24. In a Faraway Land of Sacrifices and Desire
IN A FARAWAY LAND OF SACRIFICES AND DESIRE
C hiara Conti had always been attuned to her lovers.
More so to Vi than anyone else. And whether it was due to her own feelings, or because of all the small and big gestures that Vi had shown her—from that affection for the grumpy cat, to the magnificent Poise issue that contained all that love she clearly held for Chiara—when they had reached for each other, hands and lips and mouth, Chiara gentled her touch.
For the first time since she’d seen Vi on Chiaroscuro’s doorstep, their coming together and coming undone was neither fraught with uncertainty or anguish, nor fast, or rough or hectic.
It started with passionate words, breathed into Vi’s ear in the room full of people—people who neither cared, nor saw them.
Not really. Since Chiara knew for a fact that nobody in the entire world looked at Vi the way she did.
And when those wondrous eyes had widened before darkening, Chiara knew she had her.
Then, when they had gotten into the waiting limo and Vi’s shoulders relaxed, away from the prying eyes and meddling people, away from the potential heartbreak, Chiara was sure she had done the right thing.
But Vi’s words, cushioned by the intimacy of the darkness of the backseat with Manhattan flying by them, confirmed as much.
“He was there, wasn’t he? Just now, with you. I didn’t imagine it.”
Chiara felt more than heard Vi gulping back emotions, because the words were coming out strained, tortured. And so she simply took the cold and clammy hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, and stared unseeingly as the lights of The City that Never Sleeps accompanied them on their journey.
“You always seem to save me. I’ve never told you how many times in Paris…”
The backs of Chiara’s eyes stung, and she wondered why she was trying to hold back the tears. She was safe here. Despite everything, she felt safe. And what a realization to have after all these years?
“I always knew.”
Vi’s hand tensed in hers, and Chiara lifted it and placed a kiss on the prominent knuckles, enjoying the catch in Vi’s breath.
“I knew. I may not have said. And I may not have shown, because the times you came to me, hurting and confused, it was more expedient to simply comfort you rather than telling you how much I hurt with you.”
“Thank you.” The hand in Chiara’s relaxed a bit, even if the roughness did not leave the trembling voice, and Vi’s breath was coming out raggedly now, despite Chiara’s best efforts to calm her down.
“And yet, you realized he was with me just now. Still, you were walking in my direction anyway. Talk about saving, darling. Or talk about a complete lack of self-preservation.”
In the darkness, the swatches of street light gave Vi’s face an eerie glow, making her look ethereal. Why had Chiara never thought that about her before? Five years ago, she’d been all angelic innocence, and now she was a fallen one, tormented by her own descent.
“It seems my self-preservation isn’t worth much when it comes to you, Chiara.”
There was self-deprecation in the words, but the tone had evened out, and Chiara could sense the raggedness leave Vi’s breath.
“Yes, it does seem that way. Even five years ago, you should have stayed away from me. Though I have to say, I was perhaps the perfect temptation for someone like you. Unhappy, lonely, lost as I was. And that knight in shining armor in you, that guardian angel… Well, you were doomed from the start, weren’t you? ”
Chiara wasn’t sure where the words were coming from. They were certainly insulting Vi’s intelligence and the power of whatever feelings she fancied she’d had five years ago. But even as Chiara recoiled, Vi chuckled.
“We should have talked about it years ago. I loved you for your brilliant mind, for the generosity and kindness you showed me, for your beauty and for the gentleness of your heart. For the post-its and marinara sauce. For the careful way you made me love myself. I loved you for so many instances of wonder and magic that you brought to my days back then. And for all the dreams of possibilities and hope you filled my nights with.” Chiara trembled at the words and Vi lifted their joined hands for a gentle kiss on her knuckles before continuing.
“I loved you despite the circumstance and against everything that was right. I crossed so many lines drawn by god and man—well, woman—for you. I think the only thing I regret about Paris is not crossing all of them…”
Chiara watched Vi’s eyes get misty as she looked into the night that was speeding by them and felt her own chest fill with both regret and affection. Her heart was so full of both and her tears spilled hot on her cheeks, for all the time they’d lost.
And yet, there was something else there, that thread, that thin, barely-there silky filament that kept tugging at Chiara’s memories and at her consciousness. At times, it seemed within her reach, and today she was certain she would grasp it.
The car stopped abruptly, and the driver exited to open their door, pulling her out of her musings.
As they climbed the steps towards her apartment, the townhouse seemed to settle around them, the empty showroom glimmering in the dark, the cozy offices and their deep green, soft tones soothing with their presence.
Her own atelier, allaying her regrets and her anguish with the splendor of the night seeping into the space through the massive skylights.
Chiara was reluctant to turn on the lights and just allowed the house to do what it always did best. She let the space that had become home more than any other, comfort her, as she felt the silk of that weightiness, the significance of the moment, wrap itself around her thoughts, offering both hope and solace, while Vi’s hands steered her into the dim living room.
Binoche welcomed them with a meow and a hiss, as though she resented her own demands for attention.
“This is such a cliché. Me bringing you this cat. Such a romcom thing.” Vi’s voice held a smile, even if Chiara couldn’t see it in the dark.
“Except ours was never a romcom, darling.”
“A tragedy?” The cat was purring now, and Chiara realized that, while she was lost in her own thoughts, Vi must’ve picked Binoche up.
“One of our own making. I never apologized. And neither did you…”
“I’ve been trying to—”
“No, Vi, what you’ve been trying to do is atone.
To let me, Aoife, Renate, life, your parents—you name it—hurt you for something you did five years ago.
You’ve been attempting to pay penance. The lost weight, the unhealthy, no-sleep lifestyle you…
” Chiara struggled to find the right word, and instead waved her hand at Vi, hoping that she could see the gesture in the shadows.
And Vi must have managed, because her answer was a low laugh, which made Chiara roll her eyes.
“Nuh uh, don’t you dare brush this off. You don’t sleep, you don’t eat. You work ‘till you drop and you make love like you owe me.”
Vi set the cat down and her voice suddenly sounded much closer, a dangerous note emanating from it. “No one ever complained, Chiara. You certainly haven’t.”
The low tone shrouded Chiara’s ability to reason with fog, a haze of sudden lust. A feeling that had taken a back seat on their drive, in spite of a deep desire that had been slowly winding her up like a spring ever since she had seen that tuxedo.
Or maybe ever since she’d first laid eyes on Vi in New York again.
Events, places, Vi’s face all formed a kaleidoscope in her mind, and Chiara knew their time for words was over.
She had said plenty, yet not enough, and she hadn’t convinced Vi of anything, but perhaps during this past hour, she had persuaded herself.
And allowed herself that first careful step. Towards trust. Towards Vi.
And so she took another one, and then another, closer, until she could see the narrowed eyes, filled with that same lust. And love.
Vi had spoken of her feelings in past tense, but Chiara knew enough of the world, of people, and most importantly of Vi, to recognize this one thing. To know it for certain. After all, it had been undisputable even five years ago. Vi loved her.
When their lips touched, Chiara realized it would be different. It would be sweet. And it would be gentle. And as she slowly tasted Vi’s mouth, those full lips gentled too, slowing down, taking their time.
With the one exception, they’d never had the luxury of time with each other, and so they did now, Chiara slanting her mouth over Vi’s, taking and giving in equal measure, even as their breaths mingled and their lips danced.
Her hands dove into the auburn silk of Vi’s hair, tugging and scattering the pins, feeling scalded when the fiery strands fell over her fingertips, yet holding on tighter, gratified and electrified by Vi’s whimper, licking deeper into her open mouth, feeling powerful, feeling free for the first time in years.
The gifts this woman bestowed on her, giving her strength and courage, and yes, freedom. Freedom to be herself, freedom to stand on a ledge and watch the city slip by underneath her and to know that, should she fall, she would be caught.
The warm hands on her face told her as much. Told her that she should have made the leap sooner, that no matter the past, she should have let go, let it all be.
Who needed proof when these fingers caressed and tended to her while tears were tumbling from underneath Vi’s closed eyelids?
Even falling apart, Vi was gentle and careful and self-sacrificing. It was time for Chiara to let her. And to trust her.
“I love you. And I forgive you. For everything you think you need forgiveness for, darling. I should have taken your word. I should have listened. I’m so sorry.”
Vi’s tears fell in earnest now.
“Chiara… No… You can’t. I lied. I lied so many times. You don’t understand… I couldn’t—”
“No, cuore mio . My heart. We will figure it out. I promise you. Let go now. With me.”