Looking back up at him, I see he is also smiling, and again, I’m mesmerized by the sight of him. He is beautiful. His lips are perfect, full and soft, and I know exactly how they feel againstevery inch of my body. As I move toward him, I can see him looking me over from head to toe.
“If we wade out just a little, it will be perfect,” he tells me.
I nod my agreement, trusting him implicitly. I know what he wants from me, and I want to do this for him.
Stepping closer, I feel my long white dress move and flutter between my ankles as I cross the bank to the edge of the water. There is a slight breeze in the air, but I can’t hear it. All I can hear is Bach and the sounds of little yellow birds chirping and hopping from branch to branch above me. In just the way he described them, they are happy.
“I went and bought a secondhand violin today,” he informs me, holding my hand.
I can feel the water lapping at my toes, and I giggle softly. “Well, that’s good, because I was not going to bring Diva in here with me.”
This is the part of the dream that I love the most. He bends down, and I see his eyes. They are full of love, virtually shining with it, as he smiles right before his lips softly and reverently touch mine. I don’t ever close my eyes in my dream because I am afraid of what might happen if I do. When I open them back up, he might be gone, and I might not be able to see him.
Instead, I slide my hands through his thick hair and squeeze gently as I hear and feel a rumble vibrate through him. When he pulls back from me, he runs a hand down my loose hair and asks me the same question one more time, even though he has asked me one hundred times already.
“Are you sure you don’t mind being in the water?”
I release his hand and step forward, the cool water engulfing my ankles. As I look back over my shoulder, I smile and reassure him, “Not in the least.”
Closing the journal gently, I sit on my bed in shock.Premonition,I think automatically. Chantel had a premonition of what was going to happen. There is more to this journal entry, but I want to—no, Ineedto understand what I am reading.
Grabbing my laptop off the desk, I sit down and open up a search engine. Frantically, I type inChantel Rosenberg,and it reveals more than 5,820,000 results. I look over the salacious headlines for an article with some kind of substance.There it is…
Clicking it open, I search through the keywords I am seeing:chateau,despicable, Phillipe,sinful. That’s when I find exactly what I am looking for.
Today, we are saddened to learn about the death of one of our own on foreign soil.
Miss Chantel Rosenberg, live-in girlfriend to world-renowned artist Phillipe Tibideau, was found dead yesterday at 1:30 p.m., lying on the bank of the Fleuve Sauvage de Fleurs (Wildflower River) in Bordeaux, France.
French authorities have reported that when they arrived, they found a shocked and somewhat disengaged Mr. Tibideau and a motionless Miss Rosenberg, who was reportedly wearing a long white dress.
One of the policemen stated, “Elle a ressemble a un ange,” which translates to “She looked like an angel.”
Full details are still unknown at this time.
As I stare at the screen, a shiver skates up my spine.
She had a premonition.
“Is this far enough?” I ask, looking over my shoulder to where Phillipe is standing.
He’s watching me carefully, and I can feel the water lapping around my upper thighs. I can sense that he is a little bit worried, but at the same time, I know he has no reason to be.
“Would you quit worrying? I’ve been swimming for years. Plus, the water is only up to my thighs.”
I watch as a shaky smile touches his lips and he nods at me. It’s a gesture I know he must do all the time, because it seems second nature to him, but each time I see it, I enjoy it more. After all, this is only the third time I have actually seen it.
“Okay, can you float?” he asks.
Giggling, I tip my head back and find I am blinded by the sun as it warms my face.
That’s when the dream shifts. It changes mood and alters its course. As I focus once again, Phillipe is by me in the middle of the river, but I can’t see him. Everything is dark, and my vision is gone. I can feel him beside me, holding my head between his palms, while the music continues to float around us.
I can still feel the sun on my face as I say softly, “Phillipe?”
His hands tighten in my hair as he mumbles something.
“Phillipe?” I call again, feeling my heart start to flutter in my chest. I can feel myself becoming frightened.
