I pointed to my doodles. “I was thinking Picasso, butGuernicais just too depressing.”
He rubbed his chin, and I braced myself for a suggestion along the lines of Napoleon atThe Battle of Waterloo. Something big, bold, and military. At best, I expectedLiberty Leading the Peopleor Rembrandt’sThe Night Watch.
“What about Chagall?” Roux tried. “He made those big canvases, didn’t he?”
Wow. A military man who knew art. Who would have guessed?
“True, but I’m not a big fan of Chagall.”
“I guessThe Raft of the Medusaalso counts as depressing.” He thought it over some more. “What’s that really big one in the Louvre?The Feast…or wait,The Wedding…”
“The Wedding Feast at Cana,” I filled in, impressed. “Do you hang out at the Louvre in your spare time or something?”
He looked away. “Maybe. Sometimes.”
Definitely, I decided.
“It gets too crowded, though. Same with the Musée d’Orsay,” he muttered.
It was no surprise that this tiger didn’t like crowds. But that he knew art… Well, that was a revelation. Were hushed galleries his way of compensating for the noise and chaos of war zones he’d been deployed to?
He gazed out the window, eyes hard, expression inscrutable.
And just like that, I felt terribly guilty for ruining his day.
“Musée Rodin is nice too,” I murmured, hoping that was a safer topic.
He nodded. “Nice garden.”
I chuckled. “Especially the ice cream they sell. The pistachio is divine.”
The corner of his mouth flicked up. “Not as good as the strawberry.”
For once, I didn’t argue the point.
“Not a lot of space for a tiger to prowl around in, though,” I murmured.
He shook his head. “No. You have it good at the château.”
“We do — very good — and I love having the space. It’s kind of wasted on me, though, since I can’t shift.”
When he cocked his head at me, I ticked a list off my fingers. “We have wolf shifters in the family. Bears. A dragon or two, if you go far enough back. But did any of that trickle through to me? No.” I shook my head sadly. “I’m useless.”
He shook his head. “You’re far from useless, Geneviève.”
As flat as his tone was, my soul buoyed a little bit.
“Yes, well. You can shift into tiger form. I would be happy to be able to shift into anything. A mouse. A flea, even.”
He raised one slash of an eyebrow. “A flea?”
I shot him a look. “You get the idea. But I can’t. No shifting, no magic…”
“No magic at all?”
I shrugged. “Not much anyway.”
Which left both of us gazing pensively out the window.
