He pulled her close and hugged her tight. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Let’s spend the whole day in bed.”
Ella’s spirit soared like a lark in the summer sky.
****
July rolled into August, with Jean-Luc working each afternoon and every Saturday with Colette Ducharme. Ella kept busy with her English lessons and custom orders for Renaissance Denim Couture, battling the bitter jealousy that sickened her soul. She knew Jean-Luc was under tremendous pressure to complete the portrait—which had to be perfect—and that he was struggling to finish a few additional pieces in time for the impending press conference and publicity shoot. Faced with the rapidly approaching deadline, he worked late into the night, even sacrificing their Sundays together as he raced against the clock.
The second week of August, Ella received the long-awaited notification that her application for an extended visa had been approved, granting her permission to remain in France for an additional six months. She waited until Wednesday—the one weeknight Jean-Luc did not have to work—to share the wonderful news.
They celebrated with a delectable dinner of poached fish and fresh greens atLa Maison Rose. Pensive, Ella sipped her glass ofMeursaultas she considered her future. “My lease is up in November, so I’ll need to fly home one way or another. If I decide to renew it, I’ll need to sign the paperwork. If not, then I’ll need to move my things out of the apartment. I have to give my landlord at least thirty days’ notice in writing before I do—which would mean mailing him a letter now, so he receives it by October 1st.”
Jean-Luc reached across the table and took hold of Ella’s hand. “I’ll fly home with you.” An enthusiastic grin stretched across his handsome, bearded face. “La Fête des Vendangeswill be over, and things will be back to normal.” He savored a swallow of the exquisite white wine. “I’ll take time off from thetablao, give François my nights onla Place du Tertre.” Dark eyes danced deliciously with hers. “I’ll help you move your things out of the apartment. Get to meet your parents and your brother. Then we’ll fly back to France. Take a trip south to Perpignan— so you can meet my mother. And celebrate Christmas in Montmartre.”
Ella’s breath hitched, her heart nearly bursting with joy.He wants me to stay! He wants to come home with me, meet my family. And he wants me to meet his mother. I’ve never been so happy in my entire life!Tears blurring her vision, she squeezed his calloused hand. “I wouldlovethat,” she choked with a sob.
When they returned to the apartment, they sat at the computer beneath the portrait of Ella clutching the bouquet of pink roses. “Ma Rose Bohème,”he murmured with a nostalgic smile. “God, how I love looking at you.” He raised her hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss on her fingers. The bristles of his mustache tickled her skin.
Together, they rescheduled her return flight to Florida. Purchased Jean-Luc’s ticket. And one for Ella to come back to France.
The following day, while Jean-Luc gave his art lessons, Ella walked to the post office and mailed the official letter to her landlord. She requested signature confirmation and a return receipt, proving that she’d complied with the terms of ending her lease. Like a songbird unfurling its wings to take flight, Ella soared back to theAtelier des Lumières.
****
Jean-Luc had just finished his art lessons and was working on the downstairs computer when Alphonse entered the atelier. He rose to his feet and extended his hand. The grim expression on his landlord’s face sent a shiver of foreboding down Jean-Luc’s spine.
“Bonjour, Jean-Luc.” Alphonse shook the proffered hand. “I’m sorry to bring bad news.” Deep lines creased his forehead, and his eyes were filled with pain. “My mother has had a stroke, and the prognosis is not good. I must sell the atelier as quickly as possible. Fortunately, I have an anxious buyer.” Compassion and conviction blazed in his bitter eyes. “I need you to vacate by October 1st. I know the timing couldn’t be worse, withla Fête des Vendangesthe following week, but I have no choice.” He withdrew an envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket and unfolded a document onto Jean-Luc’s table. “Please sign this as proof that I have given you the required thirty days’ notice. I’m sorry, Jean-Luc. My hands are tied.”
In stunned silence, Jean-Luc scratched his signature across the form and numbly accepted the copy Alphonse provided.
“I wish things were different.” He sighed, tucking the folded document back into his pocket. With a halfhearted smile, he shook Jean-Luc’s hand. “Best of luck with the upcoming exhibit.” Head bowed, he slipped quietly out the door.
Cottony white clouds floated across the cerulean sky, the leafy trees of Montmartre swaying in the soft summer breeze. Slumped in his chair, the wind knocked out of him, Jean-Luc stared sightlessly out the window. In stark contrast to the perfectly brilliant day, he was bereft and empty, his life suddenly careening out of control.
Ella had received the extended visa. They’d rescheduled her flight. Jean-Luc was going home with her to move out of the apartment. She’d mailed the letter to her landlord. To be received by October 1st. The same day he now had to vacate the atelier.
What an ironic twist of fate. He’d finally convinced Ella to stay. And now he had no home to offer her.
He hung his head in his hands.
He was walking a tightrope with Colette Ducharme, his professional life suspended in delicate, precarious balance. One wrong move, and he would plummet. To the death of his artistic career.
Colette was sexy and seductive. Bold and beautiful. A polished, pampered princess who always got what she wanted.
And what she clearly wanted was Jean-Luc.
For her portrait, she’d chosen a white diaphanous gown to drape over her nude body in an elegant, ethereal pose. With one arm unfurled upward like the delicate wing of a swan, her arched torso curved back over a gracefully extended, elevated leg and pointed toe, Colette resembled an ephemeral fairy. An angelic goddess. The essence ofL’Art de la Danse.
So far, he’d artfully dodged her overt amorous advances. Politely declined the dinner invitations with implications that they would end up in her hotel. Ignored how she tautly pulled the sheer fabric of her gown over bare, voluptuous breasts when they paused for brief breaks during each session. But now, with the deadline for completion of her portrait rapidly approaching, Colette was becoming more desperate. Daring. And determined.
She was used to manipulating men, like marionettes dancing on a string. Fawning all over her. Falling at her pretty, powerful feet. Available at her beck and call.
Yet the more she tried to seduce him, the more she repulsed Jean-Luc. He didn’t want Colette—he wanted Ella. His bohemian rose. His Muse. His heart.
Images of Ella flooded his thoughts.
Blonde hair cascading to her waist like a wondrous waterfall of gold. Slender torso and the long, lithe limbs of a graceful dancer. Gentle soul and generous nature, with an exuberant zest for life. Creativity, intelligence, and a bohemian spirit. And a fiery, intense passion to match his own.
Jean-Luc tossed his hair over his shoulder, shaking himself out of his reverie. He couldn’t tell Ella about losing the atelier. He’d have to figure something out. And fast. But, in the meantime, Colette would be arriving soon, and he needed to prepare.
