by Lea Santos
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?
The answer to that question had never been Emie Jaramillo. And she’d never really cared, because her focus had been elsewhere. Then Vitoria came into the picture and scrambled up everything she’d known, the tenets upon which she’d built her life. Now, looking at herself in the elegant cocktail dress, with understated makeup and love in her eyes, Emie felt beautiful, brilliant, and powerful. For the first time. Thanks to Gia.
And yet, there was still the little matter of her dignity.
She needed to start the new semester on solid footing.
She knew Gia expected her to say good-bye, but that would be her undoing. Before she allowed her emotions to choose otherwise, Emie switched off her lamp, crept down the stairs, and slipped out the front door without speaking to Gia. She was going to the mixer. She had to. She didn’t expect Gia to understand.
*
Emie had been at the party for an hour and had yet to cross paths with Elizalde. Dimmed crystal chandeliers lit the posh hotel ballroom, and well-dressed professors and other university staff members milled about laughing and enjoying the open bar and generous buffet. Scents of Italian oregano, marinara, grilled asparagus, and succulent roast beef mingled in the air. The festive atmosphere cheered her. Her angst over the evening dissipated with every passing minute.
Lifting her glass, Emie sipped the last of her wine, then set the goblet on the empty tray of a passing waiter. She’d spoken with many of her colleagues, and though several had said “Lovely dress” or “When did you start wearing contacts?” Emie never got the impression they were thinking, “And to think you were on that bookworm makeover show,” as they paid the compliments. Of course not. The notion was ludicrous to her the more she thought about it. She was a well-respected, tenured faculty member and a renowned scientist at thirty, for God’s sake. Most of the people in her circle were well-educated professionals who respected her for her mind and her contributions to the university. Just because Elizalde had tricked her onto the show didn’t mean that the rest of her contemporaries gave a rat’s ass about the superficialities of appearance.
She knew that.
She knew.
It hit her like a blow to the solar plexus.
When had her perspective gotten so skewed? Shaking her head, Emie picked up her clutch and went in search of the powder room.
Vernon Schell, a colleague up the chain on the research team, caught her arm as she wound through the tables. “Emie,” his voice boomed as he pulled her into one of his famed bear hugs. “I was wondering if you were here. So good to see you.”
“You, too, Vernon.” She smiled, noticing the dark sun spots showing through the thinning white hair barely covering his tanned scalp. The deeply etched smile lines around his eyes bespoke of a life filled with joy. “How was your summer?”
“Super! Spent my time fishing for blue marlin off the coast of Florida and catching up on my reading.” He guffawed. They exchanged more banalities of reacquaintance for a few moments before Vernon’s ruddy, jowled face sobered, and he lowered his tone. “I’ve been meaning to pull you aside and talk to you, Emie.” He looked contrite and pressed his lips together. “I should’ve called sooner.”
Uh-oh. Her blood chilled. She’d managed to evade any mention of The Stillman Show, but here it came. She braced herself to endure Vernon’s sympathy, lifted her chin, and forced a pleasant smile on her face. “What is it?”
“The study you published in JAMA last spring, about cloning’s role in infertility treatment? It’s been nominated for an award. We’re all so pleased.”
The shock must’ve shown on her face, because Dr. Schell belly laughed and patted her shoulder.
“Don’t look so surprised, Doctor. The research was flawless and the article impeccably written. Logical enough to give even our staunchest detractors pause.” He beamed, laying a thick freckled finger over his lips as he studied her. “Anyway, that was the good news, here’s the bad. The university president would like you to travel to Washington shortly after the term starts to present the data to a congressional task force.” He twisted his mouth to the side. “That ought to throw a monkey wrench into your class schedule, which is why I should’ve called sooner. My most sincere apologies.”
She quickly gathered her scattered composure, then reached out and squeezed his hand. So much for her thinking the stupid Barry Stillman Show was foremost in everyone’s mind. “Are you kidding, Vernon?” She splayed a hand on her chest. “Don’t apologize. I’m thrilled.”
Another rich guffaw shook Vernon’s notable girth. “Isn’t that just like you to adapt to whatever is thrown your way. I must tell you, Dr. Jaramillo”—he leaned in, his forehead crinkled as he peered over the half-spectacles that Emie always thought made him look like Santa Claus—“you’re going to have to learn to be much more of a tantrum-throwing elitist if you want to leave your mark on the annals of self-important professordom.” His eyes twinkled.
Emie tossed her head with laughter. The thing she’d always loved about Vernon was his absolute refusal to take himself or his position too seriously. If anyone had a “right” to be impressed with himself, it was esteemed professor Vernon Schell. And yet, he wasn’t. She could take a lesson or two from him. “I’ll work on that,” she said, tongue-in-cheek.
“Please don’t, Doctor,” he implored, with a wistful sigh. “Would that there were more just like you…” Leaning forward, he patted her cheek, then made his way past her through the crowd.
Emie still felt warm and fuzzy from Vernon’s genuine compliments as she pushed through the door of the multi-mirrored powder room. She was heading through the tastefully appointed sitting area toward the toilets when a captivating young woman caught her eye. She smiled at exactly the same moment as the other woman. Then she froze.
My God.
It was her own reflection.
She took a tentative step toward the glass, then the mirror behind her caught the facing mirror image and unfurled it to infinity. She’d always thought it bizarre and a little magical when confronted with such reflective tricks. But this time was different. Better.
Feeling as giddy as a child at a carnival, Emie stared at her reflection. She couldn’t believe the woman she’d glimpsed—admired, even—was none other than herself. Odd that a simple perspective shift, seeing herself as a stranger for a split second, had clarified far more for her than all the time she’d spent bemoaning her unfortunate appearance on the stupid Barry Stillman Show. What a fool she’d been. She looked like herself. She looked fine.
Hadn’t Gia told her that since the moment they’d met?
Emie didn’t blink, didn’t draw a breath, didn’t move as the moment of clarity rocked her world. All along, Gia had been attracted to her. From the beginning. Emie was the one who’d put the brakes on any advances, and Emie was the one who’d run out of the bathroom after their mind-blowing kiss without so much as an explanation. Gia had obviously misinterpreted her panic to get to Iris as…something else. Revulsion? Regret? Hardly.
But how was Gia to have known?
Of course she had apologized—she was too much of a gentlewoman to break Emie’s rules. Just friends. That’s what Emie had demanded. She scoffed. Had she lost her mind?
And what exactly had she hoped to prove to herself through a confrontation with Vitoria Elizalde? Why would she try and regain her so-called dignity by manipulating the reactions of a woman who didn’t care about her instead of listening to a woman she loved? A woman who loved her?
Emie laughed and shook her head.
For an intelligent woman, she sure could be a fool.
Dazzled, Emie glanced behind her at the mirror, then back at the one before her. The repeating reflections looked like a hallway winding off into nowhere. Or perhaps a pathway to a rich, wonderful future.
She supposed it was all in one’s perspective.
Why had she doubted Gia?
Why had she left her?<
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As though she’d never experienced a moment of confusion in her life, Emie realized what she had to do. Gia loved her. She absolutely had no doubt. There had to be an explanation for the blond-haired woman, because if Emie had learned one thing about Gia Mendez, it was that she was a woman of impeccable honor. Gia would never intentionally hurt Emie by pretending to love her while seeing another woman. Gia would never intentionally hurt her, period. She’d given Emie the freedom to do what she had to this evening, and now Emie would return the favor. She’d give Gia the opportunity to explain.
Gia loved her. That’s what mattered.
She had to go to her.
Emie hurried from the powder room and—Murphy’s Law—ran smack into none other than Vitoria Elizalde as she made her way toward the restroom. They both staggered back, and Vitoria’s expression flashed with surprise and even…fear? The thought pulled laughter from deep inside Emie. Big, bad Dr. Vitoria Elizalde was afraid of her. What did the bitch think she was going to do? Drive a stake through her heart?
Hell hath no fury…
Emie squared her shoulders and gave a genuine smile. Actually, she ought to kiss the reptilian hag and thank her profusely. If not for Vitoria’s stupid little ploy with The Stillman Show, Emie never would’ve met Gia. She wished the egotistical woman knew she was merely a pawn in the larger plans of fate.
“Hello, Vitoria,” she said, enjoying the other woman’s discomfort. “It’s nice to see you.”
Vitoria patted her already slicked-back hair. “It’s nice to—? But of course. Dr. Jaramillo. You, too.” Her gaze made a furtive dip to the exit and back.
Emie figured she was probably estimating her chances of escaping the pointy edge of that stake. She pictured herself as Buffy, executing a perfect roundhouse kick before shoving that stake in. Poof! Dust. The image amused her so much, she couldn’t keep from prolonging the conversation. Just a little. “I assume you heard our infertility study is getting some notice?”
Vitoria swallowed slowly, seeming to try to gauge Emie’s tactics. “Why isn’t she pummeling me with her fists?” the Brazilian probably thought. What she said was, “Yes. Wonderful news. I am thinking the publicity will bring us additional grant monies. You should be…very proud.”
“I am, thank you.” Emie smiled, feeling powerful and giddy with hope. Enough of this. She felt like the all-powerful cat batting around the pathetic mouse before devouring it. Only difference was, she no longer had a taste for blood. “Well, I have to be going. See you in a week or so.” She skirted around Vitoria, but the other woman’s talon-tipped hand snaked out to stop her.
“Emie.”
She turned and raised a questioning brow.
“You…you look lovely.”
“Oh, I know.” She tossed her hair, truly believing the words for the first time since that damned television show. “I’m in love. Does amazing things for a woman, don’t you think?” Before Vitoria could respond, Emie eased out of her grasp and headed toward the exit.
Toward home.
Toward Gia.
*
Bright moonlight streaked through the picture window, casting silvery-blue illumination across the floor of the carriage house. Gia had pulled a chair over to face the glass, lacking the motivation to do anything else. She hadn’t even turned on a light. Stars speckled the inky sky, and she might have found the view inspiring if she didn’t feel so bleak.
Why had Emie left without speaking to her? Gia had thought the new makeover, the surprise of the dress she’d so admired would have melted at least some of the ice around Emie’s heart. She’d believed she could get through to Emie, but perhaps the tally of mistakes had just been too long to overcome. The thought that she’d missed her chance with the most amazing woman in the world was a physical pain.
Gia saw Emie round the side of the house, high heels dangling from her hand, and stunned relief flooded through her. Guarded relief. At least Emie had come back. Elizalde hadn’t latched onto her vulnerabilities and taken her for a ride, something that had worried Gia since the moment she’d realized Emie had left without a good-bye.
Wearing an adorable determined look on her fine-featured face, Emie hurried across the backyard…toward the carriage house. Gia’s breath hitched. Good sign? She hoped so. She stood, cheek to cheek with her own reflection in the glass, watching Emie’s approach. When she neared the carriage house door, Gia traversed the dark cottage in long, hasty strides. Reminding herself to hold back, not to push, to let Emie take the lead, Gia braced one arm against the door frame. Head hung, she closed her eyes and waited for the knock.
Tap, tap.
Gentle. Just like Emie herself.
Gia didn’t waste time playing games, but threw the door open to greet her—the woman she prayed could learn to love her, imperfections and all. But, as she stood there in bare feet, the breeze ruffling her short, sassy locks, Gia’s heart tightened and stole her words.
The sight of her in the silk dress that had obviously been designed with her sensuous, curving body in mind nearly knocked Gia flat. The shy tilt to Emie’s face didn’t help, but Gia managed to remain standing. Barely. She couldn’t quite get a handle on Emie’s expression. She didn’t look angry, or apathetic, as she had during the makeover. Hope gleamed in her eyes. That, and…apprehension?
For God’s sake, the two of them needed to stop tiptoeing around each other and just talk.
Gia furrowed nervous fingers through her hair and started simply. “You’re back.”
“Yes.” Emie studied Gia’s face for a moment, swinging the gray shoes hooked over her fingers, then inclined her head toward the dark room behind her. “Busy?”
“Never too busy for you.”
Emie bestowed a small smile. “May I?”
“Of course. Just let me—” Gia left her standing on the threshold and navigated through the shadows to the lamp. With a snap, golden light flooded the small cottage, curling its way into the darkened corners. She turned, finding Emie’s wide eyes moving around her living and working space with curiosity. Emie stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking as though she might bolt at any moment.
“Come in. Please.” Gia waited until Emie had stepped tentatively forward before asking, “How did it go?” She felt as if they were circling each other in slow motion, neither quite sure of the other’s motive or next move.
“It was…illuminating.” Emie said, cryptically, punctuating the statement with a winsome smile. “Thank you for the dress.”
“It’s perfect on you,” Gia said, but it was more of a whisper. The night air felt balmy, but goose bumps coated her flesh. Why did it seem like this moment was the culmination of every second of her life up till now? “You’re so…God. Em, you’re so beautiful in it.”
Blush colored her cheeks. She looked down, then up at Gia again. “I didn’t know you noticed it that day in the mall.”
Gia swallowed and spoke slowly, afraid of screwing everything up again. She couldn’t quite maintain her bearings around Emie. “Everything that’s important to you, querida, is important to me. Of course I noticed.” A tight pause ensued, so Gia changed the subject. “You’re home early.”
Emie nodded. “I…wanted to be.”
Gia reached out for her but stopped, curling her hand back and dropping it to her side. “What happened at the party?”
Emie trailed her finger along the small kitchenette table near the door and set her shoes on the chair. “Well, I found out I won an award,” she said, lightly.
“An award?” Emie seemed almost playful. Gia decided to follow her lead. “Best dressed?”
“No.”
“Prettiest girl?”
Emie chuckled and met her gaze, voice thick with emotion. “Nope, not that one either. A better one.”
The heat Gia saw in Emie’s eyes rocked her. But it was tempered with…something. Unable to stop herself, she crossed to Emie, stood close enough to notice an eyelash on her cheekbone. Gia brushed it off, smoothed her hand
through Emie’s hair, and cupped her cheek in one fluid motion. “Tell me.” Before being this close to you, this much in love with you, makes me unable to hear a word you say.
To Gia’s surprise, a ripple of worry darkened her eyes and she bit the corner of her mouth.
“What is it?”
“Sit with me.” She pulled out one of the chairs and nestled into it with a sigh. “I’m not used to heels. My feet hurt.”
Deep within Gia, fear crackled with electricity. There was something more, something bad. She could feel it like an impending storm. Had Emie come to say good-bye? Good riddance? They sat, didn’t speak. Gia inhaled deeply. Finally, when she couldn’t bear the suspense, she whispered, “¿Qué pasó?”
Emie sucked in a breath, held it, then whooshed it out. “I won an award for an article I wrote about a study I headed. Published in a professional journal.” Her fingers reached out and wound with Gia’s on the table. Squeezed. “The university is sending me to Washington in a few weeks to speak before some sort of congressional committee.”
A rush of air left Gia as her heart swelled. She shook her head. “You’re amazing, baby. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. It really is an honor.”
But that really hadn’t answered Gia’s question. She wanted to know what was holding Emie back, what put the worry and fear in her doe eyes. Gia still felt it. Definitely something Emie wasn’t saying. So help her, God, if Elizalde hurt Emie again. “Why did you leave the party early, querida?”
“Because I wanted to see you.” Tears flooded Emie’s eyes.
The inner alarm compounded. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.” Gia rose from her chair and crouched in front of Emie, gently caressing her legs from knee to hip. “Emie, please. Did Elizalde—?”
“No.” Emie swiped a tear and sniffed. “It’s not that.”
Gia’s jaw clenched. “I’ll kill her if—”