Next week marked the press conference and publicity shoot. Colette was undoubtedly expecting several more portrait sessions. Several more opportunities to seduce Jean-Luc. But he would tell her this afternoon that tomorrow would be their last session.
He was done with Colette Ducharme.
“I’m pleased to inform you that the portrait will be finished tomorrow,” Jean-Luc announced with a professional smile at the end of the session. “I’ll deliver it personally to the museum Friday afternoon at two.” From the corner of his eye, he observed Colette’s face fall as he collected his paintbrushes.
“So soon? I thought we wouldn’t be done until next week.” A hint of desperation tinged her tight voice. She turned toward Jean-Luc, dropping the corner of the gauzy fabric to expose a full, rounded breast.
Jean-Luc averted his gaze, focusing on the brushes in his tightly clenched hand. “The portrait will be completed a week in advance. Well before the deadline.” With an exaggerated semblance of hurry, he assembled the various paints and brushes, noisily gathering supplies in his arms and heading toward the exit door. Nodding his head in a polite goodbye, he said cheerfully, “You must excuse me, Colette. I have another appointment. I’ll see you tomorrow at two.”
****
The following day, Jean-Luc left dance rehearsal at thetablaoand impulsively decided to walk along theAllée des Brouillardswhere the Impressionist painter Renoir had once stayed. As he strolled through the lush vegetation of the abundant trees, he remembered bringing Ella to this quiet oasis in the center of Montmartre where he’d always wanted to live.
Lost in his thoughts, he nearly missed it entirely. But there, in the walled courtyard of a lovingly restoredBelle Époqueapartment building, was a sign that read:À louer.For rent.
Jean-Luc’s heart hammered in his chest.
He dialed the phone number of the realtor listed on the sign, and she agreed to meet him on the premises in half an hour. While waiting, he admired the elaborately scrolled design of the wrought iron decorations outlining the three large display windows on the ground floor of the front façade. On the second story, the same pattern of wrought iron enclosed the balcony above the entrance door. Jean-Luc ambled over the grounds, noting the dense foliage of privacy hedges and verdant trees which provided shelter and shade. And covering the trellis in the walled garden behind the beige building, a profusion of fragrant pink roses perfumed the summer air.
Pink roses for Ella. Ma Rose Bohème.
When the realtor arrived, she showed him the trio of spacious workshops behind the wrought iron enclosed windows on the ground floor. Two large closets with numerous shelves offered plenty of storage. There was a private toilet for potential clients. And a deep sink, perfect for cleaning paintbrushes and art supplies.
An elaborate stairwell led to the three-bedroom apartment on the upper level. Behind the open living and dining room area was a large bedroom and private bathroom with a balcony overlooking the rose garden. Along the corridor behind the kitchen was a second bathroom, with two more bedrooms at the end of the hall, one with the balcony jutting over the front door.
It was positively perfect.
“If you are interested in this apartment, I suggest making a deposit today. With this ideal location, it won’t last long.” The smartly dressed realtor smiled at Jean-Luc as she checked messages on her phone.
“I’ll take it. It’s exactly what I want.” Jean-Luc paid the security deposit and required advance rent, grateful that he’d saved a good portion of his father’s inheritance. He completed the application for the lease and waited while the realtor entered the information on her laptop and submitted it for approval. A few minutes later, he enthusiastically shook the realtor’s hand. Tucked the key to the new apartment into his jean pocket.
And returned to theAtelier des Lumièresfor the final portrait session with Colette Ducharme.
Chapter 9
L’Atelier du Coeur
Ella strolled along the cobbled stone street, the warm kiss of the sun on her face, her arms as full as her joyous soul. Not only had she found the perfect vintage denim and antique lace for the couture creation, but today was Jean-Luc’s last portrait session with Colette Ducharme.
Although he still had a few paintings to complete for theL’Art de la Danseexhibit in October, he would no longer be spending every afternoon and all day Saturday with Colette. He’d have time for Ella again. They’d have the whole month of September. She’d be with him forlaFête des Vendanges. And share in his triumphant success.
It was nearly four-thirty. The session with Colette ended at four, so Jean-Luc would be in his atelier, cleaning his brushes and putting away his supplies. Ella couldn’t wait to show him the beautiful lace she’d found—for the Renaissance Denim Couture creation she’d make, to wear to the publicity shoot. He’d asked her to be at his side, and she wanted to wear something chic, artistic, and trendy.
She slipped into the atelier and tiptoed down the hall toward the open studio door. Jean-Luc would love the lace. It was the same mauve pink as the roses in the portrait he’d painted of her.Ma Rose Bohème.His bohemian rose.
Ella burst into the room to surprise him.
And there, in all her nude, nubile beauty, stood a stark naked Colette Ducharme. With Jean-Luc’s hand caressing the curve of her plump, perfect ass.
One of Colette’s elegant hands rested affectionately upon his, guiding it across her voluptuous skin. Her other arm snaked up behind Jean-Luc’s neck to stroke his head, fingers raking through the thick, dark locks of his glorious black hair.
A fierce, ravenous hunger blazed in Jean-Luc’s impassioned eyes.
The bags in Ella’s arms dropped to the floor.
A piercing cry like the wail of a wounded lark tore from her throat. She spun on her heels, raced down the hall, and bolted out the door.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She ran like the wind. desperate to escape the blinding, searing pain.
