Illicit Canvas: political romance and stand alone romance (3 page)

Chapter Three

Arwen’s eyes transform into an ocean of shock. Then she parts her lips and blushes.

What am I doing?

I’m acting like a stalker. How is it even possible that we both picked the same gallery today?
 

I couldn’t quite believe it when I saw her a few minutes ago. Our last meeting left me confused and somehow excited. She was stunning, beautiful, and I just couldn’t help watching the way she moved her hand, pretending she was painting. Her lips, eyes and that slim body aroused me; blood rushed down south, down below my belt. Since Bethany, no one has ever made me feel this way and it’s been over sixteen years since my divorce.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t think that I’m following you. I had a stressful morning and I coincidently picked this gallery because it’s on the other side of the city. I had to clear my mind somewhere else,” I say quickly, to explain myself. I feel like I should smile to comfort her. She probably thinks that I’ve been following her.
 

I know the painter that she just enquired about. I don’t know why she is looking for him, but his pieces that are out there are well known. She composes herself quickly, looking a little flustered.

“No, no, obviously it must be a coincidence. I Googled this place earlier on,” she says. Beautiful, intelligent and soft. That’s how I see her and I instantly want to know everything about this girl. She is staring at me; her eyes wander to my lips, then meet my eyes again. A nervous energy descends into my stomach, leaving a scorching trail of desire that flames down the base of my spine.

 
“I do apologise, but I overheard you asking the curator about Eugene D’Orsay art,” I add and take the step forward, being aware of the same instant pull that I felt yesterday. The heat is slowly building up in my gut. I didn’t plan to feel this way again when I decided to have an afternoon off.

“Yes, I’m searching for one of his paintings. Well, I believe it’s the only one of this series that exists; the other copies had been stolen many years ago.”

I raise my eyebrow and scratch my chin, intrigued and confused at the same time.

“A portrait of a woman, yes, that’s right. I believe I’ve read about it. It’s a very rare piece. As far as I’m aware, there had been a burglary in one the of the museums and then another copy was stolen from an art dealer’s studio in Paris.”

“That’s right, but someone that I know is in possession of the only remaining portrait and I need to find him,” she insists.

D’Orsay’s earlier work is highly collectable and I would like to see the painting that she is talking about. It’s worth my asking around. “Well, in that case, I might be able to help you. Why don’t we have a coffee downstairs, so we can discuss this further?”

The words come out of my mouth before I think about what I’m doing. I must be twice her age. Am I insane?

 
I smile, trying not to look like a complete idiot. She shifts her weight to the side, and a beautiful tattoo pops out of her sleeve. It’s a flower, a red rose.

“All right,” she mumbles and my face brightens.

“Great. My old friend is a respectable art collector, dealer and an artist. He has a lot of contacts, but I would need to know more details about this stolen painting. Shall we go?”

I still don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to help her.
 

She nods and we head towards the entrance. I have been in this gallery often. There’s a really great coffee shop downstairs.

The curator that Arwen approached emerges from the corner. She informs Arwen that her colleague has finished work early today and asks her to come back tomorrow. I wait for her nearby.

“This way; the coffee shop is a floor below,” I say, trying to drop the nervous tone. I don’t understand why I feel like I’m just about to be introduced to my girlfriend’s parents. Arwen could be my daughter, she is so young. I shouldn’t be interested in her.

The coffee shop is small, but cosy. There is a couple immersed in a quiet conversation in the corner and soft music playing, enhancing the warm atmosphere. I place leaflets about the exhibition on the table and take out my wallet. “Arwen, what would you like to drink?”

“It’s okay. I’ll get it,” she says.
  

“Nonsense, I invited you, so please tell me what you would like,” I insist, narrowing my eyes at her. I’m so close, I can’t help noticing her milky white pale skin.

“Cappuccino, please,” she says quietly.

“Be right back.” I walk to the cashier to order. I know that Arwen is watching me; for some reason I feel her eyes on me. She probably wonders how old I am and if I’m married. No, why would she? In her eyes I’m just an old creepy guy who wants to take advantage of her innocence. I really need to get a life. The coffee is made and after a few minutes, I carry the tray back and place it in front of her.

“Here you go, Arwen. Cappuccino.”

She flinches and I think I have startled her.

“Thank you.”

The table is small and there isn’t much space between us. She has a few freckles on her cute nose. She is avoiding looking me in the eye and I want to make her as comfortable as I can, but how?
  
The awkward silence is so apparent. I was married many years ago and now I don’t even remember how to talk to a woman.

“Arwen, may I ask, why did you pick this particular gallery?”

She sucks in a breath, finally looking at me. Dear Lord, those eyes. She has mesmerising deep blue eyes with thick black eyelashes. How could I not notice them yesterday? In that moment white heat is burning in my groin, making me uncomfortable.

“Oh … well, it was just a random choice. I have recently moved here, you see, to study. For the first three weeks I hadn’t had a chance to see anything because I was so busy. I found this gallery online and decided to see if anyone would have heard about that rare D’Orsay painting, so here I am.”

I smile, trying to ignore the way I’m turned on simply by being close to her. It’s a joke.

“I’m aware that he was quite well-known in the city, but until now I was fairly certain that the specific painting that you’re talking about was stolen and had never been retrieved.”

A smile appears on her face.

“A third painting of that same woman does exist. I have seen it many times, but many years ago. The person that it belongs to lives here in Brussels.”

 
I can’t keep staring at her, so I drink some coffee, easing off whatever the hell I’m feeling right now.

“Well, in that case I have to get in touch with my friend. He will be very interested in your story. Do you have anything that might help us with the search?”

She is thinking about my question for a moment, biting her lip. I want to touch her, taste her.
Merde
, it’s time to stop this nonsense.

“Yes, I ... well, I have my own reproduction that I painted.”

I smile, feeling simply euphoric that she is a painter. I can’t wait to see her creations.

“Fantastic, this is even better. My friend loves rare stuff from that period.”

“Do you think … that he would know where the painting is?” she asks.

“Possibly, we’ll have to see,” I say, pausing for a moment, but then I ask, “Arwen, may I be intrusive and ask where you’re from?”

“I’m British, but I grew up in France most of my life,” she explains and puts two spoons of sugar into her coffee. I lean back, giving her space. I can’t help but look at her, admiring her beauty and wondering why she wants to find the D’Orsay painting so badly. Her eyes move down to my badge.

 
“You work for Parliament?” she asks.

 
“Yes, I do. Others may say my job is quite important, but the title is dreadful.”
 

She laughs. I hate talking about my job.

“Go on. I would like to know, but only if you’re allowed to tell me.”

“I’m the Director General for the President of the European Parliament.” Right now I detest my job.

“Wow,” she says, genuinely sounding impressed.

“Don’t, please. It might be important, but it’s very boring.”

“But you’re not from here either?”

“Right. I’m from New York originally, but I’ve lived in Belgium for almost ten years now. I have dual citizenship.”

My accent has kind of faded. I haven’t lived in America for over twenty-five years, but I visit as often as I can.

“How long have you been working for Parliament?”

“Way too long. The only reason that I’m still here is because I don’t know what else I can do. The visits to the galleries are supposed to inspire me. I’m hoping to get involved in this sort of field eventually.”

“Really?”

I look away for a moment, wondering why I’m so honest with this girl. I feel instantly connected to her, like I have known her for years. I lean forward, so our faces are closer. I can’t help looking at her lips, admiring her white silky skin. A shudder passes through me, reigniting the heat in my groin.

“I’m fed up with politics. I’m searching for an inspiration. I would like to do something that makes me happy.”

She swallows then and grips her fingers tighter around the cup. I’m so close to her, I can smell her perfume. It’s soft vanilla with something else that I can’t identify. There is no way that this girl is single.

“Art makes me happy,” she says almost whispering. She must be already taken by some twenty-year-old lad. I have no chance of getting close to her.

“Funnily enough, art makes me happy too, but I have responsibilities, people that rely on me, so I can’t just hand in my resignation and start something else.”

More awkward silence.

“Why art? Why do you enjoy admiring paintings so much?” I ask.

She pauses, biting her lip again. Then she starts talking and I’m catching her every word. She starts telling me about her life in Saint-Malo, about how she started painting. I don’t like interrupting people when they talk. Arwen intrigues me and I could listen to her voice all day long. She mentions her father, his style, and her mother. She explains about her first steps in her father’s studio, about her first time at an art exhibition. She reveals how much she enjoys paining landscapes, people, and characters from books. What art means to her and how it affects her.

When she finally stops, I think she is regretting that she shared all this with me, but I want to assure her that it’s all right, that I love listening to her voice.

“Arwen, you’re a true inspiration and I would love to see some of your paintings,” I say as tingling sensations prickle my thighs, travelling down. This isn’t normal for me.

“I guess you would have to see the reproduction of the D’Orsay painting?”

“Yes, that would be great. If you excuse me for a moment, I’ll make a phone call and speak to my friend about the painting. I’m sure he can help,” I say, getting up, in truth to get away from her, to push away the inappropriate thoughts that are crowding my brain.

 
I walk away and dial Antoine’s number. I explain briefly what I want. I don’t want to say too much over the phone, because I know how grumpy the old man can be sometimes. We agree to arrange a meeting.

By the time I finish the phone call, I feel like myself again, not like some horny man preying on young attractive girls.

“Antoine would love to meet you; that is, of course, if you trust me enough to take you to him,” I explain.

“Sure. I’m free in the evening. The term only just began, so my coursework can wait.”

Great. I have another valid excuse to see her.
 

“It’s easier if I take you to him. He doesn’t like strangers, but he’s curious enough to talk to you about the painting. You should talk to him first, before you show him anything.”

 
“Yes, that’s a good idea. Thank you. I mean I’m sorry. I normally don’t talk about my life to people that I just meet.”

“You’re fascinating, Arwen, and I could listen to you all day, so please don’t apologise.”

Chapter Four

My conversation with Ethan seems surreal. I’m nervous around him, but at the same time this undeniable attraction to him feels sweet and heavy. I stare back at him, surprised by how sexy he sounds. My heart flutters with excitement. His eyes drift over to my face, then drop to the cup that I’m holding. Ethan wants to help me, but I don’t know why.

“I don’t drive, so I’m not sure how–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick you up tonight. Is it all right if I take your number?” he asks, cutting me off.

I nod shyly, reminding myself that he is helping me and not asking me out on a date. Ethan is doing me a favour and besides, I have Colin.

“Yes, of course. I live on campus. Just call when you’re downstairs, but are you sure about this? I mean, I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It will be my pleasure, so don’t worry,” he says. I smile and hand him my phone, so he can type my number. Our fingers brush and a surge of energy rushes through me. Ethan glances at me for a split second and I wonder if he felt it too. My pulse speeds up, but I keep reminding myself that I should be concentrating on finding a painting, not on this guy I’m so attracted to.

“I need to go. I have another class, but I want to thank you again,” I say, getting up probably too abruptly. Ethan gets up too and once I put my phone back, he’s in front of me.

“This was the most liberating and relaxing hour that I’ve had in a really long time. Thank you, Arwen,” he says and lifts his hand. I suck in another breath and our hands shake. His skin is warm and soft, his grip firm yet caring; not what I was expecting at all.

“Thank you. I’ll see you later,” I mumble and break the connection, starting to walk towards the door.

He doesn’t follow me and that’s all right because I don’t think that I could handle it. My head is screwed and when I finally get outside I’m out of breath. After a few moments I start walking towards the Metro. I have butterflies in my stomach and probably the stupidest grin on my face. Ethan is so out of my league. A hot politician, but he has the connections that I need. I hurry to the bus, and once I’m in my seat my thoughts trail back to our conversation from earlier. He seems genuine and acts like a complete gentleman. I can’t be sure, but everything indicates that he might be single. I exhale loudly as the bus starts moving.

After forty-five minutes on the bus, I head back to the campus for my final class of the day. There, I check my phone and discover that I have another text message from an unknown number.

I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight, Arwen. I’ll pick you up at seven.

Ethan.

My heart flutters in my chest and I smile to myself. Maybe I wasn’t imagining things after all. Maybe Ethan felt it too.

The rest of the afternoon drags and my sculpture project takes longer than it should; I’m too distracted. After my day is over, I run back home knowing that I have few hours to get ready.

Colin calls when I walk through the door, asking if I fancy going for a drink tonight. I lie, telling him that I have a headache, and he doesn’t press.

Maja is spread on the living room floor with a stack of science books.

“Do you want a painkiller? I have a few in the drawer.”

“No, I’m really fine,” I say, biting my lip. “I lied about the headache.”

She looks up, frowning. “What’s wrong? You look so flustered and you have this strange grin on your face.”

I drop my bag and flop on the sofa, knowing that I have to tell her that I met Ethan again. For some reason I trust Maja and feel I can confide in her.

“I met someone,” I say, grinning like it’s the best day of my life. Oh my God, I really need to get a grip. Ethan might be married or engaged to someone really hot and closer to his own age.

Sitting back on the floor, Maja tosses her blond hair behind her shoulder and raises her left eyebrow. “As in, someone else other than Colin?” she asks.

“A couple of days ago I went to a gallery near the University and I was so engrossed by one of the paintings that I completely forgot where I was and started to pretend that I was in the workshop, painting,” I explain, feeling a little lame about this now. “And this older guy started talking to me … and he was so hot, so handsome. We talked a little, but I panicked and left.”

 
“What’s so special about him? Colin is cute and he’s crazy about you.”

I sigh, remembering the turmoil of emotions that I experienced when Ethan spoke to me for the first time. “I felt some attraction or a spark … I can’t explain it, something that I have never felt towards anyone else–”

“Not even Colin?” she asks, cutting me off.

“No, and oh dear God, it was like there was this instant connection between us. I don’t believe in instant love ... well, it can’t be love, but I was so flustered.”

I have to stop and breathe in because it’s definitely weird talking about this with a girl like Maja, but she is already back on her feet with her hands on her hips, eyeing me intensely.

“Holy crap, you’re turned on just by talking to him?”

I get flustered in an instant, covering my face, and nod shyly. “And today I picked this gallery on the other side of town, and guess what? He was there again. He approached me when I was asking one of the curators about something. Then one thing led to another and we had a coffee.”

Maja shakes her head, probably thinking about Colin. Yes, this is so unfair, but I haven’t done anything wrong. I had a coffee with another man who is willing to help me, but at what cost?

“Right, and? What happened after that?”

At that point I don’t have any choice, so I have to tell her about the painting that I’ve been searching for since I turned eighteen, the painting that could lead me to finding my father. Maja doesn’t need to know stuff about my past yet. I don’t like bringing it up, giving her the impression that I can’t control my emotions.

“And you agreed to this? To go out with him?” she asks, laughing.

“Yes, but it’s not a date. He’s only helping me with the search. I know that I’m attracted to him, but how do I know if he’s attracted to me?”

“I’ve been told that it’s a mutual thing, darling. He definitely wants to get into your pants. Is that how guys talk these days?”

 
“Yes, something like that.” I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “Apart from that, well, there is another thing.”

“Yes, what’s that?”

“Ethan is much older than me and he has a really high-paying job in the European Parliament.”

“And what’s that got to do with anything?” she asks, shrugging. “Older? So like how much older, five years?”

I look down at my hands and start flexing my fingers.

“Geee … I don’t know, maybe twenty years older than me,” I say. Anyway, this shouldn’t bother
 
me. These days pensioners are marrying twenty-year-olds and mature women have toy boys. It’s not shocking anymore. Where does it say that I can’t go out with an older guy?

“Twenty years, wow, yeah, that’s a bit of a surprise.”

“Actually, I don’t really know how old he is. I didn’t ask him about his age.”

There is an awkward silence that stretches for a few minutes and I don’t know what to do or say. I can’t read anything from Maja’s expression. She isn’t the type that judges people, but we both know that I have Colin and he is important to me.

“So what do you think?” I add.

“Arwen, what do you want me to say? You know that I have no experience with men. I guess you have to follow your gut.”

“Well, I need your opinion. The guy is probably off limits anyway, but the attraction is sizzling. I couldn’t think straight in the coffee shop. It’s like my head was in a bubble, but when I’m with Colin, it’s so….”

“Not hot?”

I nod again, feeling stupid and hiding my face in my hands. How can I build a stable relationship with anyone after what I’ve done to myself? The meds are helping me, but every day is a constant battle with memories. Years ago, I was numb, never feeling the way others felt, always in the darkness. Maybe I was this way because I never experienced the real thing.

 
Maja places her hands on my shoulders, distracting me from my thoughts.

“I can’t tell you what to do, but if you want to find the painting, then I suggest you go. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I guess you’re right. He’s probably happily married with a bunch of kids.”

“Don’t be so negative. You don’t know anything about this guy,” she mutters, pushing me back to my bedroom. “I want to know all the details tomorrow.”

After assuring Maja that I’d let her know how everything went, I lock myself in the bedroom and look under the bed. I pull out my secret canvas and unwrap the paper carefully. My hands are slightly shaky. The last time I looked at it, I was back in Saint-Malo. Ethan would want to see it, but I don’t know if I’m ready to show it to him.

Two hours later, I grab a snack, being too nervous to actually have a proper dinner before I see him. My meeting with Ethan is at seven, in about an hour and a half. In my wardrobe I search for something that I can wear tonight. I remind myself that it’s not a date and I don’t have to make an effort. This evening is about me and my past. He won’t want me once he discovers everything. Ethan won’t magically fix me.

I pick up a dark blue vintage dress that fits perfectly, exposing my tattoo. It’s a medium-size red rose that I asked for on my eighteenth birthday. My mother went crazy when I came home with the big bandage patch on my arm. She didn’t approve, but I’d dreamed of getting one since I turned fifteen.

 
My hair is naturally straight, so I don’t have to do anything with it. I put on more makeup, not too much, and walk back to the living room. Maja is back on the floor, but she lifts her head when I come out.

 
“Wow, you look amazing. I bet that he’ll turn out to be one of these rich guys that’s searching for a trophy wife. He will take you to his private jet and I’ll never see you again.”

I roll my eyes and put some stuff into my small yellow bag.

“I think you read too many Danielle Steel books.”

“What can I say? I like her writing style.” She chuckles.

 
“Don’t you think this is too much?”

She doesn’t answer, because we both hear my phone ringing. I don’t even need to look because I know it’s Ethan, waiting for me downstairs.