frightening than the depth of stupor just a second prior.
When Vi's mind finally caught up to what was happening in front of her and why Chiara's gaze was now empty, she almost dropped the Nikon. Her hands shook as she grasped it harder, understanding of what she'd just witnessed, no... documented dawning on her.
To Vi it seemed like she was having a déjà vu. A much more graphic, grotesquely explicit one. She blinked slowly, willing the image away from her eyes, but when she opened them again, Frankie was still face-first in a woman’s privates.
Without clothes, it took Vi a few seconds to recognize Lilien’s lawyer. After all, Véronique usually wore the absolute best things Lilien had to offer. Apparently, Frankie’s tongue was the choice of the day.
Belatedly, Vi heard footsteps on the stairs behind her, and Renate, Aoife, the videographer, and Zizou, of all people, stepped into the light of the studio landing one after the other.
“… and then you’ll set up somewhere inside Frankie’s studio, so that when it’s time to eat—Fuck, fuck, fuck!
” Aoife stopped mid-sentence and Vi wanted to laugh and probably would have at the coincidence of the direction of the conversation, if only the video weren’t still being shot.
But with her usual speed, Aoife was already blocking the videographer’s access to the studio.
“We won’t be needing your services anymore. Shoo, shoo!”
The commotion was getting out of control. Zizou had now joined Aoife in making sure the videographer departed without getting any sort of glimpse at what was happening, the poor man being pushed and shoved down the stairs with both Irish and French expletives hurled his way.
Renate’s heels sounded like explosions as she pushed Vi aside and entered the space, completely ignoring a naked Véronique who had been struggling to get any available clothes on herself ever since Frankie’s muttered curse a minute prior, when Chiara had opened the door.
The staccato of German, a barrage of outrage and anger, followed Renate’s entrance, with Frankie scrambling to get out of her sister’s way.
When she nearly succeeded, Renate grabbed the closest thing and hurled it at her. The mug shattered in a shower of porcelain. Vi might have taken the time to ponder how throwing things seemed to be a Lilienfeld family trait, except next to her, Chiara flinched.
Oh, damn…
Even as Aoife and Zizou climbed back up the stairs from dispatching the videographer, Chiara seemed to come alive with each of their steps and then—just as Aoife reached her and extended her arms to hold her, to gather her at her chest—she ran.
Another crash and now howling instead of curses from inside the studio distracted Vi, and she saw Frankie on the floor, her hand holding the side of her head and the arm of a mannequin—presumably hurled by the precise hands of Renate—next to her.
And now Renate finally turned to Véronique, who’d managed to snag a pair of pants but was still very much naked from the waist up.
“I trusted you! I hired you! You ungrateful...” Renate continued in German, her transition from one language to another seamless.
The second arm of the dismembered mannequin flew Véronique’s way, but Vi could tell Renate’s heart wasn’t really in it, because she turned to the door at Aoife’s gasp and kicked at a nearby workstation, allowing Véronique to flee.
“Well, this will be quite the walk of shame for our now less-than-esteemed attorney.” Aoife stepped into the studio and gave Frankie a dirty look.
“Don’t start, Sully—”
“You don’t get to call me that anymore!”
Aoife stepped closer to Frankie, and Renate was a ball of fury once again.
“You swore on our father’s grave two years ago that you stopped!
Has this been going on all this time?” A resounding slap rocked Frankie, and Vi jumped a foot in the air when someone simultaneously pulled on her forearm.
She turned to see Zizou tug her out of the room and reluctantly followed him.
“You don’t need to be part of this.” His voice suddenly lost all of his deep accent, and Vi’s jaw dropped.
“No time to explain, but let’s just say this is not what they hired me for when they asked me to look after Lilien Haus, and it looks like Renate’s paranoia about corporate espionage was unfounded for once.
” He wiped his brow and looked into the room where anger and accusations were still raging.
“Zizou? They hired you?”
“Oui, a… what do you call it? A chef, yes, but also a private investigator. Just looking out for Lilien Haus. So that nothing happens to the new collection. Frankie wanted to be introduced to a royal, ignoring the danger… Your father has a reputation for not being honest.”
The cold sweat slid down her lower back.
So she’d been right to have her suspicions.
All her premonitions, all the whispers, all the shadows…
Her strategy to keep Chiara, and thus Lilien, safe from her family had proven to be right.
Renate had likely hired Zizou as a precaution when she couldn’t stop Frankie from agreeing to let Vi intern for them because of their connection to the royal family of Savoy.
Well, Charles Courtenay had not held up his end of the bargain.
“You’re all right though. You’re a good kid. Proved even Renate wrong. Nothing like your family.”
He went on, and Vi her body flood with shame.
“Doesn’t matter now, Madame Conti is what’s important. This will destroy her. You need to go after her. She should not be alone now. Do you know where—”
Before he could finish, Vi, who’d been about to shake her head, suddenly realized that she knew very well where Chiara might be.
“The roof. She’ll be on the roof, Zizou!”
He rummaged in his massive overalls’ pockets and produced a key for her.
“So she’s told you.” Zizou’s eyes widened comically, and Vi realized that he had not expected Chiara to have shared her secret hiding place. “I think I heard the door slam, so she might have locked it. You can reach her if you climb from my shop—”
“I know all the rooftops from Lilien Haus to your place.”