Explore Her, More of Her (11 page)

“I know the dead can’t hear me, but, God, tell Daniel that I know he wouldn’t be happy to know that I missed everything after he died.” I can’t stop my tears.
 

I picture how our portraits would look on the wall. Daniel would have three children, all boys. He would’ve been a better father to boys than girls. His wife would resemble Kristin—he used to be attracted to blondes. But who knows? People change as they grow. Perhaps all the opposite would be true. But I still picture him with his wife and three boys, smiling at the camera with Belmont, Joella, who is ma fleur, and me in the frame.
If only.
 

“Daisy?”

I sit up in a hurry and look at Anton. “Dang it, I fell asleep.” I check my watch, but I’m not wearing it. I’m not wearing anything but a robe. My hair is all over the place, and there isn’t as much daylight flowing in through the roof as there was when I entered the tower.

Anton sits next to me. “Were you crying?”

I look at the cheese platter on the floor. “Yes. I was just overwhelmed by all those portraits.” I point toward the door that leads to the long staircase. “Don’t you feel awful that you missed out?”

Anton shrugs. “Why regret what can’t be changed?”

“I just want to be on that damn wall. There, I said it.”

“Then you and I will take a picture, and I will put it on the wall.”

I smile at him. He smiles back.
 

“How many years have we wasted not being in each other’s lives?” I ask.

Anton pats my thigh. “What did I say? The past is the past. We’ll work on the future. You still want a dress for tonight?”

I slump my shoulders. “I don’t know anymore. Now that we have company, all I want to do is go home and…”

“And what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then come with me,” he says.

“Where are we going?”

“Out.”

Getting as far away from here as possible sounds like the best idea right now. “Okay, but first I have to get a serving of whatever Inés was cooking.”

“We don’t have the time,” he says. “I will get you food.”

“Well…” I pick up the untouched cheese plate. “I’ll take this.”

Anton looks at me askew. “You eat a lot to be so thin.”

“I’m not
so
thin.”

Anton chuckles as if he knows he struck a nerve. “You are right. You are perfect in every way, Daisy.”

I roll my eyes. “Now you’re overcompensating.”

“Perhaps but at least it is true.”

I shake my head smiling. “Goodness your such an awesome bullshitter.”

Anton laughs as he helps me to my feet. “That is a fantastic compliment.”

The property is as quiet as a church mouse. The crew must’ve gone out to shoot for the day. One thing about Dexter is he’s a professional. His goal in coming to Bordeaux wouldn’t be only to pursue me but also to produce a superior show. So maybe he’s actually here to make sure he can use me when needed. I can’t knock him for that.

Anton waits for me to get dressed. I put on an old pair of jeans, a white ribbed tank top, and sandals and gather my wild hair into a hefty ponytail. If only Belmont were here to see me. I would turn him on. The thought makes me grin.
 

I ride shotgun with the windows rolled down. My face catches the wind. French music streams out of the stereo speakers. The beat is as whispery as the songstress’s voice. I want to snap pictures with my phone, but instead I lower my seat and pitch my feet on the window ledge.
 

“You are comfortable?” Anton asks.

I chuckle. “Yep.”

“Your friend worried you had left.”

“What friend?”

“Blue Eyes.”

“Oh, Dexter,” I say.

“Why is he in love with you?”

“Because he knows he can’t have me.”
 

“Ah, I see… That is the best kind of love.”

I peek at him. “So why doesn’t Angelina know that you’re married?”
 

“Ah ha!” He shifts uncomfortably.
 

I hadn’t expected that reaction. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want. I’m not a prier.”

The song ends, and an instrumental starts that I recognize. I bop my head to it. “‘The Girl from Ipanema’?”
 

Anton sings along with Joao Gilberto in Portuguese. I shimmy my shoulders and take over singing when Astrud Gilberto sings in English. We sing the chorus together then bop our heads and sway to the instrumental sections. When the song ends, we smirk at each other.
 

“You are young at heart,” Anton says.

“Well, I was never forced to grow up fast.”

“I like what you are in a woman. Your husband is a lucky man.”

“Oh no, I’m the lucky one.” I look out the window as a new song plays, and I watch the landscape transform. The volume of the music is lowered, so I face Anton.

“We were married two weeks, then she died,” he says.

My mouth is caught open. I’m speechless.

“It is not what you think. We were addicts, and we did not love each other, because we did not love ourselves. She overdosed.”

I take my feet off the windowsill and sit up straight. I want to say something comforting, and I guess that shows on my face, because it appears as if Anton is waiting to hear it.

“What was her name?” I ask.

“Korina.”

“Are you still in contact with her parents or any of your friends?”

He sneers. “It was not like that. No one knew. Only you.”

“Oh shit, I told Angelina.”

“Then I guess it is a secret no more.”

I laugh because he took the words right out of my mouth. “Nope, it isn’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Is no problem. Nothing stays buried forever. But what about you? Are you ready to live beyond losing Daniel? I remember how hurt you were. My mother said you needed to be registered in an asylum.”

I snort. That’s what I remember about Tante Adélie—she was so extreme, and it drove Heloise mad. “I don’t know about that, but I guess I never wanted to betray my grief or the life my brother could have had by enjoying all the things he would miss, including family. Recently, I’ve asked myself who I would have become if he were still alive. I don’t think I would’ve ever met my husband. Before I met Belmont, I was with this guy for ten years.” I roll my eyes at that extended mistake. “That relationship was definitely a product of my daddy issues, which became more severe after Daniel died.”

“Daddy issues? What do you mean?”

“His name was Adrian, and I traveled a lot. We hardly saw each other. I didn’t really like him as a person, and God knows I can’t remember what drew me to him in the first place, but he was my boyfriend. I felt as if I needed to have a boyfriend just to be normal. It was stupid, I know. But all I had to say was, ‘Oh, I have a boyfriend,’ and people would leave me alone.”

“But what does that have to say about Jacques?” Anton asked. “He is your father, and you say you have ‘daddy issues.’”

“He wasn’t father of the year to me, before or after the divorce. He was just there. I had one. At least I could say that.”

“I see…”

“I don’t blame him for anything,” I say. “I used to, but I don’t see the world or the people in it through the lens of a brokenhearted little girl anymore.” A man’s face fills my head and makes me smile. “Thanks to Belmont. I guess I can say I was saved by love and…” I glare out the window. We’ve just rolled onto the bridge over the Dordogne River.

“And what?” Anton asks.

“And I think I’ve been overly grateful for it,” I whisper.
 

Anton grunts thoughtfully. He turns the volume back up, and I feast my eyes on the sluggish, murky river. A few unskilled kayakers row under the arches of the bridge. Bordeaux looms ahead. It’s not a tall city, but blocky structures with straight lines and tall windows are abundant. Domed and steeple tops from as early as the seventeenth century are interspersed throughout. The structures have only been tweaked and refurbished here or there throughout the years.
 

Anton takes a roundabout off the freeway and speeds up a road into the city. The closer we get to the city center, the thicker traffic becomes until we’re hardly moving at all. Anton turns off the main road. The back streets are extra narrow, but there’s hardly any traffic. After a series of turns, Anton guides the car down an alley and into a parking structure. He presses a remote control on his key ring, and the gate opens.

“Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me now?” I ask over the music.

He turns off the stereo. “My studio is in this building, and so is your dress. I have a sale to make, and you have a dress to buy. One stop shopping.” He cheeses. “But I want you to first come with me.”

“Ah, so you want me to watch you make money?”

Anton chuckles. “No, your father asked me to bring you.”

“Why?”

“He wants you to approve the painting.”
 

“Me? What the heck do I know about art?” I say.

“He said it is a gift for Angel. She is building a house, no?”

“Oh, right. She and Charlie are remodeling their home.”

The tires screech as Anton swerves into a parking space. He opens his door as soon as he turns off the engine. I get out, and we look at each other across the roof of the car.

“You sure you want to sell the painting?” I ask, thinking he’s bitter about what I said regarding Angelina and Charlie.

He taps the hood of the car as he contemplates.

“How much is the sell?” I ask.

“Twenty-five thousand euros.”

My eyes expand. “Whoa. Your work commands that kind of price tag?”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing. Not anymore.”

My squint asks him to elaborate.

Anton walks, and I follow. “As an addict, I needed the money. I’m not an addict anymore, so I need something else.”

“Like what?”

We walk down a short flight of stairs and enter a corridor with two elevators. Anton smashes the down button.

“I do not know yet,” he says.

“So what do you do with all the money until then?”

“I put it under my mattress.”

“Really?”

The elevator doors open. Anton smirks as he waits for me to exit first.
 

“No, that was a joke,” he says. “I put it in the bank.”

I laugh as we walk onto the busy sidewalk. Tourists are abundant. They’re sitting on patios, eating, drinking, and enjoying their moments. They’re walking the cobblestone street, window-shopping. I love watching couples in Europe. They often get lost in each others eyes and touch each other ever so sensually. Europeans have learned to love love and passion no matter how old or young they are. After all the years of observing them, I feel as though I can finally relate. Anton and I are passing a cute little boutique, and the two women working the racks inside scowl at us.

“Is that the store you were talking about?” I ask.

“Yes.” He doesn’t even slow his pace so that I can do a little preview window-shopping.
 

We go through double glass doors in the same building then up another elevator to the fourth level. Anton’s gallery encompasses the entire floor.

“Go browse. I must prepare for the buyer,” he says and scampers in the opposite direction.

I walk over to study the nearest piece of artwork. I press my hand over my heart and gasp. I feel as if Anton snatched an emotion out of a human’s body and heaved it onto the canvas. The hard part is figuring out which emotion or emotions are depicted. I tilt my head, trying to figure out if the obscure cityscape makes me feel angst or exhilaration.

“Do you like that one?”

I spin around. “What are you doing here?”

Belmont squints as if he doesn’t recognize me. “Do I know you?” He smirks naughtily. “I would like to know you.”

I also smirk. “You’re my husband.”

Two of Belmont’s fingers journey down the side of my neck, slip down my chest, ride the slope of my breast and make an indulgent lap around my nipple. I skip a breath.

“I know who I am and who you are,” he whispers as he lightly pinches my nipple. The sensation trickles down to my toes.

I bite my lower lip. Belmont tugs it from between my teeth and comes in for a sensual kiss.

We press our foreheads together.

“How are you?” he breathes.

“Fine,” I barely say. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

“Sorry, I’ve been waiting for a more worthwhile opportunity to connect with you.” He kisses me again. “You look beautiful.”

I taste his mouth on my lips and smile. “Thank you. So are you the twenty-five-thousand-euro customer?”

“Yes.”

“So you set this all up?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I want us to start over.”

I tilt my head. “Start over how?”

“I want to explore you.”

“That still doesn’t compute.”

Belmont’s large hand squeezes my ass and shoves me against his engorged cock. He licks his lips as if he’s getting ready to kiss me. “I’ll see you tonight. Let’s have a drink, and see what happens next.”

He’ll see me tonight? “Oh, at the wine festival? So it
is
your party?”

“Hello? Daisy?” Anton calls.
 

I hear his rapid footsteps. Belmont releases me and steps backward.

“Oh,” Anton says, looking between Belmont and me. I’m sure he notices the steaming hot tension between us.

Belmont extends his hand. “Hello, I’m Jack. You must be Anton Bisset.”

Anton hesitates then shakes his hand. “I am Anton. Are you the buyer?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’ve met my cousin?”

Belmont gives me a smoldering look. I look at the painting I was studying earlier to keep myself from hyperventilating.

“I have. She’s beautiful,” he says.

Anton snorts. “Yes, she is beautiful, but Daisy is not for sale. Come this way. I’ll take you both to the painting.”

I plant my feet. “I’m fine. I approve.” I need physical space from Belmont, because he has me all hot and bothered.

“Daisy, it is what Jacques wants.”

I point my thumb at Belmont, still avoiding his gaze. “Believe me, Jacques will approve whatever this guy buys.”

Belmont chuckles.