The Masterpiece (Work of Art #3)

by Ruth Clampett

  “So, we made a plan, and we all agreed that we needed to get a restraining order. I can’t tell you how unsettled I was when she conned her way into my home, and if we didn’t do something, who knows what she’d do next?”

  I nod. “I bet she was surprised when you called.”

  “She was thrilled until Jackson got on the phone and told her the call was being recorded. As much as I wanted to rail on her, they had coached me to remain strong and detached—so I was. I told her I was madly in love with my girlfriend, who I intended to marry, and I had absolutely no interest in pursuing business dealings or any type of friendship with her. After years of no contact, I made it clear how irritating it was to hear from her and told her she must not contact me again.”

  “Well, that’s pretty damn clear.” I smile, relief surging through me.

  “You bet. She babbled, something about me not knowing what I was missing. I assured her that no one had ever even gotten close to making me happy like you have, Ava—incredibly happy in every way.” He smiles and my heart flutters.

  “Well, that shut her up. So Jackson got on the phone and explained the restraining order, and that we had the resources to make sure she didn’t get near us again. Dad sent some scary thug to serve the restraining order—just as a scare tactic, of course. But I guess he gave her a quite different, more vivid kind of warning, along with a nonrefundable one-way ticket back to Florida.”

  “Yes, your dad said we won’t be hearing from her again.”

  “I’m sure we won’t.”

  My head falls forward with relief. He watches me carefully when I finally look up.

  “You weren’t seriously nervous about Chloe, were you?”

  “Of course I was. If you were me, wouldn’t you be?”

  “Well, yes, but I’m nuts and you’re so sane.” He leans forward on the bench and his jaw flexes. “While we’re on the subject of exes, I have to bring up something.”

  “Okay.”

  “The afternoon just before I went home for the Chloe-Granville meeting, I found out you had run into Jonathan and talked to him. What the hell, Ava? Can you imagine how it made me feel to hear that from someone else? It was a total mind fuck that you hadn’t even told me. I kept thinking it must have meant something more or you were hiding something; otherwise, you would’ve told me about it.”

  My mouth falls open, and I blink my eyes. In the whirlwind of the last few weeks, the elevator incident was just a tiny blip on my radar. But, obviously, I need to see it from Max’s point of view.

  “Honestly, running into Jonathan happened at the worst point of our fight, and frankly it was so unimportant to me that it didn’t come to mind.”

  “Well, it really messed with my mind.”

  “I’m sorry, Max. But, like Chloe, let me assure you Jonathan is the last person I want to see.”

  “You weren’t attracted to him when you saw him again?”

  “Not in the slightest. You’ve ruined me. How could I possibly be attracted to anyone else?”

  “Point made.” He smiles and turns his face to the sun.

  What a face, I think as I watch him—his chiseled cheekbones and jawline, the electricity in those blue gray eyes.

  “Can I ask you something, Max? Why wouldn’t your dad let me talk to you the last few days? It made me crazy.”

  He laughs quietly. “Yeah, we had a number of fights over that. I mean, he fucking took my phone away. I got desperate on Sunday and found where he’d hidden it while he was in the shower. I knew you were asleep and wouldn’t respond right away, but at least I got a message to you.”

  “That message meant a lot. I got it right before my plane took off.”

  He squeezes my hand and presses it gently to his lips.

  “Anyway, Dad kept saying that he wanted my undivided attention while he was trying to help me. But I have another theory.”

  “You do? What is it?”

  “The man’s a Hollywood producer. Drama’s in his blood. He wanted this to play out like a classic movie screenplay, and he’s master of setting the stage for a gripping drama. He used to always say, you’ve got to make all the elements work together like a finely tuned orchestra before you get to your perfect ending.”

  “And we are the stars of his production?” I laugh and shake my head, but I know Max is right.

  “Precisely. Dad even wanted us to have our big reunion in our hotel room. He told me to have the hotel concierge arrange for someone to trail rose petals through the room, and for me to be waiting for you out on the balcony with a bottle of champagne. He’s such a cornball. So I put my foot down. I had to pick my battles with him, but this was one worth fighting. I wanted to meet you outside, under the sky, in someplace beautiful like a park where we could talk. Then I remembered this place surrounded by art and beauty.”

  “It’s the perfect choice,” I reply, smiling.

  “Yeah, eventually he realized I was right… feisty old guy.”

  “Well, Max, you’ve got to love the man. He really threw himself into the situation without a moment’s hesitation. The idea that he could help you—that you may actually need him—meant the world to him.”

  “Through all this, I really felt like he would do anything to help me, and help us. In the past, I never would have believed it could happen. And that leads to the next part. What I’m nervous about.” He leans forward and twists his hands together.

  “I’m listening.” I rest my hand on his thigh reassuringly.

  “Maybe it’d be best if I showed you.” He takes out his phone, brings up a photo, and hands it to me.

  I study the image of an expansive living area of a hip modern apartment. There are huge floor to ceiling windows, and I make out the skyline of a city through them. “Is this in New York?”

  “Yes, it’s New York, actually my dad’s apartment in New York. We arrived there early Saturday, and I flew here from JFK early this morning.”

  “You were in New York?” I widen my eyes in disbelief.

  “Here, let me show you more.” He flips through the images: there’s a beautiful bedroom with a view, a full spacious kitchen, and a wide balcony with an outside living area.

  He tips his head to the side. “What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous—a showplace. Did you even know he had it?”

  “No. Evidently he bought it as an investment when the market fell. He did live there at one time, because he had a series in the city and needed a place to stay for an extended period. He ended up liking it so much, he kept it.”

  “Wow. It must’ve been nice to stay there.”

  “Yeah, there’s a beautiful guest room and the bathrooms are state of the art. Even though it’s in the middle of the city, it has a calm feeling because it’s up so high and so spacious. I think you’d really like it.” The tone of his voice is hopeful.

  My heart pounds. “I bet I would,” I reply quietly.

  “So, following our flight, Dad and I settled in, and after a few hours, he decided to spell out everything. He told me it was time for the talk. We had already fought, agonized and reminisced, so what was one more heavy conversation? I mean, the man is tenacious. He wore me down.

  “So, he takes me to the balcony and points down to the busy streets far below. ‘I want you to imagine Ava is down there stepping out of a cab.’ I decided to play along with this game—even though I didn’t like how it started.

  “After I imagined you down below and just an elevator ride away, he told me to close my eyes. ‘Now I want you to picture yourself alone in Malibu with Ava here in New York, stepping out of that cab without you.’”

  I look up. Max’s face is twisted in pain. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was angry.

  “It hit me so hard, Ava. It all became so real.” His voice gets low and quiet as I rub my hand over his back. He opens his eyes, stills himself, and takes a deep breath.

  “So, he pulls me back inside the living room. ‘Okay, now imagine your easel and
studio set up right here, and you’re painting. Ava is still in the cab, but in a minute she will get out, enter the building, and step into the elevator to go up.’” He clears his throat nervously, and I rest my hand over his.

  “Why did he say I was heading up the elevator, love?”

  “Because you were coming home to me like you would every night.”

  “Yes, every night.” I sigh, fighting back tears. His energy surges through me as he continues.

  “This was his brilliance, Ava. He knew I just needed to see it, feel it, understand how it could be.” We lean further into each other.

  “Oh, Max.”

  “I know.” He wraps my hands in both of his.

  “So, what happened next?”

  “Dad just had to look in my eyes to know that I understood his faith in me—that I could handle this big move to be with you. And with his help, it was going to be better than okay; it was going to be great.”

  I gasp, almost not wanting to believe it in case I’d misunderstood. “What about being too anxious to live there?”

  “Well, as my dad put it none too gently, ‘Buck the hell up, son. That’s what extra medication is for. Besides, do you really think your anxiety has been manageable in Malibu now that she’s gone? Since she left, you’ve tried to put on a good face, but your friend Jess told me you’ve been a mess.’”

  “You have?” I ask, bewildered at how well he fooled me.

  He nods. “So, he’s a fucking genius, I tell you, because he’s right. My home in Malibu will never be the same without you.”

  I hold onto his arm and blink back more tears.

  “He was so certain there was no reason I couldn’t handle this change. And, you know what he did then, love? He handed me two keys, one for you and one for me.”

  “Two keys?” I’m so shocked that I have trouble comprehending everything.

  He laughs loudly. “Yeah, he said the place was ours for the year, but then he’s taking it back and throwing us out.”

  “So,” I mumble excitedly.

  He turns to me, still holding my hands tightly. “I want to be with you, Ava. Can we live together in New York?”

  “You’re really going to come?”

  “I don’t want to live without you. It’s time I took control of my life and not let the woman of my dreams leave and slowly drift away.”

  It finally hits me and I let out a little shriek. “I can’t believe it!” I throw my arms around him and practically tackle him.

  He throws back his head and laughs and the tension falls off him like a tight binding unraveling.

  “So, this is good news?” he asks, grinning.

  “The best news ever!” I exclaim, as he brings me closer.

  We wind together, a tangle of limbs until we’re pressed tightly together.

  “Thank you, Max, for supporting my career and choosing to come with me. I’ll love you forever for that.”

  He gives me an adoring smile. “Good, I’m counting on it.”

  He kisses me softly at first. But our passion leads to the big kiss where my toes curl and I get dizzy before I realize I’ve stopped breathing. People are strolling past. There must be some type of park etiquette, but I don’t care. Right now, the most beautiful man has handed me his heart, trusting we will walk hand in hand through whatever fire the year ahead holds.

  He loves me in a big, fierce, all-consuming way, and I feel it with each kiss. My eyes are closed as all the sensations come alive: the sweet taste of his lips, the sounds of the park surrounding us, his scent—a mix of cologne and clean skin—and the warmth of the sun painting us in hues of gold.

  Suddenly, a picture comes to my mind and I break our kiss, giggling.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “We’re positioned just like the Rodin.”

  “Only better, because we’re actually kissing.”

  “Only not better, because we have clothes on.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what. When we get back to the hotel, we can reenact Le Baiser in the nude.”

  “You’re smooth.”

  “Yeah, and you love it.” He grins.

  “Yes, I do.”

  Chapter Eighteen / Our Undeniable Destiny

  Dream as if you’ll live forever, live as if you’ll die today.

  ~James Dean

  I’m giddy, throw-your-arms-in-the-air-and-twirl happy. And Max is so happy that I hold onto him so he won’t float away. We stroll arm and arm through paths of the Tuileries without any agenda, just enjoying the feeling of being in love in Paris.

  When we pass one of the outdoor cafes in the middle of the park, we stop for some wine, bread and cheese, and they sit us at a little table under a tree. Dappled light falls over us, rendering the scene like a Seurat pointillist painting we could name, Monday Afternoon at the Tuileries.

  We hold hands and lean into each other as the world moves around us. I can’t wipe the ridiculously euphoric grin off my face, so I don’t even try. Max laughs and scoots his chair around the table until we are side-by-side. We lift our glasses and toast our future because it looks bright.

  An hour later, a million excited plans have been discussed, our wine bottle is empty, and our check is paid.

  “Shall we go back to our room?” he whispers in my ear, while his fingertips skim up and down the inside of my forearm and make me squirm.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  As we float into the lobby, the manager at the front desk smiles broadly.

  “Très bon. You found her, sir,” he says happily.

  “Yes, thank you. Isn’t life grand!” Max exclaims, as he slides his arm around my waist and pulls me closer.

  “Oui, quand on est amoureux, le monde semble parfait,” he responds smiling.

  “What did he just say?” I whisper to Max as we approach the elevators.

  “When you’re in love, the world seems perfect.”

  “So true,” I agree.

  Several feet before we get to our suite door, Max sweeps me off my feet and into his arms.

  “No, no, you’ve lost your mind!” I laugh.

  “Be quiet, woman; I’m carrying you over the threshold.”

  Wine, combined with jet lag and the romance of Paris have reduced us to silliness.

  “But this isn’t our honeymoon.”

  “It might as well be.”

  He carries me gallantly inside and kicks the door shut. My shoes fall and I drop my purse and guidebook on the way to the bedroom. I glance up just as the remnants of daylight shine through the big picture window framing the view of Paris.

  “Look, Max. The sun is setting over the Eiffel Tower. Isn’t it spectacular?”

  He pauses for a brief moment to follow my gaze, but then looks at me, his eyes full of fire. “I have the best view of Paris right here in my arms.”

  I skim my fingers across his cheek. “You know, being here with you makes me feel like my life is a storybook.”

  He sits on the edge of the bed next to me, kisses the top of my head, and brings me closer. “And what a story it is. I know you love a good romance with a happy ending, and I’m going to work really hard to give you that…I’ll be your romantic hero.”

  I smile at him. “And know that while we’re in New York, I’m not going to let this job steal away the time we have together. I’ll fiercely protect that.”

  “I like hearing that,” he says as he grins and nods. “That reminds me…Wait right here.”

  He steps inside the dressing area and unzips a bag. When he comes back, he’s holding a velvet pouch.

  “What’s that?” I ask, as a tremor of excitement swirls through me.

  “Remember our conversation that day we walked around Lake Hollywood?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, my heart pounding.

  “Look, I know we aren’t getting engaged until we make it through the year, but will you indulge me here?”

  “Indulge away.” I grin.

  “I had these made, and no
w is the perfect time to share them with you.” He pulls the tassels of the pouch, gently opens it, and takes out two gold bands—our promise rings. What’s interesting is that instead of the smooth flawless finish of most gold bands, these are hand formed and hammered. In the rough satin finish are irregular tiny bumps and ridges in the gold. They’re beautifully imperfect, just like us.

  There’s writing on the inside of my ring. I look up.

  “My Ava forever,” he says quietly, and gently slides it onto my finger.

  I slowly turn my hand in the light, admiring how completely right it looks and feels. A moment later, I reach for his ring. “What does yours say?”

  “It’s not engraved yet. I figured I’d let my wonderful writer decide on the words.”

  “Thank you, Max…for the ring, for New York…for loving me in your big, brilliant way.”

  He eases me down across the bed, leans over and studies me, his eyes dark with desire. The following kiss is everything as I melt into the sheets.

  “Ava,” he whispers, as he slowly pushes up the skirt of my sundress to stroke my thighs. “Oh, look what you’re wearing.” He takes in the garter, silk stockings and tiny lace panties. “Did you wear that for me?” he asks, a boyish charm in his twinkling eyes.

  “Just for you, handsome.”

  As he watches, I run my fingers along his hard length as it presses against the confines of his jeans.

  He swallows and nods toward the dress. “Let’s take this off.”

  I quickly sit up and unzip my dress, and he helps me pull it over my head. All that’s left is moi in my extremely sexy lingerie.

  “You like?” I run my hands over my hips and then down my thighs. His eyes roam over me, lingering on the tiny sheer push-up bra that barely contains me. It’s a miraculous meeting of fashion and engineering. My breasts have taken on a life of their own, and they hold him captive.

  “I love,” he growls, as he undoes his belt and slides it off. He steps closer, cups my breasts and kisses me just above the spot where they meet before softly biting my nipples through the sheer fabric.

  “Oh, Max,” I moan, as I fist his hair and pull him closer.