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“You can stay with me at the Place des Vosges until I go back to Mexico in November,” Aurora told her, as if reading her mind. Manu gripped the rough, dry skin of her friend’s hands, calloused from the harsh chemicals she used to ensure the safety of her patients. The evidence of dedication, of hard work, etched into her skin. Manuela smiled at her own fingers, which always had a few smudges of paint. Her own palms perennially chapped from dealing with turpentine. It was not the same, of course. Aurora saved lives and Manuela made art and Luz Alana made rum, but each of them found joy and passion in their work. They’d been reared to be ladies, but they had found purpose beyond society’s expectations. Manuela could no longer let her life be dictated by others. Not even by the woman who owned her heart.
“Thank you, Leona,” she said, grateful but determined to do this on her own. “But if I am going to make a life here in Paris, if I am to have any chance at happiness, I have to begin betting on myself.” Despite all that had been broken, saying those words made her hope that new things could be built in their place. She silently wished that somewhere in Paris the woman she adored was also thinking of her own future, and that it included love.
“You don’t have to do it alone, and you don’t have to do it all at once,” Aurora reminded her, and though Manuela already knew that to be true, hearing it from her friend began to repair some of what had been badly broken in the past few days.
“I have to start somewhere,” she said, fortified by the thought of making some decisions of her own. Making that deal with Cora had been the first time she’d truly chosen a path for herself. And though it didn’t end quite as she would’ve wished, it had been worth it. “I think selling my wardrobe alone should get me enough coin to get settled somewhere,” she suggested.
“Your dresses! Truly, Manuela?” Aurora gasped in real horror, making Manuela laugh.
“I never thought you’d be the one to come to the defense of what you once called mybloated collection of outrageously priced rags,” Manuela teased.
“I may have been a mite harsh,” her friend said in apology, and for some reason Manuela found Aurora’s contrition absurdly humorous. They were both laughing heartily when there was a loud knock on the door to the small apartment.
“Who is that?” Manuela clutched the front of her gown, while Aurora stood, suddenly very alert.
“It’s the cavalry.” She reached for the doorknob, turning it without even asking who it was.
The cavalry? It could not be Luz Alana: she and Evan had sent a telegram that morning saying they’d arrive in Paris the next day, and Antonio had gone to Berlin for the rest of the summer.
She didn’t have to wonder for long.
In the next moment all her questions were answered when Cassandra, Pasquale and Claudine strode into the room.
“Ah, querida, we came as soon as we could,” Cassandra exclaimed as she entered the room with a basket of what looked like champagne bottles and cheese. Manuela stood in surprise, realizing she was absolutely not dressed for company. “No, don’t move,” the Brasileira said, gently pushing her back down on the settee. “We are here to ply you with champagne and devise a plan of attack for your new life in Paris.”
“Don’t worry about anything, chérie. We will take care of everything,” Claudine assured her as she bussed Manuela’s cheeks.
“I thought you’d be with Cora,” she said in a low voice, fighting tears...again. “I thought you’d all be so mad at me for what I did to your friend.”
“You’reour friend too,” Pasquale declared, already working on uncorking one of the bottles from Cassandra’s basket.
“You are ourdearfriend,” Cassandra echoed, handing out coupes to everyone. “And what were you supposed to do? I love Cora like a sister, but she has no sense of theatrical timing. Did she truly burst into the church like an avenging angel?”
Claudine clucked her tongue as if the whole thing was utterly hopeless, then pulled something out of the basket, which had to have a very deep bottom.
“Have some cheese. We will discuss our plan,” the older woman declared. In that moment Manuela began counting her blessings to have found friends who not only came to the rescue but who knew there was no problem in life one could not tackle armed with good cheese and champagne.
“Thank you for being here, but—” she said, washing down a delicious bite of Mimolette “—I would like to be clear that I have no intention of patching things up with Cora unless—”
Cassie threw her hand up. “Darling, we are here foryou. We don’t need to discuss my extremely stubborn friend at all, if you prefer.”
Despite how furious she’d been with Cora, she immediately felt bad that her friends had come to be with Manuela. She had to be suffering just as much. “She’s not alone, is she?” she couldn’t help but ask. Cassandra’s lips turned up at the question, and she turned to Pasquale with a hand cupping the side of her mouth as if she intended to share a secret. “They are much more well-matched in temperament, no?”
Pasquale’s kind face shone with affectionate approval. “They are a perfect match,” he said and patted Manuela on one knee while she tried her hardest not to sob. “Don’t worry about our dear duchess. Her son and tante are with her.” A wave of relief crashed over her at Pasquale’s words. Neither of them had to be alone today.
Cassandra pulled a small piece of paper out of her pocket. When she looked up her eyes were cautious. “And I do have something from Corazón.” Manuela’s own fingers prickled with the urge to snatch it from her. “I will respect your wishes if you don’t want to read it, but she asked me to deliver it.” Feeling unsure, she looked over at Aurora, who was standing by the door, observing the scene.
Her friend rolled her eyes in exaggerated annoyance. “Please, as if you have the self-control not to read it!”
“All right,” Manuela practically yelled, holding out her hand. She opened it with trembling fingers, her eyes ravenously scanning her beloved’s neat handwriting. And just from the first two words, she regretted not going somewhere more private to read it.
Manuela,
It was a sorry case indeed that merely seeing the woman’s loopy calligraphy was enough to set off butterflies in her stomach.
I have no right to ask you for anything, but I am begging you to give me time. You were right in everything you said.
Her vision blurred, and soon a teardrop stained the paper.
