Fortune Is a Woman by Francine Saint Marie Read Free Book Online Page B

sought to continue her inquisition. “Now, what happened to ruin our sword yielding Duke then, when his father died?”
    Venus shoved her chair back. She was weary of pushy Paula Treadwell and her endless grilling. Grillings at work, in elevators, in restaurants, even at Cicero’s. She knew this material from university and was tired of proving and reproving it. She glared at Paula, speechless.
    “Tell me, Angelo. What precipitated the fall of–?”
    “Men only injure through hate or fear,” Venus had sparred.
    Paula thrust back. “Yes, Angelo. Men .”
    Venus coughed. (Touché you fascist, chauvinistic asshole.) “But isn’t it better to be loved than to be hated and despised?”
    “Hmmph–I know only that it was better to be the Duke of Milan than the Duke of Valentine. Besides, I don’t believe you will ever hate or despise our Duchess.”
    Venus refused to acknowledge the remark.
    “Or fear,” Paula added. “Now where are we? Oh, yes, Alexander the Sixth. Please tell me so I know, what happened to undo his otherwise fortunate son? Most significantly, what didn’t the Duke do that he might have, or in hindsight, that he should have?”
    “I do not lov–”
    “Don’t you even dare, Angelo. You’re both too good for that.”
    Venus folded her hands in front of her. “Okay,” she said, her voice constricted.
    “You don’t, you don’t. Then why did you get a divorce?”
    Did. Didn’t. Might have. What should she say? “He failed to intervene in the appointment of Pope Julius the Second,” Venus replied in a monotone.
    She sat like that long after Paula had left.
    Paula was a shrewd woman. She could both giveth and taketh away whenever she saw fit. That didn’t surprise Venus too much. In all, she guessed, a visit like the one she had just received had been inevitable, perhaps long overdue. She wasn’t terribly surprised. Just pissed.
    The real surprise had arrived well before Paula Treadwell. Venus couldn’t believe that Lydia had come for lunch after what had happened this morning at the club.
    The two had met for a couple of light sets and a few laps in the pool. The first time in months. Afterwards, VP Beaumont had lost her footing getting dressed at the lockers. Probably the knee acting up. Venus was beside her when she slipped and had swiftly caught her in the crook of one arm, in a catch so precarious that it required her to assist Lydia in standing on her own again. Perhaps that’s why Lydia didn’t struggle when Venus instead pulled her closer and placed her free hand on the small of her back. Perhaps that’s also why Lydia didn’t object when the grip tightened around her waist and she found herself locked in Venus Angelo’s arms.
    The sensation of Lydia suddenly relaxing her body, resting her hands on her shoulders, of her damp skin, of the dark hair hanging in her face and brushing against hers–Venus held her longer, way longer than she should have.
    Putting the moves on Lydia Beaumont. Venus had acted both impetuously and cautiously, expecting Lydia to extricate herself, to coldly thank her and resume dressing. Yet the woman only tossed the hair from her eyes and gazed up at her curiously, as if wondering what came next. Venus stood love struck, wondering herself. She spent the next eternity contemplating whether she should kiss her captive, but failed to do it.
    If, as they say, success has many fathers, then how can failure be an orphan? Wouldn’t it be better said that failure is a bastard? Venus stood quietly gazing into the long, dark tunnel of her gym locker as Lydia hurriedly finished dressing.
    Failure is definitely a bitch. She watched Lydia fleeing from her, halting for a split second at the exit as if she might speak, but then abandoning the locker room without even saying goodbye. Venus figured she’d never hear from VP Beaumont again.
    She was wrong.
    So they lunched together separated by a desk, chatting and laughing as they typically would. They talked shop