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Chiara swallowed around the lump in her throat and allowed her head to rest against Vi’s.

“Well, then I guess we need a new list, darling. How about we start with a quickie backstage during the biggest showing at Fashion Week?”

Vi laughed and kissed Chiara’s temple.

“Arabella may blow a gasket. It’s her party, after all.”

“Ha, if you think she and Renate didn’t christen the place last year when Poise officially took over the sponsorship, you are mistaken.”

“Oh please, I really don’t want to know.” Vi’s voice sounded pained, but her chest shook with suppressed laughter.

“Aoife told me all about it since she walked in on them. You’re my girlfriend. For better or worse, Vi. I know, so you have to as well. I don’t make the rules.”

“I see how it is.” She felt Vi’s smile on her throat as Vi dipped her head, and she shivered. Vi held her tighter, and Chiara could sense her getting ready to say something she was certain would be big.

But Vi was silent, simply holding her, slow-dancing with her in their kitchen, now only interrupted by the sleepy, rather disgruntled-sounding purring of the sated cat. The cozy moment stretched, Chiara content and safe in those lanky arms. Vi nuzzled her temple before tensing up as she spoke tentatively.

“For better or worse?”

Ah, Chiara closed her eyes and turned in the embrace. Their lips met with the now habitual precision, the kiss deepening instantly, hunger that had been suppressed by nerves and the mundane, sparking to life instantly.

But Chiara couldn’t surrender to it just yet.

“In sickness and in health, Genevieve Courtenay. I did fit the shoe on you after all, Cinderella.”

Eternal, Chiara thought, reminded of a distant conversation that had made her sad years ago and brought happiness now. Vi held her closer, sharing her warmth, with Manhattan waking up around them.

AFTERWORD

Once upon a time in a faraway land, there was an A student with an eidetic memory. And because the kid excelled, her parents had very strong ideas about what their child would become. They wanted a doctor in the family. No other profession would suffice nor make them as proud as a surgeon or a cardiologist would.

Fast forward a few years, and a child who aced every subject—with the small exception of having to cheat in geography when longitude and latitude were involved—failed math. Then failed it again. And again. Then failed chemistry, because… math. Goodbye, medical school.

Teachers were puzzled. “How is it that you don’t understand math? You do so well in everything else? Are you just being willful? Stubborn? Do you need tutoring?”

Three tutors later—a deeper financial hole for the already struggling family—and more failed math, the kid became a lawyer, medical school remaining a dream brought up occasionally at Christmas and Thanksgiving tables.

The mystery of the no-longer-a-kid’s “willfulness” about math was recently put to rest with the diagnosis of dyscalculia, or math dyslexia. An estimated 3 to 6% of people in the world have it. It’s much better understood now.

Like Chiara’s, the kid’s mother worked three jobs to make ends meet, and like Chiara, this kid has lived with the guilt of crushing her mom’s biggest and only dream for twenty years. They’ve both come so far, worked through so much, and are now at peace with the realities of their lives.

Our brains and our hearts work in wonderful, mysterious ways.

The End