19. In a Faraway Land of Roses and Debts #2
The fingers in her hair soothed, the gentle caresses interspersed with an occasional tug, as they’d hit a snag perhaps of Vi’s own making, since she’d had her hands in Chiara’s hair from the moment Chiara’d knelt in front of her.
As if apologizing, the lips whispered something against her skin and the fingers went back to work, carefully untangling the knot before starting over somewhere else.
It was sweet, Chiara decided, her mind sidestepping the gentleness and the murmurs, choosing not to hear and not to feel.
“I don’t have many old debts.”
The spell, the dreamlike moment, was instantly broken.
The second the words were out of her mouth, Chiara knew it had been the wrong thing to say.
So wrong, yet also the truth. Her guilt being what it was, and considering her feelings five years ago, Chiara still wasn’t the one holding the thirty pieces of silver. She wasn’t the one who’d betrayed.
Nonetheless, it had been the wrong thing to say, because Vi stilled in her arms, then drew back and away, hastily zipping up her trousers and strolling unsteadily towards the bay of windows covering the entire wall overlooking the Village.
Her arms free and her mind reeling, Chiara finally looked around, taking in the cozy, pristine place she found herself in.
Black and white photographs adorned the walls, and ivy grew in a myriad of pots scattered around the shelves.
Chiara recognized the vision behind the monochrome creations and wanted to smile. Vi had lost nothing of her eye.
There was a comfortable chair and a fuzzy blanket in front of the windows, and Chiara realized instantly that this had to be Vi’s favorite spot. The stack of books by its side told her as much. She smiled. Some things never changed.
She must have said it out loud, because Vi turned sharply back to her.
“Would you have actually wanted them to?”
A lump in her throat seemed to have thorns, cutting her to ribbons.
This woman always managed to. Chiara wondered whether it was intentional, or if it was some kind of supernatural ability.
Because nobody, not her mother, not Frankie, not anyone else, saw her—and slashed through her with the skill and precision Vi did.
“That would imply you reading and being surrounded by all the books was a trait of yours I did not like.”
“Bookishness aside, was there actually anything about me that you liked?” Vi spat the last word, her voice rising from quiet to high-pitched, and Chiara felt that same shard twist at the stitches holding her chest together yet again. Or was it just her guilt?
“There were plenty of things I liked about you, Vi. What is it that you want?”
“I’m trying to understand what are you doing here.”
Her back against the glass and the booted legs crossed at the ankles, Chiara almost smiled at the oh-so-familiar pose. All Vi needed to do now was wrap her arms around herself, and the image could have belonged on a Parisian rooftop five years ago. Afraid of heights, yet trying not to show it.
When silence stretched, and Vi tsked, then lifted those lanky arms and held herself tight, Chiara did smile at the memory before reaching out on instinct to tuck another lock of hair behind Vi’s ear. Except her hand dropped at the last moment, the gravity of their situation weighing heavy.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here. Is that so strange? Is that so unusual for me, of all people? I wasn’t sure what I was doing here five years ago either—”
“Here?” The question was filled with anxiety, and Chiara could see Vi’s shoulders tense up further, her own mirroring them.
“With you. A different room. A roof. A studio. A Parisian street. Anywhere really. Just not where I was supposed to be, because it was with you. Of all the people, I wasn’t supposed to be with you. And yet I couldn’t help myself. I can’t seem to.”
“So I’m a mistake?” Vi’s voice was quiet as her teary eyes turned cold.
“A vice.” Chiara sighed. “One I have paid for, and for some reason, the price hasn’t been too high. Or time made it more palatable in dulling its steepness.”
“I told you that I didn’t do it—”
“In a manner of speaking.” She wanted to sound exasperated, but she knew all she pulled off was tired.
“It doesn’t matter. I asked you a question years ago, when my life was in ruins at your feet.
I asked you and you… Well, you had no answer.
You shook your head. You had tears in your eyes and roses in your hands.
We’ve come full circle here, Vi. Tears and roses. ”
Vi flinched, and Chiara regretted the words almost instantly. When had she developed a cruel streak? When she’d put her heart in the hands of a twenty-five-year-old girl with a crush that Chiara should have avoided like the plague? Nobody was afraid of plagues these days anyway.
But Chiara still should have known better. Even if the betrayal was one of enormous proportions and the hurt all the more, because unbeknownst to Vi, Chiara’s heart had been on the line.
Frankie had destroyed her sense of self. Humiliated her as a woman. Insulted her as a spouse. And in the past five years, Chiara had painstakingly rebuilt most of those intangibles. Time. Distance. Friends. Work and success. All of those helped, and she felt whole again.
But Vi had broken her heart. And it was the one thing Chiara did not know how to repair.
How to begin to trust the wretched piece of muscle pumping crimson into her chest with decisions, since it had taken her so long to wrap it in burlap and stitch it together with tattered yarn.
Chiara felt that was one skill she did not possess.
“And so we’re back to square one. Aside from making me come and repaying a debt you really didn’t acquire, why are you here, Chiara?”
As always, the most random thought surfaced, and Chiara simply went with it, her shoulders suddenly heavy and fingers numb.
“To hear you say my name.”
Vi let out an exhalation and Chiara finally gave in and her smile bloomed fully. Years had polished this woman, added a veneer of sophistication. But someone like Chiara could still fluster her. Or maybe it was just Chiara. She chose to think it was the latter, and her chest felt lighter.
The sound of the clock somewhere in the apartment reminded Chiara of the time and of how exhausted she was. “I’m sorry. It’s late, and it’s been a long, somewhat eventful day.”
On Vi’s face, an answering grin bloomed, a corner of that sensuous mouth lifting with self-deprecation. Unsurprisingly, it made Chiara happy to have coaxed that smile out of this sad, tormented woman.
Thinking that she needed to have her head examined for being glad about such things, and about how Renate and Aoife would have a field day with what she had just done and said, Chiara picked up her purse where it had fallen by the front door.
“What now?” Vi watched her warily now, but there was something like hope lurking in those ashen depths.
She actually lifted her eyes to the heavens. Misericordia , the hope, anguish, desperation in that voice… All the things that had been there five years ago and had undone Chiara again and again every time she’d rescued Vi from her torment, still had the same effect on her.
So weak. So damn weak.
Some things really never did change. Maybe she should just get with the program.
“There’s a gala for New York’s fashion magazines tomorrow.”
Vi’s brows lifted comically.
“Yeah, I declined, what with us going full steam ahead with the special edition. I didn’t think we'd have time…”
“Reconsider, Ms. Courtenay. Pick me up after the shoot at 9.”
Gray eyes narrowed and reddened lips thinned.
“Why are you doing this?”
She could have lied. Could have plucked out any of the thousands of thoughts in her head. Really, any single one would do. But when the truth seemed so much more expedient, Chiara closed her eyes and surrendered to it.
“Because I was wrong earlier. Some debts aren’t so easily paid off, Vi. Yours or mine. And I think neither of us is done paying.”