Little White Lie

by Lea Santos

  “Is it that I interrupted? Could it have turned into more than a kiss?”

  “Yes, but—”

  Iris gripped her wrists and shook them, grinning. “Told you she had the hots for you.”

  “You don’t understand. She has the hots for this me. And this isn’t the real me.” Emie’s words sounded morose to her own ears, as well they should. “Gia has the hots for fucking Vampira, not for Emie Jaramillo. What am I going to do?”

  Iris slid down the wall and sat cross-legged on the floor. “Em”—she uttered a sound of disbelief—“don’t be an idiot. Gia can’t possibly want you to look like that.”

  “Uh, are you forgetting she created this look? She told me I looked great. She doesn’t even know I’ve seen it yet. Besides”—Emie spread her arms wide and spoke in a sarcastic tone—“did she ever kiss me in my natural state? No. She acted more like my sister until today.”

  “Did you encourage her to kiss you before? No,” Iris countered, mimicking Emie’s snideness. “Just the opposite. You told that walking sex goddess you wanted to be friends.”

  “Because she came here out of guilt, and nothing more. Don’t you get it?” Emie rasped, scooting to the edge of the toilet lid. She pressed her lips together and struggled to lower her voice. “What am I supposed to do, Iris? Be grateful for the charity? You know that’s not how I live my life.”

  “You’re not”—Iris growled in frustration—“Emie, wake up. God, you can be so irritating. Tell Gia you don’t like the makeover. Tell her you like a more natural look. Tell her you want her bod. Then get naked. End of story. Happily ever after.”

  Unbidden, tears rose to Emie’s eyes. Her chin quivered, and a sob escaped. “It’s so easy for you to say that, Iris. You don’t get it. You’re not me. You’re gorgeous. Effortlessly gorgeous. I’ve never cared about that. I’ve devoted my life to science, to my career. And I love it. I do. But seriously, freaking philosophy professors don’t give me a second glance. No one does. They never have and I’ve never cared. Until now. I’m so confused.”

  “You’ve actively given off that standoffish vibe, Em. You chose that route, and you can change it anytime you want.”

  Emie sniffed, then yanked a tissue out of the box on the toilet tank. “And you honestly think a woman like Gia Mendez would be interested in me? Forgive me if I don’t share your confidence.”

  Iris softened. “Aw, honey, why don’t you just ask—”

  “No. I can’t. No way.”

  “Okay, okay, calm down.”

  “Gia probably has Frankenstein Syndrome,” Emie said, her voice croaking. “A twisted lust for her creepy creation.”

  Iris unfolded her long limbs until she could kneel. She scuffled across the floor on her knees and wrapped Emie in a hug. “I didn’t mean to sound flippant, Em. But you aren’t giving yourself enough credit with this woman.”

  “I don’t know how.” Her entire body trembled. She was scared of losing something that wasn’t even really hers. “I’ve never felt this way. All I know is, if she likes me this way, why would I want to change back to the way I looked before? To be the object of ridicule on national TV? And then again, I don’t want to be the kind of woman whose sole focus is on her looks.”

  “If Gia truly cared about you, she wouldn’t want to change you.” Iris rubbed her back.

  “Well, she did change me, so thanks a lot,” Emie said, wryly.

  “No, I meant—”

  “Forget it. I know what you’re saying. But some of us don’t have women falling at our feet. I never even wanted women falling at my feet.”

  “You could have that, though. It’s a choice.”

  “Right,” Emie said, in a sarcastic tone. Pulling out of Iris’s embrace, she tipped her head back, then pressed tissue-wrapped fingers beneath her lower lashes, not wanting to completely ruin the makeup job since she had to face Gia again. She sniffed and wiped her nose.

  Iris laid her palm on Emie’s cheek and smiled. “Honey, just tell me what you want me to do. I’m on your side.”

  “Let me deal with it,” Emie implored her friend. “Tell her it looks good and be convincing. Okay?”

  Iris sighed, chewed on the advice. “Em, if you really want me to, I’ll tell her you’re the bomb,” she said, sounding dubious. “But this isn’t you.”

  “I know, believe me. But I think I’m falling in love with her.”

  “Duh.”

  “Well, I’ve never been in love. And I don’t know how else to handle it,” Emie whispered, ignoring Iris’s interjection. “Promise you’ll just go with the flow? And don’t think badly of me.”

  Iris smacked her in the arm. “Who do you think you’re talking to here? I’m your best friend. Now, stop crying or you’ll look like Rainy Night of the Living Dead.”

  Emie blurted a watery chuckle, then stood and leaned in toward the mirror. She managed to erase most of the smeared lipstick from around her mouth, then slapped her cheeks a few times trying to remove evidence of her tears. “Ahhhh,” she intoned, releasing her tension. “Thank you for this, Iris. I ordered you Kung Pao Chicken,” she said, her voice tremulous.

  “Oh…good. Thanks. I’m starving,” Iris said dispassionately. She looked completely worried and out of sorts.

  Emie blew out a breath, stretching her neck from side to side. After shaking her hands out like a boxer prepping to enter the ring, she asked, “Are you ready?”

  “Me? Are you ready?”

  Emie’s teeth sank into her black bottom lip as she worried a soppy tissue through her fingers. “No. But I’m not getting any readier. Come on.” She unlocked the door, and with Iris at her heels, skulked down the hallway like a thief.

  “Shoot, let me grab my purse.” Iris turned back.

  Emie spared her a fleeting glance but continued toward the living room. She thought about Gia, and her stomach twanged.

  That kiss. Jesus, that kiss. It mostly involved their lips, sure, but it was soooo much more than a kiss. She’d felt it straight down to her soul. Definitely not your normal, everyday smooch. Gia had climbed right inside and become a part of her, until Emie hadn’t known if it was her nerves or Gia’s being stimulated to the shrieking point.

  Oh, God. She wasn’t falling in love with Gia.

  She was in love with her.

  And in lust. That kiss…

  She wanted so much more.

  Turning into the living room, she came face-to-face with Gia sitting awkwardly on the arm of the sofa. “Oh!” she exclaimed. Her hand fluttered up to her chest which flushed with heat at the mere sight of the woman. “Y-you scared me.”

  “I’m sorry. I—” Gia stood and crossed to her cautiously, looking peaked and intense. A few feet from her, Gia reached out, but stopped herself and pulled back. “Emie, listen. We have to talk about—”

  “Hi, Gia,” Iris interrupted. She paused in the doorway.

  “Oh. Hi.” Gia backed off and raked shaky fingers through the length of her still-loose hair, wary eyes moving from one friend to the other. When her boot heels hit the back of the couch, she sat. “I forgot you were here.”

  “I’m here,” Iris said, with fake cheerfulness. She poked her thumb in the direction of the hallway. “We couldn’t wait. We looked at her makeover in the downstairs bathroom. Sorry.”

  A very pregnant pause ensued.

  No one moved.

  Inhaled air kept filling Emie’s lungs until she thought she’d explode and float around the room like confetti.

  “And?” Gia’s throat tightened on a swallow. “What do you think of it?”

  “I love it,” Emie blurted, the air whooshing out.

  “She…loves it.” Iris punctuated the unnecessary statement with a flash of nervous laughter.

  Emie shot a staccato glance at Iris, then turned to Gia and forced a brittle smile. She wrapped her arms over her torso and didn’t speak for fear she’d hiccup. Or cry. Or die.

  Gia’s jaw went slack. She blinked several times. Her face angl
ed toward Emie. “You…love it? Really?”

  Emie’s head jerked up and down in a somewhat nod-like manner.

  “But…the makeup? The hair? All of it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s exactly what I wanted. Thank you so much.”

  “Well…great.” Gia bestowed a flat-lipped smile but looked vaguely ill. “That’s just…great. She loves it,” she added, to Iris, flipping her hand and shrugging at the same time. “What about that, Iris?”

  Iris leaned against the doorjamb and sighed. “Go figure.”

  *

  How in the hell could she possibly have loved it? Gia thought, bereft. She’d never felt so lonely. She’d deliberately made up Emie to look ghoulish, so she would realize how ridiculous it was to think that makeup, or the lack thereof, made the woman. But the whole plan had backfired big-time. Now she’d have to send sweet Emie off to an important faculty function looking like a spectacle. Either that, or she’d have to confess her whole devious plot. After the blow of The Stillman Show, she didn’t think Emie would forgive her for a second helping of steaming humiliation, no matter how good—albeit misguided—Gia’s intentions had been. But that horrendous makeup job. Shit.

  And she loved it.

  “I absolutely love it.”

  Gia blinked a couple times. Her gaze moved to the chic young woman standing beside her in the carriage house, Mimi Westmoreland. After the makeover debacle, Gia had thought about cancelling the appointment with the prominent gallery owner that morning, and now she wished she had. She could scarcely dredge up the enthusiasm to pay attention to one of the most important art dealers in Denver, a serious career mistake. “Pardon?”

  Mimi’s perfectly coiffed blond hair didn’t move when she swivelled to smile at Gia with absolute debutante decorum. She gestured at the painting of Emie with a hand sporting so many gargantuan rings, Gia wondered how she held her wrist up. “I said I love it, Ms. Mendez. The portrait. It’s exquisite. My husband will adore it as well, I’m certain.”

  “Well, the subject is exquisite,” Gia told her, staring at the Emie she loved. Pure, gentle, genuine. Not hers. She couldn’t forget, Emie still wanted Elizalde, unbelievable as that was. She should’ve remembered that last night. Before the kiss. Another speeding bullet of regret and sadness pierced her heart. Direct hit. Zero survivors. Rest in Peace.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a portrait where the subject wore glasses. At least not one rendered so beautifully.”

  “Thank you.” Gia sniffed the air covertly, hoping she’d fumigated the carriage house well enough. It had gotten to where she hardly noticed the overpowering odor of the paints and oils, but she knew it distracted some visitors. Then again, this particular visitor was in the business.

  Ms. Westmoreland tilted her head this way and that, shifting her weight from one three-inch lizard heel to the other. One arm resting against her torso, she cupped the opposite elbow and bent her wrist, gesturing with two fingers. “The composition is first class. But, you know, that’s not it, either,” she said. She gripped her chin and stepped backward, scrutinizing the painting with a narrowed gaze and pursed lips. “It’s the emotion in the piece, the life. I don’t know how you pulled that off.”

  In spite of her desolate mood, Gia’s heart began to pound. Mimi really seemed to like it. Consigning with the Westmoreland Gallery could set her on her feet. She wouldn’t have to leave Denver. Or Emie. She’d start over, make it up to the woman with whom she’d somehow managed to fall in love.

  Ms. Westmoreland peered over at her like she’d just figured out the mystery of the century. “I’ve got it. It’s her look.”

  Gia swallowed and turned to the portrait. “Her look?”

  “Absolutely, Ms. Mendez. And you can’t beat it.” She directed her attention back to the canvas as well. “That lovely woman has the undeniable look of love.”

  *

  Emie padded listlessly into the kitchen and shoved the coffee carafe under the faucet. Her muscles ached and her eyes had burned too much to even consider putting in her contacts. But her glasses felt oddly comforting on her makeup-free face. She felt like herself, four-eyes and all.

  She’d cried herself to sleep last night after Gia had pulled her aside and told her the kiss had been a mistake. Jesus, a mistake. She even apologized. Said she felt awful about it and it shouldn’t have happened. Gia might as well have driven a knife into her heart.

  Emie didn’t want to go anywhere, especially not with Gia, when she was feeling so vulnerable. But they had to shop for her outfit today. The faculty get-together was tomorrow night. So she’d suck it up and suffer through the shopping, despite looking and feeling worse than she had since the three days after The Stillman Show. What did she have to lose? Gia didn’t want her, and there she’d stood, ready and willing to relinquish her pride and wear freakish makeup just to keep the woman interested. What a fool. A weak, desperate fool. That was so not her. The whole thing was a fiasco. Her life was a fiasco. How had that happened?

  God, she loved Gia.

  A groan escaped from deep within her soul. Almost against her will, she moved to the kitchen window to peer across the lawn at the carriage house. Dappled sunlight shone on the roof. The Japanese maple near the back swayed in the slight breeze. With the big north-facing window, what a perfect studio it could be for Gia. If only she lived with Emie, she could move all the living room furniture out and have ample space to create, to make magic. If only Gia loved her back, it could work.

  If only. If only. If only.

  Story of her life. Why had she never noticed until now?

  Gia’s door opened. Emie inhaled sharply and ducked down. Shoot, had Gia seen her? Her heart pounded with embarrassment. She rose slowly and moved off to the side of the window, peering cautiously around the wispy white curtain. Gia stepped out and—

  Emie’s extremities went completely numb. Gia stood in the doorway with a perfect magazine-page blonde. The woman wore a tight suit with a leather lapel and cuffs. She reeked of money. They smiled and laughed with one another, and Gia looked utterly beautiful, completely carefree. She wore a Mandarin-collared pearl-gray shirt untucked over charcoal slacks that flattered her toned curves. Her hair—the hair Emie had clutched with unabashed desire and need—hung loose, catching the sunlight and the breeze.

  The woman leaned forward to say something and touched Gia’s arm. Gia didn’t look like she regretted that. Sharp, ugly talons of jealousy tore at Emie’s middle. She white-knuckled the edge of the sink and wanted to hate them both for being perfect and confident and completely out of her league. But she couldn’t. Because she loved Gia Mendez with every clonable fiber in her body. Emie scoffed. And she’d always been so proud of her intelligence. Ha.

  Gia reached a hand out to the woman, and the blonde took it but then pulled Gia into an enthusiastic hug. As Gia’s arms wrapped around the woman, Emie imagined her intoxicating scent wrapping around her, too. Of course Gia would want a woman like that. Logically, why not? Hot tears of anguish blurred the image she wished she’d never seen. She wouldn’t have had she not been staring at the carriage house longing for a dream she’d never realize.

  As if the day weren’t bad enough, now this.

  She knew one thing: she couldn’t bear to face Gia now.

  Chapter Nine

  After changing into jeans and a polo shirt, Gia traversed the back lawn toward Emie’s house. Sunshine heated her hair and kissed her skin. Her steps felt weightless, and she couldn’t keep the grin from her face. The day had started out so unforgivably bad, but it had turned around in a big way. A sense of hope imbued her. She couldn’t wait to tell Emie the great news and unveil the portrait she’d been working on for so long. Maybe she could convince Emie that Vitoria Elizalde was nothing more than a sharp-edged bitch who would only end up breaking her heart. She still couldn’t quite make herself believe Emie wanted that player. So she’d confess her feelings and hope Emie’d give her a chance. They could start over.
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br />   Mimi Westmoreland not only consigned Look of Love, she also selected five other pieces from Gia’s collection and intended to dedicate one complete room in the gallery to a gala opening. The wealthy gallery owner seemed even more excited than Gia was about their new partnership. Mimi had even hugged her! Yes, Mimi and her husband belonged to the kiss-kiss pretentious upper crust, but Gia could tolerate that for this much of a coup. In the art world, the Westmorelands were big time, and that’s what really mattered.

  Gia jumped in the air and pumped her fist. Yes!

  Her entire body felt energized, alive. All of this was because of Emie. She inspired Gia in ways that were hard to express, made her accept the woman she’d become and forgive the angry young bully she’d once been. Gia no longer felt the need to beg forgiveness from all the people she’d hurt. She merely had to ask for clemency from herself.

  She knew that now.

  Because of Emie.

  When she was around Emie, Gia felt like a good person. That had never happened before, not with anyone. God, she loved Emie Jaramillo. More than she ever thought she could love anyone. She’d just needed to love herself first.

  A lump rose to Gia’s throat and her stomach flopped. She wished her mother was alive to meet Emie. Mama would be so pleased, and Gia would give anything to finally do something to make her mama happy and proud. And Phillipe—her brother—had to meet Emie. Mr. Fuentes, too. They wouldn’t believe that Gia had found such a wonderful woman.

  She laughed and lifted her face to the sun. Without even realizing her power, Emie had taken the mismatched colors and bare canvas of Gia’s life and nurtured her into a pièce de résistance.

  Gia would have her. Somehow.

  Even if she had to rein in her feelings, bide her time.

  Even if she had to dress Emie to impress another woman.

  Sobered slightly, Gia slowed her steps. She had to admit, things between them weren’t perfect. They might be three steps forward instead of two back if Gia hadn’t screwed up so royally last night, forced things. Her jaw clenched, but she consciously released the tension. No time for doubt—think positive. She hoped, after she’d apologized so profusely, that Emie’d had time to forgive her for the kiss. Okay, so she’d read Emie wrong on that one. But she’d been so responsive, so goddamned sexy—even with the horrific makeup job—Gia was sure, in the moment, that Emie wanted her just as much. Until she’d run. Hopefully, they could get past it. Go shopping. Joke around again. Life would be good.