by Shayne Ford
“Do you like my paintings?” he asks again, nudging me out of my catatonic state.
“Stephan Leon?” I ask, washed with surprise.
He tilts his chin down.
“I thought you were living in Italy,” I say, all enthused.
A bright grin floods his chocolate-brown eyes.
“Hmm… An art lover with an inquisitive mind. I love that,” he says, grinning warmly.
He pauses for a moment, studying my face as well.
“I live there, but only in the summer, Miss...?”
He stretches his hand out.
“Tess Sandoval.”
His eyes light up again.
“Hmm… Interesting. Do you happen to have Spanish ancestry by any chance?”
A blush warms up my face.
“I’m afraid it’s only borrowed. It’s my husband’s name, and he’s American through and through, but his grandfather was a Spaniard.”
“Oh,” he says, sounding slightly disappointed.
Despite his reaction, he manages to keep his expression unaltered and offers me another beautiful smile.
We talk for a few more moments about art, and life in general before he graciously excuses himself and retreats into a different corner where he starts talking with a group of fans of his work.
I keep my gaze on him for a few more seconds, and then I shift my eyes back to his paintings. Slowly, I transition from one to the other, indulging myself.
He has a good eye and a talented hand.
The woman featured in his work makes a second appearance in one of his paintings. It’s another flattering nude that steals my breath with its tasteful mix of lights and shadows, luscious curves and a few things left to the imagination.
Most of her bare chest is covered with long strands of dark hair. Her face remains a mystery to the observer, her body obviously the focus of the painter.
She lies on a bed or perhaps a couch, her silhouette exquisitely drawn against the dark background. Luscious hips and narrow waist, soft curves, and tight lines.
She gazes up, her head tilted back, something in her posture and expression prompting me to take a better look at her.
A small step toward the wall brings me closer to the painting. Painstakingly, I run my eyes over the image. The way she holds her head looks so familiar. It doesn’t take long before I have a revelation, and then my mouth falls open.
No.
A dark shadow veils her profile but even so, I see the string of a mask.
I take another small step, this time to the side, and study it from a different angle. I get a glimpse of her lips or rather the corner of her mouth, and disbelief rushes through me.
It can’t be.
I find myself looking left and right, searching for more clues, trying to convince myself that it’s only my imagination.
And yet, I’m almost never wrong. My memory... My visual memory is always right. But this must be the exception to the rule. There’s no other way I can explain this thing.
I glance around the room, trying to locate the artist. He talks to a couple of male guests, gesturing toward his artwork.
One of the men registers my stare and tosses me a curious look. I swivel my head, promptly rooting my eyes to the paintings.
I finally remove myself from where I stand and look for more artwork featuring that woman. I find nothing, so I walk into a different room.
The smallest chamber of all three, the room hosts a few more paintings, none of them featuring the female model. And then, I turn around and see it.
A beautiful oversized painting that sucks the air out of my lungs.
The woman looks at me from the canvas. Propped on her knees, her eyes concealed by a mask, her red lips parted, a haunting smile curling their smooth, plumped flesh.
The expression... Oh, it’s the very same expression I had seen in that clip. Blind submission in exchange for lust and pleasure, unhindered longing for that magnificent high.
Shrouded in a shadow, a man stands in front of her. A bare shoulder and a muscular arm is everything I see. It’s not enough to identify the man, but it can only be him. The man in that clip.
But why?
Puzzled, I turn around and near the window. My mind starts spinning.
I run an empty gaze over the window, absently registering the wet pavement covered in leaves, the cabs picking up and dropping off people. The traffic lights shifting. Green. Yellow. Red. And then green again.
I hear the people’s voices, and then their laughter as taxi drivers honk their horns. Everything turns into chaos in my head, the sounds way louder than in reality as if someone just turned up the volume.
Inching closer to the glass, I desperately skim the crowd. My pulse gallops through my veins.
Who am I looking for?
The traffic lights shift again, seizing my attention briefly. I pull my eyes away a moment later, and my breath suddenly breaks.
Not far from me, I see him. The collar of his coat lifted, partially concealing his face.
I notice the ivory collar of his dress shirt and the dark-green tie peeking at the neckline. My gaze dips.
A gloved hand rests on the shoulder of a woman.
I take a step back.
What??
I get a glimpse of her profile as she looks up at him, her long, dark hair waving down her back.
She mutters something to the man, her red painted lips creased into a familiar smile––tantalizing, luring, and above all exuding so much power.
That very second I know exactly who she is.
She is the woman from the painting and the clip.
“Tess?”
“Ahhh!”
Startled, I step back and shot a horrified look at my sister.
Her eyes widen with surprise.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” I mumble.
With trembling fingers, I set the glass of champagne on the table.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I struggle to pull myself together. “I didn’t hear you. I was caught in my thoughts.”
“What were you watching?”
She swings her eyes to the window just as the man and the woman slip into a limousine. Smoothly, I grab her by the elbow and spin with her away from the window.
“Nothing,” I say. “How do you like it so far?” I ask with a different voice, trying to avoid her questions and an awkward conversation.
A grin tilts her lips.
“I love it. I met the artist,” she says enchanted.
“Me too,” I say, managing to slip a smile into my voice.
“Handsome guy.”
“Yup. He sure is.”
“By the way,” she says as we stop next to the woman’s nude. “Allan is on his way. He got caught up in something at work. He tried to call your cell, but he couldn’t get through.”
I tear my hand away from her elbow and scoop out my phone from my purse.
“No signal.”
“Well...That explains it,” she says.
Her eyes move away from me as I get busy tucking my phone back into my bag.
“Hmm. Interesting concept,” she mutters, the surprise in her voice prompting me to raise my eyes.
She motions to the painting hanging on the wall.
I give it a quick glance.
“Yeah, I guess...”
She smiles.
“Beautiful model.”
“Yes, she is,” I grump, my eyes following the direction of her gaze again.
“Look at that expression,” she says while studying the painting in which the woman’s face is partly on display.
I really don’t need to look at her face. I know her expression by heart, I grump in my head.
“I wish I could feel what she feels.”
“What?” I murmur, pretending that I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“I want to get drunk on pleasure,” she says, sounding as if she slipped into a trance.
I quietly laugh.
“If I know anything about your life, you get drunk on pleasure several times a week.”
She flicks her gaze to me, her eyes flooded with a grin.
“But it never feels like that.”
I swing my gaze to the side, taking in for the tenth time the expression of that woman.
She brings her eyes to the painting as well.
“She submits to that man completely,” she says.
We share a moment of silence, both staring at the artwork.
“That’s how it looks like. It doesn’t mean that it’s real,” I say. “Anyway, I don’t think it’s in your nature to be submissive,” I add a few seconds later, making reference to her rebellious nature.
“Is it in yours?” she asks, glancing at me.
“No,” I say right away, not looking at her. “But I’d probably do it for the right man.”
It’s only when her silence thickens that I realize what I just said.
I shift my gaze to her.
“I was talking in abstract... I would do it in theory,” I mumble, having a hard time to find the right words. “I mean... I think I’d do it,” I say pulling my gaze away from hers. “What about you?”
“Mmm-hmm. I would.”
I glance at her again.
She smiles at me.
“Really?” I ask incredulously.
“Yeah... With the right man as you said, but so far, I’m safe,” she says breathing out a soft chuckle. “I haven’t met him yet.”
I remain silent.
“And you haven’t met him either,” she says, just as Alan looms behind her.
9
TESS
We spent the next half an hour in the gallery.
Viola and Allan exchange opinions on the artwork on display in the main room while I furtively glance around, studying faces.
The space becomes a blend of colors and cheerful voices, drowning the music playing in the background.
Close to nine o’clock, I step away from them and enter the second chamber where I spend a few minutes by myself, examining that woman’s nude again.
I move back to the window, holding the unrealistic hope that I can get a glimpse of her–– the woman portrayed in that painting. And to be honest, to get a glimpse of him as well.
A cold rain drizzles on the sidewalks, only a handful of people venturing outside. The cars keep coming to the venue, although the traffic is way lighter now.
I almost spin away from the window when I spot the black limousine that I’ve seen before sitting not far from the corner of the block.
Are they still here?
I tear away from the window for good, and enter the main room, looking for Allan and Viola. I find them in one of the busiest corners, surrounded by a group of people.
I halt not far from them and ponder as something draws me to the entrance. I take a few steps in that direction when the door swings open, and a few women stroll by.
The sidewalk comes into view and also the people standing in front of the gallery.
I take a peek, still hesitant to go outside. For some reason, I swivel my head, and glance over my shoulder, checking on Allan and Viola, my eyes sliding over their faces as my mind goes briefly adrift.
Remotely I register, a dark-haired woman standing not far from them. Her back is turned to them, all of them seemingly engaged in conversations.
I peel my eyes away and straightly walk out in the street.
A man’s gaze locks my eyes, only for a split second before he turns around and looks down, possibly at his phone.
Thoughts start clashing in my head, a sharp intake of air rolling into my lungs.
I take a few steps in his direction when a hand coming from the side wraps around my forearm.
“Hey. Where are you going? I was looking for you.”
I flick my gaze to Viola.
Her smile falters the moment she catches sight of my expression, but there’s not much time to explain.
“Where’s Allan?”
She glances over her shoulder and points to a group of people.
Briefly, I register two men, an older couple, and the brunette who’s now standing right in front of him. I can’t see her face and his back is turned to me, so I can’t say whether they exchange words or not.
I shift my eyes away.
“Can you keep him occupied?” I toss to Viola.
Questions flicker in her eyes.
“Why?” she asks, puzzled.
“I don’t have time to explain,” I say curtly.
“Okay...” she mutters. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Just make sure he doesn’t come looking for me.”
Her eyebrows flick up in surprise.
Without another word, I tear my gaze away from hers and pull away. Glancing around, I start searching for that man.
A few seconds later, I turn left. A man’s silhouette enters my line of sight.
I pull to a stop right behind him.
“Hey,” I say, touching his shoulder.
He pivots to face me and smiles at me.
A stranger’s grin.
I can’t believe this. It’s the second time it happens.
“Yes?”
“Oh, I’m sorry…” I say disappointed. “You’re not him.”
His smile broadens.
“Him?”
“I thought you were someone else.”
His lips arch into a flirtatious smirk as he gives me a swift once-over.
“I wish I were him,” he mutters, flashing a cheeky grin.
Ignoring his comment, I swing my eyes away from him and look up and down the street. There’s no one else resembling that man.
“Is he that good?” the man in front of me asks.
I shift my eyes back to him and only smile.
His grin fades away as I put distance between us.
Running trembling fingers through my hair, I brush beads of rain from my locks.
A shiver falls through me, prompting me to hug myself as I make a beeline for the entrance.
I tip my chin down, to shield my face from the rain.
Tess?
The sound of my name echoes in my head as if someone just called me.
Startled, I flick my eyes up. Was it a random thought? Or was it…?
I look at my left… As of I know.
Propped against the shimmering black car, face veiled by a shadow, he stands there.
My hands slide off my body as I no longer hug myself but freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, rain falling down on me.
He doesn’t move, and sure enough, he doesn’t walk out of the cone of darkness, and yet his stare pierces my skin.
It’s him.
I know it’s him, even without seeing his face. My heart pounds frantically in my chest.
I take a step in his direction.
He stands still.
“Tess?”
Allan’s voice sends a shudder through my body, plugging me back to reality.
And yet…
Wet, and cold, I stand on the damp pavement, shivering and looking like a fool, caught under the spell of a man I don’t even know.
He tips his chin down, acknowledging me with a soft nod, and then, in what feels like a slow-motion movie, he spins around and slips into the car.
The window in the back goes down as the limo pulls away. I can only guess that he looks at me. Soon, I stare at the tail of that car.
A parking valet swings by me.
“Hey,” I say, vigorously grabbing his arm.
The man stops short and turns around.
“How may I help you, Miss?” asks the man, blinking quickly as drops of rain slide onto his face.
“Do you know the man who just left?” I ask, tipping my chin up and to the side, motioning to the road.
He studies me briefly.
“Do you know his name?” I ask again.
“Tess?”
Alan’s voice beams with irritation.
&nb
sp; The man in front of me mutters words, pulling away at the same time.
I barely catch the name.
“Sebastien Rockford,” he says.
“Sebastien Rockford,” I mutter, my voice rolling gently over his name. “Thank you,” I murmur, yet the man is already gone.
Sunk in my thoughts, I spin around and head to the entrance.
Feet away from the door, I lift my gaze, expecting to see Allan, ready to berate me. He is nowhere in sight.
Watching my steps, I enter the venue when inadvertently, I bump into someone.
I flick my eyes up.
A beautiful brunette looks at me. She seems somewhat familiar, especially her lips and waving hair. I swiftly recognize her coat.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“No problem,” she murmurs.
Frozen, I stare at her.
She smiles.
“Do I know you?” she asks.
My thoughts get jammed. My answer lags.
“Um...”
She tips her head to the side, no longer smiling, looking at me intrigued, instead.
“Do I?”
“No. I don’t think so,” I say, offering a wilted smile.
Her eyes tell me that she doesn’t buy it.
“You look like someone I know,” I mumble.
A man walks right behind her.
“Ready?” asks Stephan Leon.
She turns to him, wearing a lascivious grin.
My eyebrows tilt up in by surprise. The man can’t tear his gaze away from her.
Am I missing something here?
I wrestle with an odd feeling for a few seconds, the sensation short-lived as the man notices me standing not far from them and graces me with an empty smile before he snakes his arm around her waist, and gently pulls her away.
Mouth agape, I watch them vanish in a silver Jaguar. Grinning, she takes the driver’s seat while he flashes a bright smile.
A few moments later, the car glides away.
Baffled, I step inside.
“Where were you?”
My sister’s eyes brim with concern.
She runs her gaze down on me, quickly noticing my crumpled, wet blouse.
“Where’s Allan?” I ask.
“He’s waiting for us in the car.”
I finally set my focus on her.
“Car? Why? What happened?”
She hands me my coat and my purse before she shrugs her trench on.
“You tell me,” she says, briefly studying my face.