Little White Lie

by Lea Santos

  Emie scoffed. “No.”

  “Because if your eyes are irritated—”

  “They’re not,” she snapped, then softened her tone. “Gia. They’re fine. I’ll just go put in my contacts.”

  “May I hang the outfit in your room?”

  “Yes, go ahead. Second door on the right upstairs. Is it leather?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Great,” she said, her tone bland. “There’s a hook inside the closet door if you want to put it there.”

  “Then I’ll meet you in the bathroom,” Gia said, “and we’ll get this under way. Okay?”

  Lifting the bottom of her robe, Emie started up the staircase with listless, heavy steps. Gee, I can hardly wait.

  *

  The intimate scent in Emie’s bedroom, though gentle and understated, consumed Gia from the moment she entered. Gia hung the garment bag on the closet door hook, then arranged the hose, shoes, purse, and accessories in a neat row on the end of Emie’s four-poster bed. Though she should’ve minded her own business and left, she couldn’t stop herself from looking around.

  The room was big, with a slanted ceiling on one side. A thick red down comforter covered the bed, and multicolored pillows lay scattered against the headboard. A wood-burning fireplace dominated the wall opposite the foot of her bed, and a neat stack of quilts and fleece blankets flanked it.

  Gia moved to the mantel and studied the framed photographs. Emie’s parents, some other relatives, she supposed. Was one of the older women the aunt who’d inadvertently stolen Emie’s belief in love with her unintentionally careless words? Gia moved on to a series of photographs of Iris, Emie, and Paloma over the years. Tres amigas. She wished she’d cultivated such a strong bond with someone over the years. No sense wishing, though. A smile lifted her lips, and she reached out to touch an image of Emie. So lovely. So sweet.

  She walked to Emie’s bedside and scanned the nightstand, not really snooping, just trying to absorb the woman through her most private retreat. Freshly dusted, the nightstand held an alarm clock, several different-shaped candles nestled together on a sterling silver tray, and a stack of books for nighttime reading. Gia tilted her head to the side to read the titles:

  Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about Oil Painting.

  The Big Book of Oil Painting.

  The Artist and His Studio.

  American Painters in the Age of Impressionism.

  Her breath caught. What was this? Touched, she sat on the edge of the bed and thumbed through one of the books. Her chest constricted and burned. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was heading for some kind of attack. But no. It was love.

  Just love.

  Quiet. Safe. Consuming.

  She shut the book and smoothed a palm over the cover. That Emie cared enough about her to immerse herself in Gia’s life’s passion was…so like Emie. She thought of everyone but herself. Gia thought of the Westmoreland Gallery and excitement bubbled inside her. She wanted so much to share the good news about the gallery showing, but she preferred to make things better between the two of them first. Tonight was all about Emie. So she would wait until the time was right—something she was slowly learning to do, being in Emie’s life.

  Smiling, she took one more look around the room. In it, through it, she really saw Emie, the woman. And she felt at peace with what she had planned. She wouldn’t pressure, force, or cajole. She’d just lay her heart out there, bold and bare, and leave it up to Emie to decide.

  Gia crossed to the closet and pulled one more item out of the shopping bag.

  A single, perfect pink rose. No thorns.

  She hadn’t been sure about the gesture until now, thinking perhaps all the Hallmark cards she’d read had poisoned her brain and turned her sappy. But no. Gia wanted Emie to have it. Cradling the blossom in her palm, she carried it to the head of the bed and laid it there, where Emie was sure to find it. Then, she kissed her fingertips and touched them to the pillow as well.

  Just for good measure.

  *

  Déjà vu.

  Before she knew it, Emie found herself perched on the sink with Gia standing in front of her completely focused on her face. She could barely enter this room without remembering, feeling, reliving that kiss. But in this position, with everything so perfectly replicated, Gia’s sinewy strength and oh-so-familiar scent suffocating her senses, Emie found it utterly impossible.

  She could be a fool once, even twice, but three strikes, baby, and she was out. Forcing her mind from how Gia had felt and tasted, Emie reminded herself what she’d seen from the kitchen window. She reached up and touched her styled hair, stunned to find it soft.

  “Better than the spikes, yeah?” Gia asked, almost shyly.

  Emie’s heart lifted, but she refused to hope. She lowered her chin. “You’re the expert.”

  “You’re going to like this, querida.” Gia’s cheek dimpled with the smile, and she nudged Emie’s lightly with her knuckle. “You look beautiful already, and we’re not even done.”

  “Don’t get carried away.”

  “I’m not, Em.”

  “Whatever you say,” she said, dubiously. Still, the reassurance wrapped around her like an embrace she so desperately needed. She’d never been focused on her looks. But for tonight, just this once, she hoped to look stunning. Just the visual “screw you” Vitoria so richly deserved. Still, Emie tried to ignore the intimacy she felt between Gia and herself. After all, Gia had been affectionate once before as she made her up to look like someone she wasn’t. Emie wouldn’t fall for it again. She glanced toward the new cache of overpriced cosmetics and noticed Gia had bought that beautiful paler shade of blusher she’d admired at the department store. Upon further inspection, she noted most of the colors were softer, more subtle. Hope swelled inside her, despite her newly bricked and mortared emotional wall. Had Gia finally caught on to Emie’s true desires? Had exotic gone the way of VHS tapes? She hoped so, because what she really wanted was elegant, not exotic. She just hadn’t known how to express it before.

  “I want to tell you something, Em, but I have to get it all out before you interrupt.” Gia pulled a fluffy mascara wand from the tube and held it up. “Okay?”

  The words brought Emie’s gaze to Gia’s pensive face. “Okay.”

  Gia moved her finger from Emie’s eye level to the hollow of her own neck. “Stare here and don’t blink.” She waited until Emie did so, then began slowly stroking mascara on her lashes. “What Vitoria Elizalde put you through was despicable. But my part in the whole fiasco…and the aftermath hasn’t been much better.”

  Emie’s lips parted ready to stammer a denial, but Gia held up a hand, mascara tube clutched between her fingers.

  Gia waited until Emie settled back. “I promised to be your friend, and I fell down on the job. Not intentionally, but because I became so blinded—” a swallow “—by my desire for you, by how you made me feel.”

  Emie’s gaze lurched upward to Gia’s eyes. Gia immediately cringed and reached for a swab. “Whoops—mascara dots.”

  “S-sorry,” Emie stammered.

  Gia waved away her apology. “Now—” She made the stare-at-my-throat gesture again. Emie complied, and Gia went to work on the other eye. “I’ve had my share of scores to settle in my time, and I don’t begrudge your need for…tonight. Just as long as you know that Vitoria Elizalde doesn’t deserve you. Never has. And we both know you don’t love her.”

  A surprised monosyllabic laugh blurted from Emie’s throat and she splayed her palm on her chest. “Whatever made you think I loved Vitoria Elizalde, of all godawful people?”

  Gia tilted her head to the side. “Emie, please—”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll listen.” She made a zip motion over her lips. “Go ahead.”

  Finished with the mascara, Gia pitched it into the shopping bag. She sucked in a deep breath and held it, seeming to struggle with what she wanted to say. Finally, she picked up the lip-liner—nude, thank
goodness—and got to work on her mouth.

  “Bottom line is, I saw something I wanted desperately and I went after it. I pushed you too hard, Emie. I know that now. I got it into my head that I knew what was best for you, and that all I had to do was convince you however I had to, whatever it took.” A beat passed. Gia sighed. “I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

  Emie bit her lip to keep from speaking.

  “But the whole thing is your fault, really.”

  “What?”

  A smile flashed on Gia’s face, but her expression quickly sobered and intensified. “It’s your fault, because every moment I spent around you, querida, you made me love you.”

  Emie’s heated gaze dropped. Gia gently lifted her chin.

  Their eyes met again, and held.

  “But more importantly, every moment I spent around you…you made me love me.” Gia implored Emie’s eyes. “And that’s something no one has been able to do for thirty-four long, lonely years.” Gia’s thumb brushed over Emie’s bottom lip, sending shock waves straight to her spine. A winsome little smile curved Gia’s mouth.

  Tears rose to Emie’s eyes.

  “If you cry this makeup off, Emie, we’re gonna have words.”

  “I’m sorry.” She chuckle-sobbed and looked toward the ceiling until she’d staved off the tears as best she could.

  “Now that my soul is bared and my chest is weight-free, here’s what I’m not going to do.” Gia paused to coat a lip brush with soft plum color, then deftly filled in her lips. “I’m not going to tell you not to go through with tonight. I’m not even going to ask you not to do it. I support your decision, whatever you want.”

  She set the lipstick aside and placed her hands on Emie’s shoulders. “I just want you to know that you have nothing to prove to Elizalde. Or anyone. Also, I’m not giving up, and I’m not going away. I’ll be here for you, whenever, however you want me.”

  Before Emie could find the words to reply, Gia had slid her hands from Emie’s shoulders to her wrists and pulled her gently from the vanity.

  “Mira.” Gia turned her around to face the mirror.

  Emie’s breath hitched. She didn’t know if it was because of how lovely she looked or because Gia’s gorgeous reflection shared the mirror with her in a way that just looked…perfect. Either way, the sight rendered her speechless. This was how she’d envisioned the makeover. This was what she wanted. Understated—she could barely tell she had makeup on—yet polished and elegant.

  “See?” Gia said, voice husky. “You look like you.”

  “Only better,” Emie added in a whisper.

  Gia shook her head. “No, mi corazón, you look like you. Period. It doesn’t get any better than that.”

  “Gia…” Emotion ached in Emie’s throat. She met Gia’s eyes in the reflection. “I love it.”

  “I love you,” Gia told her simply, touching the tip of her nose. “Now, go get dressed. I’ll wait for you on the back porch.” Just like that, Gia turned and was gone.

  Emie’s heart buzzed with affection, with desire. However the wall still remained. Gia loved her, she claimed. But, Gia, Emie wanted to ask as the warmth in her soul began to cool, what about the blonde?

  Chapter Ten

  Emie retreated to her bedroom, mentally reciting every lyric she could dredge up about being a fool for love. Or not being a fool, that is. Yes, Gia Mendez was charming, sweet, kind, funny, gorgeous, sexy, persuasive—

  Okay, this was getting her nowhere.

  She’d fallen in love with the woman, but the point remained: though Gia had said all the right words and made her up beautifully, Emie had been hurt by her twice already in the short time they’d known each other. She couldn’t afford to think with her heart right now if she didn’t want to join the ranks of all the other damned fools who made ballad singers wealthy.

  But was your pain really Gia’s fault?

  “Oh, shut up,” she groused at her opinionated conscience. Squaring her shoulders, Emie marched to the closet and reached for the garment bag, then stopped herself. She was feeling flustered, not thinking straight. She might as well smooth lotion into her legs first since she’d decided to go without the constricting hose. Apprehension ratcheted up her spine at the prospect of the evening ahead and her woefully unplanned plan. She hoped to snatch her dignity back from Elizalde, but she really hadn’t thought it through. Her mind had been…elsewhere. What in the hell was she going to do? She bit her lip, nervous tension dampening her palms. Everyone at the party would know about The Stillman Show. They’d undoubtedly watch the interactions between her and Elizalde with bated breath. She hated to be the center of such negative attention. Damn Vitoria.

  She didn’t have to go, Gia had said.

  Nothing to prove.

  Not to Elizalde. Not to anyone.

  Faltering, Emie wrapped her arms around her middle and studied her worried eyes in the mirror above her bureau. Yes, she did have to go. If for nothing else than to make a professional showing to her colleagues. It was the faculty mixer, for God’s sake. It wasn’t all about her. She might not have anything to prove to Elizalde, but she had a lot to prove to herself.

  Emie Jaramillo might not be all that and a bag of chips, but she didn’t retreat from a battle with her tail between her legs. She didn’t hang her head in the face of humiliation. She didn’t base her self-image on the opinion of one arrogant bitch.

  But wasn’t that exactly what she was doing?

  Doubt whispered through her. She pushed it aside. “That’s not the point,” she said to her reflection. “Vitoria Elizalde deserves…”

  What?

  She wasn’t sure and didn’t care to ponder it. Enough of this. She needed to get dressed.

  Emie turned to the bed and smiled, despite herself, at how neatly Gia had laid everything out. A little zing of surprise fired through her when she realized Gia hadn’t gone for the thigh-high streetwalker boots like Emie had feared. Relieved, she eagerly examined Gia’s selections. The dove gray suede pumps weren’t too high, nor were they dowdy. They were sleek, fashionable stilettos that would do her smooth legs justice. Little gray pearl earrings and a necklace lay nestled next to a matching suede clutch purse. Lovely. Elegant. Just what she wanted. She had to admit, Gia was a thoughtful and perceptive woman.

  Not to mention charming, sweet, kind, funny, gorgeous, sexy, persuasive—

  “Stop it!” Emie whispered at herself. She was acting like a ridiculous, inexperienced schoolgirl who would titter and swoon at the attentions of the hottest girl in school. How could Gia claim to love her, anyway, when she’d only known Emie for a short time? Then again, Emie’d known Gia for the same amount of time, and she knew without a doubt she loved her…

  But who was the blonde?

  If only she hadn’t seen. If only she knew. She should just ask Gia— Damnit! Get it over with. They weren’t even twentysomething, they were thirtysomething. This shouldn’t be so freaking difficult. But wouldn’t Gia tell Emie herself if the blonde was nobody? Didn’t she deserve that much from a woman who claimed to love her?

  Maybe the blonde was…maybe she was a…cleaning lady.

  Emie barked out a laugh. Yeah, right. The woman looked like she would vehemently deny the word “clean” could ever be used as a verb. No way was she a maid.

  Forget it. Gia didn’t owe her any explanations. She’d said she loved Emie—why should Emie doubt that? Why? Because…because…oh, hell. She just did. Why would Gia love her? was the real question. She didn’t want to get hurt. Not by anyone, but most especially not by Gia. Was it so inconceivable that she’d want to protect her heart?

  Frustration at herself surged. That’s it. The wheels of fate had been set in motion. She was going to the party. Period. “Just get on with it,” she muttered. Time was running out. She glanced at the luminescent green numbers on her alarm clock…and that’s when she saw the rose. Gia had left a rose on her pillow.

  The gesture struck her as so utterly sweet, it actually
hurt. Waves of pain washed through her, over her, drowning her. She crossed slowly to the head of her bed and sat. Picked up the flower. Sniffed it. Gia knew how nerve-wracked she felt about the party tonight, and instead of begging her not to go or scoffing at her reasons, Gia had chosen to support her gently.

  With a single rose. No thorns.

  If only life were so kind.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Emie warned the burgeoning tears threatening to streak her mascara. She wasn’t going to ruin this makeup job. She stood, realizing with wry amusement that she’d been embroiled in a conversation with herself for the past several minutes. Didn’t they give people complimentary white jackets and nice padded rooms for such behavior? Chuckling, she carried the rose into the bathroom and placed it in a cup full of water. After standing back to look at it, she decided to take it back into her room and set it on her nightstand so she could smell it later while she drifted off to sleep.

  Another glance at the clock revved her engines. She needed to just go, before she became a shortsighted fool again. Three strikes, you’re out, she reminded herself.

  She double-checked her legs to make sure she didn’t need the hose, turning her ankles side to side, finding them satisfactory, then crossed to the garment bag and unzipped it from top to bottom.

  A small, reverent gasp escaped her lips. Inside she found the plum-colored silk and satin cocktail dress she’d admired the day they went cosmetics shopping. God. Gia really paid attention to her, didn’t she? The gesture, like everything else Gia had done that day, reached in and lifted her emotions no matter how she struggled to hold them back.

  She carefully pulled the gorgeous dress from the hanger and slipped it on. Perfect fit, and she adored it. The fabric swished around her legs and stopped just above knees that, really, didn’t look so knobby after all.

  Feeling slightly wobbly, a little teary, and dangerously close to shucking her pride and throwing herself into Gia’s arms, she turned from the mirror. With shaky hands, she slipped on the jewelry and pumps, filled the little clutch with a few essentials, and hastened from the room. In the doorway, she hesitated. The mirror beckoned one last time.