27. In a Faraway Land of Heroes and Villains
IN A FARAWAY LAND OF HEROES AND VILLAINS
C hiara Conti never really believed in magic, but as she made her dramatic exit from the waiting room, as if by the flick of a wand, the subject of all the preceding drama was leaning against the wall opposite the door, watching her with tired, concerned eyes.
The image of all that disheveled hair, the rumpled clothes, the linen shirt she’d hastily pulled on, the slightly too big trousers held up by the stupidly attractive suspenders, and the naked ankles peeking out from under the material…
It did something to Chiara on a visceral level.
Stupidly. That was the correct descriptor of how this woman affected Chiara.
But next to the unvarnished lust, there was also intricate adoration, tenderness, and above all else, limitless love. And guilt. So much guilt, Chiara felt she might suffocate on it.
And the wondrous eyes kept looking at her, despite Aoife saying something to Vi, despite people milling back and forth in the now crowded corridor, and the distance between them. Vi was seeing only her, and the hope in Chiara’s heart bloomed.
Maybe they would make it to the other end of this clusterfuck they’d created. All these things that should have been so simple. All of this, which was supposed to have been a quiet divorce, a quiet courtship, and a quiet, happy five years of love.
Except while happiness was always straightforward, misery had no such requirements. And you always had to pay the toll.
Had Renate been her wake-up call? Was Frankie’s confession the first strip of her heart she had to pay for knowing the truth? And would whatever happened with Vi next, force her to surrender the rest of it?
Perhaps seeing her indecisiveness, Vi strode over, took her hand, and in a matter of minutes, they were making their way through the hospital’s labyrinth of hallways and passageways.
Before long, Vi had them outside and was hailing a cab with one of those attractively self-assured gestures that Chiara knew would never go unanswered, because a car was at the curb next to them in an instant.
The trip to the Village was a blur of a cigarette-smoke-filled backseat and the dimming lights of the awakening city. Vi’s hand in hers, warm and sure, was an anchor amidst the stench and the sensory overload.
Even as Vi’s building appeared in front of them, that thin thread that had been tormenting Chiara for days tugged at her until she turned around.
She knew they were there even before her eyes caught sight of them, because that wonderful warmth was gone from Vi’s hand in an instant.
And as Charles faced them under the dying light of the lamp, Chiara remembered exactly where she had seen him. No, the dawn of Manhattan wasn’t the dusk of Paris, but she knew. And suddenly, so many things made sense. Only one question remained.
“We’ve been ringing the doorbell for ten minutes, Genevieve. You certainly keep inappropriate hours.”
Charles' voice sounded haughty and a little rough, maybe due to the early hour or the fact that both he and Gwyneth were decked out to the nines, clearly coming from some fancy reception.
Possibly even her own, since the Poise party surely continued until dawn, despite the guests of honor leaving early.
He looked tired. His wife looked as bored as always.
“I’m an adult, father.”
“Being an adult doesn’t permit you to be rude, Genevieve. Invite us up. If your date can stand an interruption.”
His eyes swept over Chiara with the same indifference as always, and the last pieces of the Courtenay puzzle slid into place for her. Some things really were that simple. She had no more questions. Only answers. And now was the right time to share them. Vi had suffered enough.
“This is actually fortuitous, Charles. I would have sought you out within the next few hours myself.” Chiara straightened to her full height, looking Charles directly in the eye.
Clearly, this wasn’t something he was accustomed to, because his gaze narrowed, and he lifted his aristocratic chin, the shadow of gray stubble making him look so much older.
“Chiara…” Vi’s voice trembled, and it was all she could do not to give in and gather her in her arms, as she should have done countless times five years ago.
Still, better late than never.
“Darling, I will explain, even if I would have preferred to speak to you first. Alas, there is only one way to untangle the Gordian knot. So please bear with me.”
The fear in Vi’s eyes almost stopped her, but instead, Chiara squeezed her hand before sweeping into the building, impassive as to whether she was followed.
She knew she would be. At least one of the Courtenays would be curious.
And Chiara counted on that curiosity. It had killed the cat, after all.
By the time they all found themselves inside Vi’s apartment, Charles was even more disgruntled, perched uncomfortably on the sofa, Gwyneth was apathetic, lounging in the armchair farthest from Chiara, while Vi stood in the middle of the living room looking at the entire gathering with somewhat bewildered eyes.
Chiara affected a smile and felt it stretch her lips unpleasantly.
“Well, I don’t know about all of you, but I’ve had quite a night, and with as much bullshit and aggravation as you have caused me over the past several years, I have a lot to say, so I will make this, if not painless, then at least succinct—”
Charles’ jaw clenched before he seemed to will it to relax. “I have no idea who you think you are and what you are doing here, Ms. Conti, but I won’t allow you to speak to us like this. To order us around, to threaten us like common criminals—”
“There’s nothing common about you, Charles. Nothing whatsoever. And while law enforcement might be fascinated with this uncommonness , I must tell you, I simply don’t give a damn.”
She could see he was taken aback by her words as he looked around himself and invariably at the one person who was keeping her silence—the same as always.
Chiara took a step towards the windowsill and leaned on it—another window, another view, and the same city now almost fully awake and alive at her fingertips. She felt the anger she’d been trying to hold back roar to life, for herself, for Vi, for the time that they had lost.
“Five years ago, I was on top of the world. Yes, my wife had just been caught cheating on me, but I was the happiest I had ever been. I was in love, and I was loved back. Until I wasn’t… Or so I thought.”
“Chiara…” The sorrow in Vi’s voice made it sound hollow, her eyes alight with so much pain, so much self-recrimination. It had to end. Chiara knew she had to end it.
“For years, I believed Vi had betrayed me. That she had her reasons for lying to me when I asked if she had sold the pictures of me catching Frankie in the act. To this day, every time I remember that night, I remember her eyes. Just like now, they were full of self-loathing, because just like now, she was torn between her love and loyalty to you—the only family she has, Charles—and her sense of honor and doing what was right.”
“Chiara, please, I did lie that night.” The tremor in Vi’s voice was breaking Chiara’s heart. And when she finally looked from Charles' astonished face to Vi’s beloved features, she smiled at her with as much love as she was able to convey.
“No, darling. You didn’t. Or, at least, not entirely. You shook your head when I asked you if you knew who did it and I chose not to believe you, because how could you not know? After all, it had to be you, right? Nobody else had access.”
“I did lie, because I did know. My father—”
“How dare you!” Charles was on his feet in a second, but before he could approach Vi or even say anything else, Chiara simply stared him down and lowered her voice.
“If I were you, I’d call a lawyer, Charles.”
Vi gasped, and Charles' already red face turned a peaked, ruddy shade.
“I will ruin you, Conti. Defamation—”
“But I didn’t defame you, Charles. Not yet anyway.
” Chiara shrugged, infusing it with as much nonchalance as she could muster.
“It took me a long time to remember where I’d seen you before.
Too long. And perhaps, had I remembered, I’d have figured things out sooner.
Alas, faces are not my strong suit. Gowns are, though. ”
She looked beyond Charles, but in her periphery, she saw him take a step back. “In fact, I gave you excellent advice just now. Because you will need that lawyer. Make it a very good one. I hear family law attorneys are hard to come by on the cheap. Your finances being what they are.”
In the silence of the room, Chiara actually wished for Binoche.
That cat knew how to cut through tension in the most irreverent of ways.
The strange detour her brain had taken made her smile.
She’d never appreciated her thought processes more than in this moment.
When her emotions were running her ragged, her mind had conjured up the perfect distraction to give itself a small, much-needed breather.
“I don’t understand.” Vi’s voice brought her back to the moment. It no longer trembled, and she wasn’t focused on Chiara anymore. Her burning eyes were now aimed at the one person who still hadn’t uttered a single word.
Gwyneth stood up, her lip curling in a move to rival any fairytale villain worth her salt.
She tilted her head, a smirk now distorting her face.
“What is there to understand, Cinderella? It’s like you’ve not read the fairytale.
It was always the stepmother.” She turned and took a few steps towards Chiara, completely ignoring the other people in the room.
“Was it the Silver gown?” Her words were flat, emotionless, as if she were discussing the weather and not years of theft, commercial espionage, and just plain old treachery.
“I was in London when that dress was shown, just before it was stolen, Gwyneth. And it was stolen. The Maestro would have never given it away.”