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He beat her to it, though, still not looking at her.

“You can leave, Genevieve.” He lit up his cigar, knowing full well she hated the smell, and frowned when she coughed. As she stood and hurried to the door, his quietly murmured, “and don’t screw up,” followed her out the door.

Screw up what?

The thought raced through her mind even as the smell chased her away.

* * *

The summer eveningwelcomed her with a light drizzle, and she mindlessly followed the crowds meandering in the warmth and in the remarkably fresh scent of the Parisian streets, thankful for her waterproof backpack that shielded her newly acquired camera. She had no destination, so the cafes and bars passed her by, people enjoying their evening under awnings and parasols, sipping Bordeaux or whatever else one sipped while enjoying an evening out, while Vi’s shirt was getting heavier on her shoulders.

The coolness of the raindrops provided a welcome distraction from the burning shame that was eating at her.

She understood her father didn't love her, although she didn't know why. She lived with it, was accustomed to it, and had long since stopped questioning the reasons. But on nights like this, the skin she'd grown over old wounds broke open, and the desperation of a child seeking her dad's approval surfaced in all its pitiful meekness for everyone to see. It was never pretty. Yet it was always painful. And as he rejected her again and again, shame always followed in the footsteps of her desperation.

Vi walked on, the drizzle turning into a steady rainfall, her shirt clinging to her skin and her Converses filling with water. She shivered.

The cold Vi could bear. It was the knowledge that she had once again been this hungry for approval and even for a hint of affection from her family, that she’d inadvertently spilled other people’s secrets that now burned her throat.

When her angry tears fell, the rain obscured them among the rivulets on her face, and she felt somewhat comforted.

And when Rue Saint-Honoré’s pavement greeted her shoes, she felt safer still. She said a silent prayer, even as the bellhop at the Hotel Crillon gave her his usual dirty look as she passed by.

Vi knew she looked awful. She didn’t need the overworked man to tell her so. Hair plastered to her scalp and clothes drenched, water sloshing in her shoes, she was sure a drowned rat made for a seemlier picture. It didn’t matter. Her legs were taking her to where her heart wanted to be. Guilty as it was. Of so many things.

So what was one more? One more secret. One more betrayal. One more instance of greed. Of coveting something that wasn’t hers and would neverbehers.

Vi bit her lip in an effort to stop the tears, then bit harder when the treacherous emotions overwhelmed her, anyway.

By the time she reached Lilien Haus, she was shaking like a leaf and unable to stop. Clearly, this has not been her best decision. But the lights from the fifth floor shone like a beacon. Chiara was still here, and despite the way they parted the last time they’d seen each other, Vi knew she couldn’t turn away.

The lion-headed door knocker felt like it was made of lead, so heavy, her fingers seemed unable to even encircle it.

She sent a prayer that her feeble attempts would be successful, hoping the sounds would echo up the empty hallways, then shook her head at the situation where a ‘godless heathen’ like her—according to her father—who believed in nothing, had suddenly found religion.

Time stretched. Interminable. And among the storm and Vi’s turmoil, the door opened and there was the goddess Vi realized she was praying to.

Chiara stood in front of her, illuminated by the light of the bright foyer, her hair held up by the ever-present pencil, signaling she had been working. Her dark eyes widened with honest concern, followed by a semblance of understanding Vi could only wish to ever achieve. Since she herself couldn’t explain why she was even here.

But Chiara, in her great wisdom, seemed to comprehend. And in her even greater kindness did not ask any questions. She simply extended her hand, blue veins translucent under the pale skin, and Vi surrendered.

“Come,” Chiara took her frigid fingers in her warm ones and instead of heading for the stairs, led Vi to the rarely used elevator in the corner of the foyer. The ride up was slow, but Chiara’s hand did not let go of hers, and Vi proceeded to close her eyes and imagined the warmth of that hand slowly spreading through hers, up her arm and into her heart. The thought was so foolish.Shewas such a fool. And Vi was so done for.

When the door slid open, the lights of the studio were like a balm on her aching skin. Despite their brightness, despite their harshness, Vi felt at home. Even Binoche’s displeasure at her interrupted sleep was comforting. It was so damn absurd. So…

“…silly.” She heard herself say the word and stopped in her tracks, expecting Chiara to ask her, to react in some way. Instead, her hand was gently tugged in the direction of the bathroom. There, Chiara took one of the soft, fluffy towels hanging off the hook in the corner, and to Vi’s shock, slowly started to wipe her tear- and rain-stained face.

“It’s not absurd. Something happened and it hurt you, and it’s not silly to feel the way you do.” Chiara’s voice sounded so matter-of-fact, so devoid of pity or any other outward emotion, Vi was mortified.

“The way I feel?” She didn’t recognize her own voice, broken and hollow even to her ears.

“Adrift,” Chiara murmured, and her hand settled on the nape of Vi’s neck, steadying her, terrifying her with how amazing it felt to be touched, to be anchored.

“I guess… I’m sorry, I’m intruding. I don’t know why I came here…” Vi stumbled over her own words. But she was embarrassed and also scared.

It was too much. Too good. The towel was heavenly on her skin, so soft it was making her feel sleepy, which was quite a contrast to the strange sensation spreading through her from her neck, still being firmly held in that graceful hand.

“Are you hungry? Have you had anything to eat today, Vi? You’re shaking.” Chiara’s expressive eyes were staring right at her, and Vi felt herself sink deeper, breathless.