“Well, then I’ll have the pleasure of being the first to welcome you into the eccentric world of artists,ma chérie[XXXVIII],” a sing-song voice calls from ahead of us.
She’s tall, almost as tall as Alexander. Her eyes are a luminous olive green, striking and impossible to look away from. Her medium-blonde hair falls in long waves, catching the light as she moves. There’s something in her smile that makes you feel at home... but also a subtle mischief.
She wears a colorful crochet crop top over a black bralette, paired with a flowy black skirt that sways around her legs, splitting into a high slit that runs all the way up her thigh.
And then I notice she’s barefoot. She wiggles her red-polished toes once, then lifts her chin, catching me looking with a tiny smirk.
“Eccentric, was that the word you used?”
My cheeks heat. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to stare.”
“Nonsense,” she says, waving her hand.
I extend my hand. “Cecily Sterling. Thank you for having me.”
She looks at my hand... then sets the wine glass she was holding into Alexander’s hand. Before I can process what’s happening, she pulls me straight into a hug. I pat her back, awkwardly.
She squeezes tighter. “Come on, Cecily, you can hug me. You Americans are so stiff sometimes.”
Behind us, Alexander scoffs. “Just so you know, she was born and raised here.”
I return Aurelie’s hug, and the soft sweep of her hands across my back is strangely comforting.
When she pulls away, she looks directly into my eyes.
“You have good energy. I simply had to hug you.”
I frown a little, not fully understanding, until I remember all the times Alexander mentioned his sister’s love for things like destined souls and cosmic connections.
She looks me over from head to toe. “You’re truly beautiful. And that hair—such a gorgeous color, and natural.”
She shoots her brother a pointed look, and before I can thank her, she plucks the glass back from his hand and keeps going. “Oui[XXXIX], I was raised here, but I’m also the daughter of a French woman who adored affection and an Italian brother with a family big enough to fill a small apartment building.”
Alexander chuckles. “You’ve hugged Cecily, overwhelmed her with your eccentricity, and yet you haven’t told her your name.”
Aurelie grins, leans in, kisses my cheek, and says, “Aurelie Lefèvre. It’s so good to finally meet you. Alex talks about you all the time.”
I smile back, genuinely touched. “Likewise. Your brother speaks of you with so much affection.”
She pulls him into a hug, then tells us to make ourselves at home and points out where we can find drinks and appetizers.
Aurelie introduces us to the fifteen or so guests, most of them artists as well. The more she talks and shows us her work, the more impressed I become.
When Aurelie wanders off to greet others, Alexander and I find ourselves standing before one of her canvases.
“I don’t know much about art,” I murmur, “but your sister’s work is incredible.”
He gives me a fond, proud smile. “The little I know comes from the short classes I took years ago... and from everything Aurelie pours into me when she’s talking a mile a minute about her creative process.”
He turns back to the painting. A woman rendered in bold tones, almost glowing with her own light, while long shadowsrise around her. But the longer I look, the more it seems the shadows aren’t trapping her at all. They’re what she’s rising above. It’s intense, raw.
“And it’s not just because she’s my sister. She truly has a gift.”
Before I can respond, my phone starts ringing. I pull it from my purse, and when I see Alicia’s name, a knot of worry tightens in my stomach. “Honey, is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine, Mom. I just wanted to call and say good night.”
At the sound of her voice, the knot in my stomach eases.
