21. In a Faraway Land of Unwanted Conversations #2
The same cat who had completely ignored Vi when she’d been there before, the one who hated absolutely everyone, was taking sides? Well, wasn’t this swell?
“Courtenay.” Frankie’s tone was measured, but Chiara could hear the territorial inflection in it.
“Frankie.” Vi’s own voice landed somewhere between Chiara’s exhaustion and pure rawness. Somewhere very close to pain.
“I see you’ve done very well for yourself…
” Frankie had been so restrained, so careful with how she spoke to Renate, and even to Aoife, despite the anger that Chiara sensed boiling under that sheen of carelessness.
But now Chiara knew the veneer was cracking and that Frankie’s restraint had reached its tether’s end.
She could tell what was coming next, and she was all too aware that Frankie would not care about the collateral damage she was making of Vi as she aimed her guns at her.
“Photographer extraordinaire about town. Major publications. Too bad not a lot of people know you started your career in the yellow, paparazzi-fueled rags.”
Frankie stared at Vi with raised eyebrows.
Yes, she still gave no thought or quarter to any bystanders when she was vengeful.
Vi scratched Binoche one last time before carefully setting her behind her and standing back up, just a touch taller, shoulders tense and hands in her pockets.
Her thoughts racing, Chiara desperately tried to say something, even as Frankie continued.
“You had this sick obsession with my wife five years ago, and I see you finally took your shot—”
“Frankie!” Chiara’s own voice sounded hoarse, her throat scraped raw.
God, was it only eight am? Would this day ever end?
“I’m sorry, Chiara.” It was a very close call on what offended Chiara more, the insults to Vi or the meekness of Frankie’s insincere apology given with down-turned eyes and hard-set mouth.
“Vi… Thank you for the…” She tried to remember what she was thanking Vi for. She hadn’t had her meds yet, and everything was so jumbled, she wanted to curl up and sleep for a week.
When Vi lifted her hand with the phone in response, Chiara just nodded. “We still have some time before the shoot starts downstairs, and Renate and Aoife are there. Would you wait for me while I speak with Frankie, and then we can proceed?”
In her peripheral vision, she could see Frankie crow and throw Vi a triumphant look. Chiara approached Vi and reached to take the phone from her hands that were still so cold, infusing her own gaze with as much encouragement as she could.
She didn’t know if it worked, because Vi turned on her heel and left the studio, the space vacated by her suddenly chilly and empty. For the hundredth time this past week, Chiara thought herself such a fool for all these emotions and all this need she could no longer not acknowledge.
As she turned, the concern and tenderness in Frankie’s eyes seemed honest for once, and she felt foolish again. Years had gone by, and she still held on to all the guilt where Frankie was concerned, squeezing her heart.
“Frankie—”
“Please don’t say anything. I really am sorry.
” With her booted foot scraping the floor, like a little girl who’d been caught stealing cookies, Frankie resembled the woman Chiara had fallen for all those years ago so much.
Mischievous and funny. Tender and loving.
Time had done a number on all of them. They’d done a number on themselves.
“This isn’t how I wanted to bring any of this to you.
Myself, my reason for being here, my anger, any of this.
I can’t even say I didn’t expect all the dragons.
I figured this would be how I’d be received by them.
Even by the damn cat. You always inspire so much loyalty from those who love you, after all…
” Frankie’s eyes widened after that Freudian slip and Chiara let out a tired chuckle.
“And you always got in your own way, Frankie. Deeds, words.”
Frankie had the decency to look at her with guilt written all over her face for a second before smiling from under her bangs.
“You know what I’m saying, Sleeping Beauty.”
Chiara waved at her dismissively.
“Too many fairytale metaphors per square foot in this house.”
“Are you all still calling Courtenay ‘Cinderella’? She looks like she landed on her feet, poor little lamb.”
“Would you stop that, Frankie? Honestly, why are you here? I can’t imagine it’s what you claimed earlier. So, what is it? Business not going well? Creditors on your tail? What?”
It was Frankie’s turn to chuckle.
“So cynical, my love. None of that. Lilien Haus was taken by the bank three days ago. It will hit the press next week. I don’t have anything anymore. No home, no atelier, no fashion house.”
Chiara started as the words reached her, and Frankie laid a hand on her shoulder, thumb moving up and down her skin that was exposed by the flimsy sleeve, silky smooth, so unlike Vi’s calloused hands.
Chiara shook her off, more upset with herself for the immediate comparison than with Frankie for daring to touch her.
“So, what now?”
Frankie shrugged, and Chiara felt the gesture in her bones. Her ex-wife’s nonchalance really hadn’t been for show. She’d meant it. Years of her life, her entire life in fact, all up in smoke, and yet here she was, smiling serenely.
“Now I’m free. Of the ego, of the mistakes of the past, of those marble floors that continued to echo with your steps.
That entire building still held the scent of you, Chiara.
Years passed, and despite it being mine, every brick and tile infused with you.
You brought so much more to that place than your talent. ”
The backs of Chiara’s eyes stung with unshed tears. Why did she feel like crying? She had made her peace with never being acknowledged, never once being given her due… Why did it hurt her so much now, to have Frankie speak these words she’d have killed to hear years ago?
She hadn’t been her wife for four years. She hadn’t been anyone’s wife since Frankie had cheated on her. So why did it suddenly matter that she was acknowledging what Chiara had known all along?
Lilien Haus was Chiara Conti, and without her, it lay in ruins.
It should have soothed Chiara’s ego. It should have given her that vindication she had been craving for so long. Instead, it rang hollow. It rang cheap. It rang way too late to give her any kind of satisfaction.
So was she crying because it was all so useless? Because they’d broken each other twice over and still ended up here?
For the hundredth time in the last hour, Chiara thought about how tired she was. And how much she wanted to not be here, in this situation, with these emotions running rampant in her chest, twisting that little sliver of glass that had been lodged there.
“Frankie…”
“No, don’t say anything. I understand you are otherwise occupied and the special edition of Poise is a huge deal, babe.
The first time I saw you was on the cover of that magazine all those years ago, after all.
I lost my copy. I regret that so much. There is so much I regret, period.
But you better believe it, I will treasure this one.
And you also better believe that I won’t make the same mistakes I made back in Paris. ”
With a soft kiss to her cheek, Frankie was gone, and Chiara’s tears spilled then, washing the trace of those lips off her skin.