Darcy lay her head back against the wall, feeling the softness of the leather seat against her thighs, the dimples against her back, forcing herself to be grounded, calm, and serene.
“Babe, that shrink shit is not going to get Kate dressed.” Zoë tapped the draftsman’s table. “You want me to work on the whole wardrobe?”
Darcy nodded. Focus on the leather. “I want to create something she’ll actually wear. She likes pockets.”
“So, let’s redesign these cargos; pull out some sharp lines over the hips to accentuate curves, and twist it over the thighs to show off her tone?” Zoë scribbled away.
“Side pockets might work, but I want front pockets, nothing on the hip.” She let out a slow breath. “We want to pull that material forward when she fills the pocket and accentuate her”—she tried not to visualise the toned, pert bum asking to be squeezed—“assets.”
Zoë laughed. “Haven’t seen you that flustered in a while.” She scribbled away, her tone laced with irritation. “You want flared. I think that’s too much.”
“You’re right. Let’s go for a wider than standard, but only slight.” She swiped her finger through the air. “I was not flustered.”
“Honey, you squeezed her breasts on TV.” She laughed, but it sounded more irritable than jolly. “Then you freaked out…as always.”
“I squeeze a lot of women’s breasts.” She scowled. Who was Zoë to talk? “It’s my job.”
“Uh-huh.” Zoë scribbled faster—either she was inspired or angry. “I know the look. I used to see that look.”
Darcy glanced at the door. “Quiet.” She glared at Zoë’s back. “Susannah could hear you.”
“You really think she doesn’t know we had sex?” Zoë rolled her eyes. “No matter if you shoved her in boarding school for a few years, she was around enough to know.”
“You say it like I abandoned her.” She frowned and gave up on meditating, slumping down next to Zoë at the draftsman’s table. “It’s the best education.”
“And you didn’t want her growing up to be you.” Zoë smiled at her and stroked her cheek. “Don’t forget, I know you.”
“Too well.” She glanced back at the door. “I’d like an angular shape on the jacket. Let’s celebrate her shoulders.”
Zoë pencilled in her idea.
What was that? She pulled a pencil from behind Zoë’s ear and corrected the mess. “I said celebrate, not neon-sign them.”
Zoë attacked the pencil, thwacking it with her own and causing a wonky line. “Who is the designer?”
“Me. I taught you everything you know.” She swatted Zoë’s pencil back.
“Most things.” Zoë tapped her on the nose. “Some you needed to be taught.”
And there was a blush. She frowned and turned back to the design board. Every piece of clothing Kate could need. Still, she liked Zoë’s touch on an outfit. They worked together…on paper.
“Try not to act like it was torture to sleep with me, will you?” Zoë muttered and threw her pencil down. “You need to get past this.”
Something Zoë had always wanted to say? Seemed like it by the frustration, the intensity in her eyes.
“I don’t need to do anything.” She focused on the few skirts and dresses and hoped Kate would try wearing them.
“Yes, you do. You’re not going to be happy if you keep dating the wrong gender.” Zoë pulled her chin up to stare into her eyes. “And this gender is not going to put up with lying through their teeth.”
“You didn’t lie.” She pulled her chin free and flicked through the colours she’d picked. Kate would look incredible in hot pink, but would she wear it?
“Yes, I did, which is why Susannah can’t figure you out.” Zoë scribbled a new line on the shirt, making it almost flamingo. Perfect.
“She doesn’t need to. She just needs to understand that I’m capable of doing my job and I can be happy by myself.” She drew Kate’s figure, her abdomen, her smile.
Zoë drew an arrow to it. “Because sketching a woman is ‘happy on your own?’” She stretched out an exaggerated yawn. “Whatever, honey, that chick has you hot, and it’s about time you let someone close.”
“I did. She ran off with an underwear model.” She thwacked Zoë across the knuckle.
Zoë thwacked her back. “I ran off with an underwear model because I was living with you, sleeping with you, because we taught Susannah to walk together, taught her to talk, and I wasn’t even allowed to use my own front door.”
“Yes. I’m a bitch. You knew that when we met.” She rubbed out the arrow.
“You were a sweet kid who mothered me then cried when the other girls insulted you.” Zoë drew another arrow. “You spent one hot night with me and slept with a football player to prove you were straight.”
She rubbed out the arrow. “I am aware I’m a bitch.”
“Just a bitch?” Zoë thwacked her across the nose. “You freaked out because you felt something, then crawled back to me pregnant. I was there. I saw her being born.”
“I didn’t crawl anywhere.” She’d expected Zoë to hate her. Why hadn’t she? Why had she put up with so much?
“I agreed to be quiet because it was different then: our careers needed it, Susannah was the main concern, and because I stupidly thought I could live that way.” Zoë kissed her on the lips. “Fourteen years and you told me if I didn’t like it, I could leave.”
“Again, I’m a big bitch.” And she wanted to say she was a scared one, one who’d regretted saying it ever since Zoë had left and never got the chance to tell her otherwise; instead, she drew boxers on the silhouette. “What do you want?”
“To know you give a shit.” Zoë pulled her around by the shoulders. “You smiled, supported, and didn’t even look bothered that I got married.”
For Susannah. “You have every right to be happy.” She turned back to the sketch.
“Where are you?” Zoë yanked her back around. “Where’s the babe I snuck into bed with, who begged me to touch her, who begged me to do it again?”
She glanced at the door. “Keep it down.”
“If you don’t show me, I swear I’ll go out there and holler it.” Zoë narrowed her eyes. Hurt flickered across the gentle brown irises. She was sick of seeing that pain. It had been why she didn’t run after her. She was a bitch, but she loved Zoë.
“I sing with a hairbrush in my underwear, happy?” She pursed her lips. Why had she come out with that? How did that help?
Zoë rolled her eyes. “I know. I used to do it with you.” She glanced at the door, her eyes seemed to fill with pain. Was she going to leave again? No, she couldn’t do without her being around anymore. Not as a lover, but her presence, her friendship, her care.
“I miss you so much,” she whispered, hearing the crack in her voice. Hopefully anyone near enough to the door was listening to headphones or learning to play the drums. “I miss picking up the phone to call you. I do it…then remember I can’t call in the middle of the night anymore. Your wife wouldn’t like it.”
“She knows. I didn’t tell her, but she goes crazy at the mention of you.” Zoë scrunched up her mouth. “She went nuts at the picture of us on Valentine’s Day.”
“I was defending you.” She folded her arms. That was no reason to have a hissy fit.
“Yes, but I kissed you.” Zoë held her gaze like she was dense. “And you looked beyond relieved.”
Of course she was. It had taken every ounce of self-control to keep it at that single kiss. She couldn’t have cared if the manager threw them out or not. “It doesn’t matter how I felt. You’re married.” She turned back to the sketch.
“And you don’t sound happy about it.” Zoë ducked her head down to meet Darcy’s gaze.
“I hate her. I hate you for marrying her, and I hate that it’s permanent. Happy?” She cleared her throat. They hadn’t been alone, not since Zoë walked out. Just felt inappropriate. Zoë wasn’t hers to hold anymore.
“Why?” Zoë leaned in. Oh, she’d forget all about her wife in an instant and they both knew it. If she told herself that, it made her feel better anyway. “Why wouldn’t you just be proud of me, not ashamed?”
“She gives you what I could never give you. You’re happy with her.” She was not ever going to be that woman. Never. “I won’t ever not feel…not want…” She flicked her gaze away. “She’s better for you.”
“Yes, she is.” Zoë whispered it, but it rang out through the room like she’d bellowed. Hollow-sounding, hurt filled. “I love you too.” Full of pain, of longing. “That’s not going anywhere.” She smiled and stroked her cheek. “I miss Susannah.”
“She misses you too.” She went back to her drawing and drew a lacy bra on Kate’s figure. Ooh, nice shape. That would work.
“Do you have any idea how much it hurts that she doesn’t know she’s my kid too?” Zoë stilled her hand. “She is mine too. You promised me.”
“Yes, I meant it. Legally, emotionally, she’s our daughter.” She drew a slash-necked top over the bra. “You left, and it broke her heart even more than mine. She cried more than I did.”
Zoë shuddered out her breath. “You cried?”
“Are you devoid of all sense?” She glared at Zoë. How could she think she wouldn’t cry? She breathed like her, smiled like her. How could she not know how devastating leaving them had been? “The woman I loved ran off and married some twig within three months…three.” She smacked Zoë across the nose with her pencil. “And you were happy until you started working with her a few months before you ran out on your family.”
“I never cheated on you.” Zoë thwacked her back.
“Yes, you are… You’ll always be.” She thwacked her back harder.
“If that’s the case, you are shamelessly flirting with a security guard.” Zoë poked her in the shoulder. “And publicly.”
“It’s not my fault she’s the most gorgeous women I’ve ever set eyes on.” She poked Zoë right back.
Zoë scowled.
Yes, even more attractive than her.
“Is that it? Because I’ve never heard you laugh like that.” Zoë kissed her on the cheek.
“I haven’t, that’s why. She’s irritatingly funny.” She kissed Zoë back.
“She is not going to put up with your shit.” Zoë smiled, her eyes misting.
“She’s not available.” She shrugged. Why was she even thinking about it? “She is attracted to gay men.”
Zoë howled with laughter.
“She is.” She folded her arms. “She was in love with a man called Bennie.”
“In that case, she’s as crazy as you.” Zoë drew a heart next to the sketch of Kate. “Which means you’re in a load of trouble.”
She rubbed out the heart. Not having that. “I know. Why do you think I called you?”
“I don’t know.” Zoë smirked. “To torture me with the fact you’re moving on?”
“That would only make us even.” She sighed and threw her pencil down. “I’ve only ever been in love with you. I don’t know what I’m doing.” She scowled. “It’s the least you could do for leaving me and our child.”
Zoë sucked in a breath. “Yes, guilt-trip me even more. That feels real good.”
“You deserve it, but it’s up to you to make it up to her.” She shrugged. “So, are you going to stop me making a fool of myself on TV or not?”
“No. That chick is going to spring you from your shell.” Zoë grinned. “And I want to see you free, so I’ll hold your hand the whole way.” She pulled her in and planted a kiss on her lips, then yanked her into a hug. “Thank you for letting me back in. I miss you both.”
“You’re welcome.” She squeezed back.
“Mum?” Susannah mumbled from the doorway.
Darcy groaned. Perfect timing.