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Cora found the soft, luminous Manuela intriguing. She loved the coy smiles and come-hither looks. But explosive, furious Manuela was irresistible to her. “I expected you to keep hiding from me,” she tossed over her shoulder, as she pretended to look at herself in the mirror.
“I was not hiding from you, Manuela,” she said in her most reasonable voice. She was right, of course. She had been hiding. For two days she’d been reckoning with the way she’d forgotten herself that night after Claudine’s. She’d run off to that meeting with Grinaud, only to realize she didn’t much care if she got the building or not.
She sat there for an hour hearing the man drone about some obscure grape he’d found for his private vineyards and wondered why she was there. Why she’d left a woman who had given her the best night of her life to chase after something she knew couldn’t make her happy. She’d gone from that damn meeting with Grinaud straight to the Palais des Beaux Arts to make sure Manuela’s paintings had been moved, like she’d asked them to the day after they signed the damned contract.
“What does one call leaving a half-naked woman in your bedroom and flying off to a meeting, then?” The clear hurt in Manuela’s voice shamed her enough to make her look away.
“I had obligations, Manuela,” she said, instead of begging for forgiveness. “I can’t disregard my business.”
“Then why are you ordering dresses for me, Cora?” her princess demanded, face thunderous as she whipped around. “Why did you send boxes of undergarments to my town house yesterday?”
Because I couldn’t stand the idea of taking you to the opera wearing a dress he paid for. Because the mere thought of anything from him touching your bare skin makes me want to break things.
“I wish I knew!” she burst out, genuinely at a loss over what was happening to her. Her life was in utter chaos since Manuela Caceres Galvan had dropped into it. “I don’t know,” she repeated, helplessly. “There is no script when it comes to you.”
“Stop saying things like that, Cora. It’s just going to make things harder.”
It’s already going to be hell,Cora thought.
Manuela sighed and turned away from her to face the mirror. It was indecent the way she filled that dress. All Cora could think about was tearing it off her. “How did you get a modiste this fast anyhow?”
“By paying a fortune,” she admitted, looking around the small dressing room.
“She is very good,” Manuela conceded, as she admired her reflection. As mad as her princess was, she did love a pretty dress. Cora had never fancied women who seemed partial to vanity. She’d always prided herself in not attracting that kind of attention. When men spoke about her it was because of her gift for numbers, for her business acumen. Manuela, on the other hand, loved being looked at, even now when she was clearly cross with Cora, she wanted the praise, and for the first time in her life, Cora felt the impulse to shower someone other than her stepson with it.
“That color makes your skin look lit from within,” she whispered and received a sultry, sideways glance and a littlehmph.
“Bernadette said she worked for Empress Marie-Claire of Haiti,” Manuela offered in answer.
No truce yet, it seemed.
“Her grandmother was the modiste to the empress until her death,” Cora confirmed, then had to bite her tongue not too laugh at Manuela’s visible struggle with her curiosity.
“I knew she lived in exile here in Europe,” she said, her tone a mite friendlier and those brown eyes alive with questions.
“After she left Haiti, Empress Marie-Claire lived near Pisa with her daughters for many years.” Manuela kept running a finger along the edge of her bodice as she listened, which Cora found utterly entrancing. She had to force herself to continue talking. “Bernadette’s grandmother came with her as a young woman and married an Italian. They remained there after the empress passed.”
“Fascinating.” Cora smiled at Manuela’s thoughtful expression. She could not remain angry for very long. One more thing for Cora to be absurdly smitten with. “Exile is so much more vast than those grand figures,” she said reflectively, and Cora could see this musing was about much more than Bernadette. “So many displaced by war.” It was Manuela’s own story, in a way, having left her home country so young, due to her own island’s struggles for autonomy. “I’m glad that Bernadette has continued her family’s legacy.”
Cora nodded in agreement as she came to stand behind Manuela. This woman looked at the world with a sort of magic. She could find a glimmer of light, a trace of beauty in almost everything. Maybe that was how she managed to keep that light that seemed to emanate from her. The large mirror in front of them gave her a very lovely view of the front of the dress. Cora wanted to peel it all off. She’d hardly thought of anything other than making love to her again since they’d last seen each other.
“She was one of Worth’s best modistes, but he wasn’t paying her what she deserved,” Cora explained, getting closer. “Bernadette is a friend of Claudine’s. When I heard she was looking to start her own shop, I invested. She makes dresses for all the diplomats’ wives and society ladies from the Caribbean. She understands their lines better,” Cora murmured, unable to resist running a hand down the curve of Manuela’s waist.
“I am still very cross with you,” the heiress informed her, even as her lids turned heavy and her body softened to Cora’s touch.
“So I heard,” Cora whispered, sweeping away curls at the nape of Manuela’s neck and leaving a trail of kisses in their place. “Cassandra said you were not very happy with me.”
“I hope your meeting was successful, since it seemed so important.” Cora lifted her gaze from Manuela’s neck and found hurt brown eyes staring at her in the mirror.
“I shouldn’t haven’t rushed out like that.” She ran a finger down Manuela’s arm as she spoke and felt a shiver go through the body in her arms. “I was mad at myself, and I punished you for it.” She laughed at the challenging gaze in the mirror that practically screamedYou are going to have to do better than that.
“I’ve been trying to buy a building in Boulevard Saint-Germain for over two years now, and the owner had finally agreed to see me that morning. I was angry at myself for forgetting.” Noticing the minor thawing in her princess’s eyes she risked wrapping her arms around her waist and squeezed, almost sighing in relief at the contact.
“You could’ve just told me, you know,” Manuela said, turning that wounded chocolate gaze toward Cora. “You didn’t have to make me feel like you didn’t want me there.”
Cora had become unaccustomed to admitting her shortcomings. For so long she’d been dealing in a world of people she reviled on principle that she’d barely listened to anyone outside of the few she truly trusted. But Manuela was not the men she did business with. She was a woman who like her was trying to do her best by herself and by those who depended on her. A woman who had given Cora the only moments of true happiness she’d had in a very long time. She deserved better.
“I acted terribly, and you are right to be angry with me. I’m sorry.” She was awarded a small nod, even though Manuela kept her eyes cast down.
