I grimace, telling myself not to let him intimidate me. I’m here to do a job. I can’t let an argument of a personal nature come between us.
Us? Isthere an us now?
Well, there is certainly a professional us. The other day there was a personal moment, but I cannot let one slight misunderstanding ruin my chance to tell this story, to take away my opportunity to know what happened, and to let the world know there was more to this tragedy than what we’ve been told. Or, at least, that is what I am hoping to discover.
“Well, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to come and see when you next want to work on the piece.”
His eyes leave mine to focus back on the painting.
“What are you working on?” I ask, trying to get him to talk to me. It becomes immediately obvious, though, that I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Nothing of importance,” he replies coolly, placing the brush on the table beside him. “You want to ask me questions? Sit and ask. I’m here, you’re here, and that’s all that’s required, correct?”
I clench my jaw, annoyed at his terse words. I make my way to the small desk I’ve been working at and pull out the chair, then turn it and sit, facing him. The canvas is between us. I’m frustrated at the obstruction, but I know he won’t move it even if I ask.
“What was the reason behind the name of the second painting in the series,Armor?”
I fall silent as the soft sounds of the violin fill the air. I almost ask him to turn it off.Isn’t this hard enough as it iswithoutherplaying in the background?
“Not where I thought you were going to go,” he tells me, shifting his eyes to the painting between us.
I settle back in the chair and lift my pen to the pad. “Oh? And what exactly were you expecting?”
As I wait for his response, I’m not really sure what I’m even expecting at this stage. I know I’m not going to have to wait long when Phillipe stands and moves around the easel, walking across the space toward me.
I uncross my legs, placing both my hands on my lap, as he stops in front of me. He’s close enough that our pants are touching. He’s close enough that I have to tilt up my head at an awkward angle to look at him.
“I was expecting you to ask about that day. You know, the one everybody talks about? The one you keep avoiding, even though you keep thinking about it,” he says softly. He turns, going back in the same direction he came from. “You surprise me, Gemma. It seems you already have an image of me all worked out in that pretty little head of yours. So, why not try to confirm it as quickly as possible and be on your merry way?”
Standing up, I throw the notepad onto the chair and take a fuming step forward.
“You know what? You’re right, okay? I screwed up. I let other people’s views and opinions filter in for a moment, and it clouded my judgment.”
Keeping a close eye on him, I try to remember to breathe as he turns slowly on his bare feet. His eyes narrow on me while he takes a step back in my direction.
“And what did other people tell you?”
Swallowing once, I remain silent. I don’t know how to tell him some of the things people have said. They’re cruel and malicious. I have no desire to repeat them, especially when I don’t have any way of knowing if they’re true. I can only follow my instincts, and even though they are a little jumpy right now, I find myself needing to believe that they wouldn’t lead me astray.
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
Taking that final step forward, eliminating the space between us, Phillipe is now bare toes to booted feet with me. I can feel his body heat emanating from him, and his hair has fallen haphazardly into his eyes. Placing his hands behind his back, he bends forward, almost as though he is about to kiss me.
Instead, he stops a breath away from my mouth. “Well, what would you like to talk about?”
Refusing to step back, I tilt up my face to him. “I told you.Armor, the second pose you painted of Chan?—”
“Shh,” he says. Bringing up his right hand, he places a silencing finger against my lips, and I can feel my heart start to beat double time. “Listen.”
Closing my mouth, I listen. I suspect he didn’t stop me to listen to the music. I think it was more to keep me from sayinghername out loud. Keeping my eyes on his, I watch in fascination as they seem to cloud over and get darker as the music builds. The tempo climbs toward a breathtaking peakbefore it crashes and tumbles back down to the soft strains filtering through the air.
“Incorporating the violin intoArmorcame to me one morning when I saw her right over there,” he says, reaching out to grip my arms. He turns me, and I’m now facing the open window.
His mouth moves to my ear, his voice deep and hypnotic. “She mustn’t have been able to sleep because I remember waking to her standing there, just as she had left my bed, completely naked. Her skin was perfect. Pale and soft, and as she stood there, she held her violin to her cheek like she would a lover’s hand, like my hand.”
I hold my breath as he paints the scene before us. It’s crazy, but I actually feel as though I can see her, almost as though she’s here in the room with us.
“Her hair was rumpled from my hands the night before, and when she left it out, it hit her shoulders around here.” He demonstrates by touching a finger to my shoulder blade. “She looked like an angel.” He lets out a soft exhale. “Like someone had plucked her from the sky and placed her here in my studio. She didn’t seem real.”
