If it isn’t her written words, pulling me deeper into their relationship, it is his melodic retelling of their time together, hypnotizing me and inviting me into their lives.
Her music haunts me whenever I allow myself to play it. Before I came here, I made sure I was familiar with Chantel Rosenberg, but not like this. Now it feels as though she is a part of me.
It’s his paintings that move me more than anything else. They evoke a sensual side in me that I don’t yet fully understand. All I know is that when I look at them, I feel things that I’ve never felt before.Hemakes me feel things I’ve never felt before. What is it about Chateau Tibideau? It’s like I arrived one way, and I know deep down in my soul that I will leave another.
As I get up from the bed, determined to go and find Phillipe, I am left wondering if that is how Chantel felt as well.
When he arrives at the studio, Phillipe is more than a little shocked to see that Gemma is already there. She is standing where she was at their last meeting several days before, but this time, she is holding a towel around her body.
It is immediately obvious to Phillipe that her mood is different. He isn’t surprised, considering the previous turn of events. He knows that he shouldn’t have pushed her the way he did the other night. The further she delved into Chantel’sjournal, and by default his own life, the more he felt himself slipping. He is being dragged into his own desolate abyss, and he knows if she stays, he is going to pull her in too.
So the best thing he can do for Gemma is warn her and make her want to leave. Maybe then they can just forget about this whole asinine idea.
What he didn’t expect is to find her up here this morning, already disrobed, save for the towel, watching him as he walks into the room.
“Morning,” he tells her.
Her eyes follow his every move. She doesn’t say a word. She just keeps her gaze focused and her shoulders straight.
Ah, so that’s how we are going to play today.
She’s annoyed with him and more than a little wary, but she isn’t giving an inch. She has decided to show up and give him strength.
“So, you’re not talking to me, Gemma? That’s not very mature, especially since I haven’t seen you for three days.”
Her green eyes narrow.
“Fair enough. Silence it is,” Phillipe concedes, stepping behind the easel. “The violin is in the case.”
He tracks her movements as she walks over and unsnaps the case with one hand. Her aggravation only increases as she clutches the towel between her breasts while reaching in to lift the violin.
“You’re angry at me.”
With no response to his statement, he contemplates her honey-toned back as she makes her way to the spot illuminated by the soft light. After she situates herself, she removes the towel, revealing her smooth, curvaceous breasts and hips. She has also pulled her hair into a high bun, wrapped with a red ribbon.
The loud color against her light hair is erotically sensual. It stands out like a warning sign.One that I should heed,he thinks. He has a feeling that Gemma is the final act in his life, which he’s already labeled a tragedy.
As she lowers herself into position, raising the violin to the same pose from only days earlier, Phillipe decides to leave her in her silence. If she wants to work that way, so be it, but he has to wonder if she knows just how loud that silence can actually be.
I didn’t come to the studio today with the intention of not talking to him. It just happened. When I arrived, I noticed he wasn’t up here yet. So I got a towel and stripped off my clothes, determined to have the upper hand this time.
Too many times this man has caught me off guard, and I have to believe that is why I am allowing him to mess with my mind.
Maybe if I am the one to call the shots, ifIam the one who holds control, I won’t feel like I am constantly treading water around him. As it stands now, though, I always feel like I am trying to keep my head above the inevitable force of the crashing waves, and it feels hopeless. He is dragging me under, just as he said he would, and I am letting him.
Not today, though. Today, I want to watch and study him for a change.
There’s more to this story, and I willnotlet him drive me away until I get what I came for.
“So, you aren’t talking to me? Maybe I should just talk then, hmm?” he asks across the empty space.
I close my eyes as his low chuckle fills the tense silence, and I hate that my nipples peak and harden at his voice.
“Your nipples just got hard, Gemma. What are you thinking about?”
Refusing to rise to the bait, I grip the violin, sitting as still as humanly possible.
“Well, maybe I should guess,” he continues.
