“You know her?” I recall reading that she’s in her sixties or something like that. I thought it was very sweet that he was dating a woman close to his age rather than somebody who could be his granddaughter.
“Sebastian Jewelry did some custom work for her. I remembered how happy you were about your François, and I thought you’d like to see more.”
I’m surprised he noticed. That was when our relationship was still new—and he was upset with me for forcing him into marriage. “Thank you. I thought you were taking me to three different restaurants.”
“I told you I’d feed you, but didn’t promise to limit myself to restaurants.”
Of course not. Sebastian isn’t the type to limit himself. Even when others try to place restrictions on him, he finds a way around them.
He is by far the most dynamic and intriguing man I’ve ever met. And I can’t afford to let myself be seduced…again.
I stare at the latest piece, which I was dying to get but couldn’t.Absolute Love. Unlike most of François’s work, this one was titled in English. It caused quite a stir when Barron Sterling paid forty million for it, then promptly hid it after releasing a few photos of the piece.
I can’t tear my gaze away.
“Is this your favorite?” Sebastian asks.
“I just think it’s brilliant. Do you know anything about it?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not really big into art like you.”
“He said he created it in a couple of months after he had a dream of his childhood.” I gesture at the statue. A man and a woman are hugging tightly, their arms entwined. At first, you can’t see it, but if you look closely, you can see a child between them, his face upturned and smiling.
“Nice,” Sebastian says.
“He said in an interview there’s no love like the love a man and a woman have for each other and the life they’ve created together—civilizations rose and fell for that love.”
“That’s a grand statement.”
“He’s an artist. Of course he’s going to make grand statements about his work. When I first read the interview, I thought good for him for having that kind of childhood and experiencing that kind of love.” My voice grows wistful.
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian says quietly, taking my hand.
“Even though I didn’t grow up knowing that kind of love…maybe I secretly wished I’d get to have it when I grew up—when I met somebody special.” I realize I’ve said too much and pull away, disengaging our hands. Seeing my favorite artist’s works up close somehow brought my defenses down.
Thankfully, Sebastian doesn’t try to take my hand again or continue with the topic. I look at the rest of the collection. Admire the immense spectrum of themes and expressions. Some of the works appear more realistic, while others are abstract.
“I’ve never understood this one,” I say, as we stand in front of the last piece. “La Tranquillité. There’s nothing tranquil or peaceful about the work.”
The piece looks like a representation of dark water being agitated in a huge container—minus the container. The lines are jagged and rough as the almost-black bronze soars to the sky.
“I think it’s about what’s to come. There’s a peculiar kind of relief that you get after a violent storm,” Sebastian says.
I shoot him a quick look. “I thought you said you didn’t know much about art.”
He shrugs. “I know something about life.”
“Wouldn’t a violent storm leave destruction behind?”
“Probably. But the air is clearer. And whoever is still alive has gained a little bit of confidence that they can survive something else like it in the future.”
“So if another one comes…”
“They ride it out.” He takes my hand again and kisses the back of it, the gesture full of tender affection.
And inside me, little cherry-blossom petals seem to flutter.
“I want to be there for you—ride it out with you.”
