[Santa Olivia 02] - Saints Astray

by Jacqueline Carey

  “Caffè!”

  Despite the chaos, the show began almost on time. Pop music boomed in the main gallery as model after model sauntered onto the catwalk wearing whimsical creations. Backstage, frantic dressers rushed them through wardrobe changes. Quarrels broke out between members of Vincenzo Picco’s entourage and the hired assistants.

  “Shit!” Loup watched a model in towering heels and a postmodern bridal gown begin to topple when someone stepped on her gown’s long tulle train. She hurried over and steadied the model as the train gave way with a pronounced rip. One of the Italians working on another girl shouted at the model’s dresser, who stormed off in a huff. The model glanced back at the ruined train and burst into tears.

  “Hey, hey, don’t cry!” Pilar said in alarm. “You’ll ruin your makeup. Don’t worry, we’ll find someone to…” She glanced around and saw absolutely no one free to help. “Oh, fuck it. Loup, grab my purse.”

  She was already on her way.

  “Okay, hang on.” Pilar knelt and whipped out the hotel sewing kit. “I’m just gonna do a running stitch, but it’ll hold and it won’t even show that much with the netting. Okay, honey?”

  The model sniffled. “Uh-huh.”

  “Loup, get her a tissue.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “There.” Pilar finished as the casting coordinator beckoned frantically. “Go, go!”

  They watched her go.

  “Nice work, super-assistant,” Loup offered.

  Pilar let out a sigh of relief. “Think I’d rather be a secret agent bodyguard. It’s less stressful.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Vincenzo Picco was very pleased.

  The show was hailed as a raving success and celebrated at a raging after-party where the champagne and compliments flowed freely.

  Pilar, off the clock, sipped champagne and watched the fashion people mingle. “Damn, baby. I wish you didn’t have to work. That’s no fair.”

  “That’s the job,” Loup said pragmatically. “You get to dress up, look fabulous, and drink champagne, while I stand around looking like a waiter at a fancy restaurant.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Pilar adjusted the lay of Loup’s collar, opening it wider. “You need a necklace. Something that would draw attention right here.” She traced a circle around the hollow of Loup’s throat.

  “Mmm. Henry’s giving us a no-no look.”

  “What? I’m not working!”

  “Yeah, but I am.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Sometime after midnight, the model from the bridal train near-disaster wandered over and delivered a heartfelt, drunken speech of thanks to Pilar, kissing her effusively on both cheeks. “You saved my life!” she slurred. “I thought you were a dresser. I didn’t know you were with the security people.”

  “Well, kinda.”

  “C’mon! You’ve got to meet everyone.” She tugged her hand, then took Loup’s. “You too. Everyone wants to.”

  “I can’t.” Loup nodded at Vincenzo Picco a few feet away. “I’m working.”

  “Ah, go on! He’s just a big old drama queen.”

  Loup shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Pilar, you go.”

  “You sure, baby?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She watched Pilar meet and mingle with the happy, drunken throng, looking very much at home. It was after two o’clock when the party finally wound down and they escorted Vincenzo Picco and his entourage back to the hotel. He made a formal speech in Italian in the lobby, offering a courtly bow to all of them.

  “Vincenzo Picco thanks you for your service,” Alessandra translated, sounding tired. “Especially you,” she added to Pilar. “He heard that you saved the postmodern bridal extravaganza.”

  Pilar flushed. “Thanks.”

  Alessandra smiled unexpectedly. “You did a good job, eh? We’ll see you in the morning.”

  In the hotel room, Loup ransacked the courtesy bar, tearing open a bag of nuts.

  “Aw, baby! You didn’t get enough to eat today, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Remind me to pick up some snacks,” Pilar said sleepily. “That way I can keep something on hand for you. Hey, Loup? Those models—”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, I don’t think any of them were prettier than you.” Loup poured the last of the nuts into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “And no, I don’t think any of them were Christophe’s one in a hundred. And no, even if they were, I wouldn’t care, because you’re the sexiest sidekick in the universe, and you worry about whether or not I have enough to eat, and I really, really, love you. Does that cover it?”

  Pilar gave her a sheepish look. “Well, yeah.”

  “Good.”

  In the morning they escorted Vincenzo Picco, his entourage, and his collection back to the airport. He thanked them again and shook Henry’s hand, pressing folded bills into it. They watched him pass through security, then stride away toward his terminal, surrounded by his people, gray mane flowing.

  “Nice work, team.” Henry doled out a one-hundred-euro note to each of them. “Nice tip, too.”

  “Wow!” Pilar gazed at hers. “We get to keep this?”

  “Of course.” He smiled at her. “You earned it.”

  Back at the hotel they had a late lunch and debriefed with Clive, who beamed with pride over Henry’s report.

  “So not a single cock-up, eh?” he asked.

  “Honestly, no. The client was very pleased with their performance.”

  “Vincenzo Picco was pleased,” Loup agreed.

  “Mind your manners, girlie,” Clive said, but he was grinning. “You know what this means?”

  They shook their heads.

  “We’ve got a few more lessons to cover, but based on your performance so far, you two are pretty damn close to being made full-fledged members of the Global Security team.”

  “Yay!” Pilar said happily.

  After lunch they said their farewells to Henry and the security team and prepared to take an overnight train back to Aberdeen. Pilar ducked out to shop while Loup packed their things, returning with a stylish patent leather tote bag filled with energy bars and bags of mixed nuts and several glossy magazines.

  “See?” She showed Loup. “Okay, the magazines are for me, but the snacks are for you. I’ll make sure I always have some with me. So if you ever get hungry on the job, just let me know.” She smiled. “Maybe a badass secret agent bodyguard can’t carry around a purse full of snacks, but I can.”

  Loup hugged her. “Thanks, Pilar.”

  “Just trying to take care of you, baby.”

  They boarded the train in the evening, Pilar exclaiming over the tiny sleeper cabin.

  “Right cozy, eh?” Clive said. “Thought about booking you a cabin with two berths, but I reckoned you’d end up sharing a bunk no matter what.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “Good. Get yourselves settled and we’ll meet in the lounge car for a bite.”

  Loup unpacked a few necessary toiletries while Pilar checked the news feeds. “Anything new?”

  “Nah. Same stories, no updates.” She glanced up. “Although a couple of them referred to Miguel Garza as ruggedly handsome.”

  Loup laughed. “That’ll go straight to his head.”

  They joined Clive in the lounge car, where he’d already ordered a bottle of red wine. “Cheers to you, girls,” he said, pouring for them and hoisting his glass. “You made me right proud today. Well done.”

  “Thanks, sir.”

  “Thanks,” Pilar echoed softly. “We couldn’t of done it without you. Well, I couldn’t. You and Addie.”

  He sipped his wine and smacked his lips. “Just doing our jobs. Here’s to your first satisfied client. May he be the first of many!”

  They ate dinner in the lounge car, lulled by the train’s steady rhythm and the warm red drapes around the windows framing the dark, invisible countryside. After dinner, Clive insisted on or
dering a celebratory nightcap.

  “Speyside single malt,” he said. “Best in the world.”

  “Mmm.” Pilar tried hers and eyed Loup thoughtfully. “Tastes expensive.”

  “I so know what you’re thinking,” Loup said.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Dial it down a notch, sunshine,” Clive advised her. “When you get your smolder on, I worry about innocent bystanders bursting into flame. Not to mention meself.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Pilar tried to look penitent and non-smoldering.

  “Ah, get out!” He laughed. “Young love and all. Finish your drinks, go back to your cabin. You’ve earned the right to celebrate.”

  “Okay!”

  In their cabin, Pilar rummaged in her things while Loup washed up in the tiny sink. “Hey, baby, c’mere. Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it. Please?”

  “Okay, okay!” Loup closed her eyes and felt something thin and cool settle around her throat, Pilar’s hands fidgeting at the nape of her neck.

  “Okay, you can look.”

  She went to look in the mirror and saw a finely linked gold chain, five glittering stones nestled in a subtle V formation beneath the hollow of her throat, winking brightly against her caramel skin and adding a point of interest to the plain white shirt she still wore. Loup touched the necklace with wondering fingers. “You bought this for me?”

  “Uh-huh. They’re not real diamonds or anything,” Pilar added apologetically. “All I had was my tip money.”

  “I don’t care. I love it.”

  “C’mere.” Pilar tugged her over to sit on the single berth. “Loup… look. I don’t ever mean to get all weird and jealous.” She smiled wryly. “I never told you, but when we were first together, it freaked me out a little that you didn’t get jealous when I flirted with other people. All the guys I ever dated did. I thought it meant you didn’t care.”

  “No! It’s just—”

  “Oh, hush.” She pressed a finger against Loup’s lips, silencing her. “I figured it out, okay? It took me a while, but I did. You knew it didn’t mean anything. You don’t get jealous because you’re not insecure, and you don’t get insecure because you can’t. I can and I do. But that’s just stupid, right?”

  “It’s not stupid.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Pilar kissed her, soft and lingering. “Because I know you, baby. And I trust you. Like you said, with all my heart.” She pulled back, serious. “Things are different out here, you know? In Outpost, you had to hide what you were. Here, you don’t. And I love it. It makes me really happy. I love seeing you be yourself. But it also means that instead of a handful of people trying to keep your secret, there’s a ton of people totally intrigued by you. You’re you. You’re a one-and-only. I’m just trying to adjust, okay?”

  Loup nodded. “Okay.”

  “So this isn’t just a present for you.” She stroked the necklace. “It’s to help remind me how much I do trust you, and… I dunno. Lots of things.” She glanced at Loup. “Okay, it’s still just a cheap necklace. You don’t have to go all big and shiny-eyed on me.”

  “Can’t help it.” Loup smiled. “I really do love it. And, Pilar, I don’t care about the flirting because it’s part of who you are.”

  Pilar made a face.

  “It is!” Loup took her hand, twined their fingers together. “Remember when I used to stop by to pick you up at the bar when your shift ended? I always tried to come in without you noticing, and I’d watch you flirt with all your regulars. You were always having fun, but I liked it because whenever you’d notice I was there, no matter what you were doing, you’d smile at me like I was the best part of your day.”

  “Well, you were.”

  “Were?”

  “Were and are.” Pilar wrapped her arms around Loup’s neck and kissed her. “And you damn well know it, so don’t tease me, Santa Olivia.” She let her go and began undoing the buttons of her shirt. “Know what else would make this outfit more interesting?”

  “Ummm… no?”

  Her hands glided over Loup’s breasts. “A nice, lacy black bra.”

  Loup shivered. “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Pilar traced lazy circles. “So you could just see the faintest shadow through the fabric. And all day long I could think about taking it off you.”

  “Okay,” Loup agreed, a little breathless.

  “But right now…” Pilar slid the unbuttoned shirt from Loup’s shoulders. “I really want to see how you look wearing nothing but that necklace, baby.”

  A moment later, Loup asked, “Well?”

  She got a very long, very smoldering look in reply. “Pilar Ecchevarria approves.”

  NINETEEN

  Back in Aberdeen, their lessons finished with more security drills, business protocol, deportment, and elocution.

  The latter were painful.

  “This is Ms. Coxcombe,” Clive said, introducing a slender, gray-haired woman with a regal bearing.

  Pilar suppressed a giggle. Ms. Coxcombe arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow, and Pilar sobered. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “Indeed,” was the frosty reply.

  She drilled them relentlessly for an entire day on how to shake hands, how to handle introductions, how to stand, and how to sit. She corrected their grammar and ruthlessly rooted out profanity and an endless string of yeahs, dunnos, and gonnas.

  “So?” Clive said at the end of the day. “Is there hope?”

  Ms. Coxcombe pursed her lips. “We have a good deal of work to do.”

  “My colleague and I are entirely committed to pursuing this venture,” Loup said in a formal tone. “We are grateful for your generous…” She searched for a word.

  “Tutelage,” Pilar supplied helpfully. “Ma’am.”

  Clive chuckled, then cleared his throat.

  “Indeed.” Ms. Coxcombe inclined her head, looking rather like she was biting the inside of her cheek in an effort to hide a glint of amusement. “I’ll return on the morrow, shall I? We’ll address formal dining etiquette.”

  “Okay,” Loup agreed cheerfully. “I like anything to do with food.”

  Ms. Coxcombe raised one finger.

  “Very good, then.” Loup amended her words. “I shall anticipate tomorrow’s lesson with pleasure, as I… um…”

  “Revel in indulging in the culinary arts!” Pilar finished triumphantly.

  “Yeah, exactly!”

  Their new tutor sighed. “Ladies.”

  “We’re trying!” Pilar protested.

  “Indeed.” She laid a hand on Pilar’s shoulder, her expression softening. “Don’t try quite so hard, child. I’m not trying to change who you are. I’m just trying to give you a veneer of polish.”

  “Ok—” Pilar caught herself. “Thank you.”

  Ms. Coxcombe smiled. “Well done. Simple and gracious. Remember, you’ll never go amiss with simple and gracious.”

  Over the following week, they learned the intricacies of fish forks and finger bowls and received a crash course in arts and culture, all the while suffering the indignity of constant corrections to their speech.

  “Manet,” Loup said, identifying a painting on-screen. “No, Monet. Do we really have to know this stuff? I don’t get what it has to do with being a bodyguard.”

  A raised finger.

  She sighed. “Sorry. Um… I don’t understand the connection between Impressionist paintings and security work.”

  “Depending on your clients, you may find yourselves moving in elite circles,” Ms. Coxcombe said mildly. “In a situation that calls for discretion, you very well may be called on to make polite conversation. It helps a great deal to have something to talk about. Two days ago, you hadn’t the faintest idea what an Impressionist artist was. Today, you can identify a number of them by name. Doesn’t that make you feel good?”

  “It’s a lot to learn, that’s all.”

  “I kinda like the art part,” Pilar offered, then winced. “No kinda, no
kinda! Got it. I enjoy learning about art.”

  “Well done.”

  At the end of a week, Ms. Coxcombe administered their final test. She took them into the city to attend a fundraising dinner for the Aberdeen Art Gallery & Museum, where she was a member of the board. She introduced them as the daughter and friend of a dear friend from Canada, traveling on a scholarship.

  “Very good!” a jovial man said to Loup. “What are you studying?”

  “Ahh… the Impressionists?”

  He launched into a lengthy dissertation on Monet’s haystack series, in which Loup discovered that the easiest way to make polite conversation was to look interested, nod frequently, and make inquiring noises.

  They got through the dinner without any incidents or mishaps. Pilar struggled with the European-style handling of the fork and knife Ms. Coxcombe insisted they learn, but managed to charm her dinner companions. Loup wielded her utensils adroitly, did a lot of listening and nodding, invented details about her fictitious home in Canada, and managed not to stare longingly at her dinner companions’ unfinished portions.

  “Well?” Pilar said anxiously afterward. “Did we do okay?”

  That got her the cautionary raised finger.

  “Sorry! I’m nervous. Did we, um, manage not to embarrass you?”

  “You did.” Ms. Coxcombe inclined her head. “Well done.”

  In the morning, they came yawning down to the sunroom for breakfast to find a beaming Clive and a smiling Adelaide awaiting them.

  “Hey,” Pilar said sleepily. “What’s on the schedule for today?”

  “Not a blessed thing, sunshine,” Clive said.

  “Huh?”

  He tapped his watch, his grin widening. “Do you pay no attention to the date, girlie? That’s it. You’re done.”

  “Seriously?” Loup asked, brightening.

  Adelaide cleared her throat. “Mr. Lindberg, sir?”

  Magnus Lindberg strode into the room with a white, toothy smile, Sabine gliding in his wake, carrying a briefcase. “Congratulations, ladies. You’ve passed the training phase, the both of you.” He made a subtle gesture to Sabine, who laid the briefcase on one of the tables and opened it, expressionless. He whipped out a pair of contracts. “As promised. It’s Global’s standard three-year contract. You’ll receive a ten thousand euro bonus just for signing.”