by Jinsey Reese
“They’re good,” he said, bringing my attention back to him. “Dax got a football scholarship to UCLA and Dalia’s working in L.A. and studying acting.”
“Acting? That’s great.” I could definitely see Dalia on stage or screen, that kind of role seemed like the exact right fit for her. It had been so long since I’d let myself think about the twins—it felt bittersweet to hear about them now. “I’m so happy to hear things are going well for them.”
Dare opened his mouth, then shut it again as if he was trying to decide whether to say something. After a couple of false starts, he finally said, “They’re coming to visit.”
“Really?” I couldn’t keep the smile from my face or the happiness from flooding my heart. I knew I shouldn’t be so excited about it because who knew how they felt about me after all this time, but I couldn’t help it. “When?”
“In a little less than three weeks.”
“That’s just so…wow.” I stared at him, chewing on my bottom lip. “I’d really like to see them when they come. If that’s okay. I mean, I’m sure you guys have plans. Are you taking them places? Traveling?”
“No.” He shook his head, and another breathtaking smile lifted the corners of his lips. “I…uhh…actually have a show coming up.”
My mouth hung open and I just gaped at him for a full three seconds of stunned silence.
“A show? At a gallery here in Paris?” I let go of my knees, put my feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Are you kidding me?” I wanted to throw myself into his arms, but instead stayed firmly put. “That’s AMAZING. Why didn’t you tell me? Where is it? Which gallery? Are they good? Have you checked them out? When is the opening?”
“Whoa!” Dare’s broad chest vibrated with deep laughter, the sound of it warming my insides. “Slow down, Reagan.”
His eyes locked onto mine and we just stared at each other for a moment, so many unspoken words and feelings still hanging between us.
Too much.
My heart ached, but I couldn’t look away. I was simultaneously thrilled for him and despondent for me. Where he had everything falling into place, I had everything falling apart.
We were separated by so much more than three years and a few feet. Even though I was living in his world now, we were not in the same place at the same time.
And it killed me. Especially since there was nothing I could do about the distance.
The ball was in Dare's court now, but he wasn’t even interested in playing the game.
nine
Galerie Yves Robert faced the street, its full wall of windows towering above me as I paused outside to catch my breath. It had been a long walk to get here, and for once I was wishing the cab drivers weren’t on strike—I’d be tempted to splurge on a ride home. After my heart calmed, I pulled open the door and walked inside the empty space.
Dare had assured me he knew what he was doing and had refused my offers to check the place out for him. He’d said it was a reputable gallery, and from what Sabine had told me when I talked to her earlier, he was right. In fact, it was more than reputable; it was one of the finest galleries in Paris. And the fact that Dare had gotten a show here was remarkable—they were known for their exclusivity. Sabine had gushed when I’d told her.
“Wilde…he has done very well for himself.” I could hear her beaming even over the phone and practically saw her nodding her dark head. “I am wishing he was showing at La Période Bleue, of course, that you had scooped him up before Yves. But,” she’d said, “I showed his work first. Next time I am in Paris, I will be sure to mention this to Yves.”
Sabine hadn’t been exaggerating about this gallery, either. It was exquisitely laid out. I explored the room, slowly taking in the paintings on the walls, trying to decide whether I would have seen any promise in the artist they were currently exhibiting. The work was good. Very mainstream. The paintings had a strong style, but they didn’t fully grab me. Didn’t squeeze my heart and refuse to let go like great art always did.
Of course, not all art appealed to all people. But as a future gallery owner, I would need to be able to pick out the art that would stand out and please the masses. Realizing that I probably would not have chosen this artist for a solo show made me question myself.
Was I really cut out for this? Would I find success? I so desperately wanted answers that I snapped a few pictures so I could discuss them with Sabine and find out whether she saw the same promise in the artist that this gallery had.
All the while, I couldn’t help but think that Dare’s work was so much better and more compelling. It had been even before I knew he was the artist of all those nudes back in his Brooklyn studio.
There was something about his pieces that kept me rooted in place, made me want to look and look, and then look some more until the art and I became one. I noticed something different every time—the shape of a shadow, the way he created a feeling of calm, the fact that I could almost hear, taste, smell, and touch the moment he’d captured. His work surpassed the visual and delved into dimensions very few artists ever reached.
I imagined these walls covered with Dare’s work and got goosebumps at the thought. His paintings were going to shine in the bright white space, and I couldn’t wait to witness his success. I only wished I could be a part of it. If only a tiny one.
Voices murmured behind the wall where I stood, and a moment later a door opened and swung toward me, blocking me from sight.
“But what about all of my landscapes?” Dare was saying as I stepped closer to the wall. Shit. I wasn’t supposed to be here. He was going to be pissed if he saw me. My eyes stayed on the art, but my ears were fully focused on his words. “Those sell really well out on the street, I’m sure they’ll—”
“Galerie Yves Robert is not the street, Dare. The owners are most interested in your unique nudes and want more of those for the show.”
“I showed you all I have right now.” Dare’s voice was a low growl. “I haven’t been happy with any of my models lately. The last few I tried to work with just weren’t right. And by the time I find the one I want, it’ll be too late to have any more pieces ready. Finding the right subject is a process, Jacques.” He clenched his fists, the muscles of his arms tightening.
The man shook his head. “If you cannot provide more, then we’ll have to reschedule.”
“But I have family flying in from the States for this. You can’t change the date on me.”
“I can,” Jacques said, “and I will if I have to. Our clients come first and we need to give them what they want…whether it’s from you or from someone else. Bring us more nudes.”
Then he turned and retreated into his office, pulling the door closed behind him, taking away my hiding space.
I stood frozen in place as Dare stared at me with blazing, narrowed eyes. His jaw tightened and his lips thinned into an angry line. He didn’t say a word, just spun on his heel and stalked toward the door.
Fuck.
“Dare, wait! Please!”
He ignored me and stormed down the street, forcing me to run to catch up.
“Dare!” I grabbed his arm.
When he spun around to look at me, his expression darkened and his eyes turned to stone, and I immediately wished I hadn’t touched him.
He glanced down at my fingers that were still wrapped around his arm and I pulled my hand back, breaking the connection between us.
“Please,” I said, breathing hard, stalling for time. I had no idea how I was going to explain myself. Just when it seemed like we’d made a little progress, I had to go fuck it all up again.
“What the hell were you doing there?” His words were tinged with both fire and ice. “I told you to stay out of it. I can do this on my own.”
“I just—I was so excited for your show and then I talked to Sabine about it—”
“You were checking up on me? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No, it’s not that,” I said, panicking. “I mean, yes, I was. Sort of�
�” His face darkened. “But not the way you think. I was just telling her the good news. That’s all. She had lots of good things to say about Yves Robert.”
“Un-fucking-believable. I never should have told you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your nose out of it.” He shook his head, ran his hands through his hair. “I assume you heard everything?”
I bit my lip. “I can help you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yeah? How?” There was a dark challenge in his voice.
My mind raced. La Période Bleue! I could get him a show there. And Sabine would crow about it. She could rub it in Yves’ face and I could do the same to Lucien. It would be a coup! My shining moment—except I was supposed to be doing this for Dare, not myself. Though if it benefitted us both…
“I can set up a show for you at La Période Bleue in a few weeks,” I told him. “So you have enough time—”
Dare shook his head. “Dax and Dalia already have their plane tickets. I can’t change the date. And I don’t need you pulling strings for me, Reagan. I’ve been doing this on my own for a while now. I don’t need your help.”
God, he was SO—
“I know,” I said, my hands fisting at my sides, my words coming out through clenched teeth. “You’ve done amazing, Dare. I’m only trying to help because you’re obviously in a bind and you can’t do everything on your own. Sometimes you actually need other people, you impossibly frustrating, too-talented-for-your-own-good, fucking prima donna.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. Oh shit. It was like I was TRYING to sabotage myself. What he needed was time and—
“A model!” I shouted, causing the people walking by to glance at me in surprise. I lowered my voice and said more calmly, “I can be your model.”
He stared at me for a moment, unmoving, studying my face as if he wanted to know whether I was actually serious. Obviously, I was one hundred and ten percent serious.
“No. I don’t think so.” He turned, but I clutched his arm again and didn’t let go this time.
“Dare, I heard what the gallery owner said. You need more work. You need a model—”
“I need a nude model.” There was that razor-sharp challenge again, and now it was starting to piss me off.
“I know.” I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms over my chest. “You used to draw me, right? And it worked. Very, very well from what I remember. So if you need—”
“I don’t need you, Reagan,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ll find some girl to pose for me.”
“But why look for some girl when you can have me? The right girl.”
I was playing with fire. I knew it. But I didn’t care. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he stared at me, his eyes dark and fathomless. There was no caring in there—no hint of it—just ice-cold contempt.
Good god, I’d really pissed him off this time. I almost lost my nerve, but lifted my chin and held my ground.
I wanted this.
I wanted him.
And I would do whatever it took.
“Say yes, Dare. Say you need me.” My words were filled with so much double-meaning I was no longer sure if I was trying to convince him or myself.
After what felt like forever, he nodded—just barely. Then he jerked his head toward the next block and started walking.
“You start now.”
ten
“Right now?” I nearly tripped over the curb as I ran after him.
He turned to glare at me, walking at a gracefully fast pace only someone his height could manage. “You wanted to do this. I need to get started right now if I’m going to keep my show. Are you in or not?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I am. I’m in.”
All in.
When I looked at Dare’s back as he led the way, the butterflies inside my stomach started up again. I’d fucking done it. I’d guaranteed myself time with him.
When we got to the corner, I turned to walk back toward the apartment, but Dare stopped me.
“No,” he said. “We’re taking the metro, Princess.”
“But,” I said, my pulse pounding at the thought, “we can walk. It’s not that far.”
It was REALLY far, but there was no way I could go below ground. Just the thought made me shudder.
“I need to get started NOW,” he said. “I don’t have time to waste strolling through the streets of Paris just because you don’t want to take public transportation.” He glared at me, the ultimatum clear on his face. Do this or go home. He knew how I felt about underground spaces, though I’d never told him why.
“You’ll have to set up, right?” My mind was racing. There had to be some way around this. “I’ll meet you there. I’ll walk fast. I’ll run.”
He looked down at my sandals, and raised an eyebrow at me.
“Okay, I’ll walk—but really REALLY fast. It won’t take me long, I promise.” I glanced at the stairs leading into the darkness. I couldn’t. I couldn’t go down there.
He shook his head. “The metro.” And he took a step down. “If you want in the game,” Dare said, not even looking at me anymore as he headed underground, “you gotta play by my rules.”
Fuck. Me.
I was sweaty and shaking by the time we got to our stop. I’d kept my eyes closed, fists clenched on my thighs the entire horrible ride. Dare sat next to me, pressing his body against mine, possibly in an effort to help, but nothing could soothe the panic in my mind and body. It had been seven long years since the last time I’d delved into an underground space.
Ever since—no. No, no…stop.
I wouldn’t think about that now. I wouldn’t think about it EVER.
I dashed up the stairs to street level, gulping in air like I’d been suffocating. In a way, I had.
Dare followed close behind, concern marring his handsome features. It was even worse than when the power had gone out. He’d never seen me this bad—no one had, not for a long time. And there was nothing he could do.
He searched my face. “Jesus, Reagan. Are you okay?”
I shook my head. Then nodded.
“What just happened?” He reached out to touch my cheek, but stopped himself. “I mean, what…I don’t even know what the hell to ask you.”
“I wasn’t kidding when I told you I don’t like…places like that.” I closed my eyes, but a couple of traitorous tears slipped out. I took some deep breaths, trying to force the panic back down. “It’s not because I’m being spoiled. It’s…just—”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wouldn’t have asked you to do that if I’d known how bad it really was.”
“You didn’t know.” He had no way of knowing.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head, silently pleading with him to just drop it.
He took a step toward me, and reached out to touch my arm, his hand stroking up and down, his fingers brushing my skin gently and with purpose. His calmness seeped into my body, and my wild pulse and the tremors slowly subsided. That simple gesture felt so good, so right. I closed my eyes, basking in the warmth of his touch, and breathed him in.
Color. God, Dare still smelled like color.
He was intoxicating.
I could’ve stood like that forever, but he cleared his throat and stepped back. I couldn’t look directly at him for fear the eyes gazing back at me would still be cold and distant. He stood there for a moment longer before taking my hand in his, linking our fingers together, and leading the way to our building.
Although he didn’t speak a single word, something had shifted in his touch—almost like he’d let go of the rigid armor of anger he’d been ensconced in all this time. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe taking the metro had been worth it after all.
Once inside his apartment, Dare threw his keys on a little table by the door, then headed down the hall in the opposite direction of his bedroom. He led me to a bright room. His studio.
Oh, god. His studio.
It had been so long since I’d seen him work, my kn
ees felt a little weak just from being in proximity to the canvases and paints. He had a platform set up for a model, and I tried not think about the other naked women he’d spent time drawing, painting…touching.
The thought hurt so much I actually winced as it pierced my mind.
Dare pulled out a blank canvas and propped it on his easel. Then he picked out a few brushes and started sorting through paints. He glanced up at me, his face wary. He nodded toward the other end of the hall.
“You can get undressed in the bathroom,” he said. “There’s a clean robe behind the door.” Then he went back to his paints.
I nodded and turned to walk down the hall.
It always took him at least fifteen minutes to set up his stuff, so I decided to take a quick shower. I felt disgusting and sweaty after the metro, and knew I’d feel more comfortable if I wasn’t worried that I smelled like panic and pain. I stripped off my clothes and piled my hair up on my head to keep it out of the water.
A few minutes later, I toweled off and wrapped the robe around me. It was long and silky, obviously something he kept for models. And all the women who came and went, regardless of whether they posed for him.
I tied the robe tightly, then walked back down the hall to his studio. He was almost set up, his palette ready, his brushes in place, a cup of coffee in his hand.
The canvas in front of him was a big, white, blank space full of possibilities. I wished my life had been like that—defined only by the limits of my imagination—and not filled by my parents like a perfect paint-by-number picture.
But now it could be. I was in Paris, after all, trying to free up my life’s canvas by erasing some of the lines, painting over them, making my own. This—being here with Dare, helping him—felt like a step in the right direction.
He nodded over toward the platform where a futon mattress lay with a chocolate brown blanket covering it. My hands started shaking and I swallowed hard, suddenly filled with nervous energy. Which was ridiculous because this was Dare. I trusted him. Once upon a time I’d wake up to him sketching my naked form after a night in his bed. He knew me. He’d seen everything I had—very recently, in fact.