I looked up at him, surprised that he would ask such a question. It was a world-famous artifact. Surely he knew already? “Oh, well...it was made around 100 B.C. There have been debates whether it is Aphrodite, the goddess of love, or Amphitrite, the sea goddess. It’s interesting how the names sound so similar, right?” I paused, suddenly aware of how strange my words sounded. It always surprised me how much I knew about art.
Victor seemed equally as curious about the wealth of information suddenly coming out of me. “What else do you know about it?” he pressed.
“Um, well, the statue is made from two slabs of marble, and if you look closely you can see holes in the sculpture where she used to wear clothing or jewelry. She was found by a man in the early 1800s, but no one knows why or how long it has been since her arms have been missing.”
“That’s...really impressive, Dove.”
I shook my head with wonder. “I really don’t know where all of this is coming from. I certainly didn’t study any of this while sleeping out on the sidewalks.”
“You gave me a glimpse of what you knew while we were looking at my own art collection,” Victor reminded me.
“I know, but...I had no idea...” my voice trailed off.
We continued to wander through every corner of the museum. I enjoyed every single room, but what captivated me the most were the paintings of ages gone by. We stopped by one in particular that made me gasp with surprise. “Oh, I love this one.”
“You’re familiar with this as well?”
“It is called the Raft of the Medusa, by Théodore Géricault. This piece always fascinated me.” Just like with the Venus de Milo, the information came readily to my mind. “It depicts a group of soldiers who were shipwrecked. They built their own raft to find a way home, but most of them died along the way.” I pointed to the corner of the painting. “They see a boat—salvation—off in the distance, but the boat sails away without even seeing them. It’s such a dark, emotional piece. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been drawn to it.”
“Well, you have managed to completely surprise me with your knowledge on art.” He smiled down at me. “What else are you hiding in the head of yours?”
I shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. We continued going from room to room where I would explain many of the pieces to him as though I were some museum tour guide. The fact that I could recite so much information both surprised and unnerved me. Why did I know so much about art but not even remember my past or my own name?
We were standing in front of the Mona Lisa when Victor put his arm around me. His hand rested on my shoulder as he pulled me close. We stood, admiring the painting for a few minutes before he asked, “Do you like to draw?”
Do I like to draw? ‘Like’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. “I do,” I admitted. “I absolutely love to draw. The most recent thing I did out in the streets was to draw with chalk on the sidewalk for change. Some people even said it was pretty good.” I remembered the little kids who would beg their parents to come watch me draw for them. I would take requests, mostly drawing cute things like cats, dogs, or bunnies. Most of the time, however, people would watch me, but would soon walk away after getting their fill without dropping a cent into my hat. “I didn’t get that much money from it, but it helped me to eat sometimes. And it helped take my mind off of the stress of living out there.”
“What are your favorite subjects to draw?”
I thought about that for a moment. “The entire world inspires me when I draw. But if I were to choose, I suppose I like drawing people the best. I like to be able to portray people’s emotions and characteristics through my art. Before I had my art supplies stolen away from me a year ago, caricature drawings was what brought me the most money. Too bad that didn’t last long.” I had to weigh the cost for new art supplies with the cost of not having any food, and of course, food prevailed. I was ecstatic when I found a pack of partially used chalk in a dumpster a few months back.
Victor pulled a piece of paper out from his suit pocket. I blushed, realizing it was the sketch I drew of him. “I think you’re very talented,” he told me, looking down at the sketch. It had been folded neatly, as though he took care not to crush it. “When we get back to California, you may ask for any kind of art supplies you may need or want. I’d like to see more art from you. I want to see what you are capable of creating.”
Tears filled my eyes as I registered his words. Any art supplies I want? For so long I have wanted to hold an actual paintbrush in my hand and pour my heart out over a blank canvas. Victor was actually going to give me that opportunity, just like he gave me the opportunity to travel to Paris and see all of these famous pieces of art in person.
We walked back to the entrance of the Louvre. The sun had already set and suddenly exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks. I barely had a moment’s rest since we left for France, and I had to struggle to listen to Victor’s words as he stopped me by the door of the entrance.
“You will be able to see a lot more than just the Louvre,” he told me, his voice serious. I could tell he was back to being “Dominant” Victor, and not the casual, friendly Victor I had been with during our time in the museum. “But I am not willing to take you places with me if you don’t learn proper manners. I don’t want you to embarrass me, especially in front of people I may know.”
Cool it, Dove. I told myself. I thought it best if I didn’t show him how easily I could get worked up. “I’ve been trying my best not to embarrass you,” I told him, holding back the flurry of emotions that his words evoked. “It’s just so frustrating; I feel like I can never please you. I don’t know what more I can do.”
Victor smiled at my words. He leaned forward kissed me softly on my lips. His lips were gentle and warm, as I had imagined they would be. My heart felt like it stopped as I waited for more, but he had pulled away already. “You’re doing very well,” he told me, his voice just above a whisper.
At that moment I made a promise to myself to work even harder. I wanted Victor to continue to show me places, to reveal new opportunities for me. I was eager for him to show me that there was more to life than the bitterness and hardship I had known for the past two years.
I took one last look at the beauty of the Louvre before we walked away from it. I hoped one day I would be able to return, wondering whether or not Victor would still be by my side if that were to happen again.
Chapter 9
We had been in France for a week, seeing all of the historical sights of Paris as well as making day trips around the city. We visited the Palace of Versailles in the southwest where Victor had bought me a garland of flowers from a local flower shop to wear in my hair as we toured the famous landmark. I marveled at the ornate rooms inside the palace, in particular was Marie Antoinette’s bedchamber where there was a giant chandelier hanging above the bed. Everything seemed to be made from gold, even the walls and the ceiling.
“I can’t imagine sleeping in a bedroom like this,” I told Victor as I admired the room. “I’d be too afraid I would ruin something.” I stared up at the portraits on the wall and the paintings on the ceiling. “I sure don’t mind looking at it though.”
The gardens surrounding the palace were almost just as impressive. Two giant rectangular pools of water covered a large portion of the palace grounds, reflecting off the sun brilliantly. The image of the palace was also mirrored in the pool’s watery depths. However, the gardens did not end there; acres of manicured trees and flowers as well as huge strips of perfectly cut lawns surrounded the palace like a protective armor. Victor and I scaled the long stretch of emerald green lawn, called the Royal Walk, arm-in-arm. When I smiled up him, he would do the same and smile back down at me. Seeing that unforced smile coming from him made me feel happy and...safe.
The next day while we were in Reims, he flagged down a person to take a picture with his phone of us standing in front of the ancient cathedral. After the picture was taken, Victor swept me in his arms into an embrace.
&n
bsp; “Your cheeks get so rosy when we walk around in the cold,” he commented, his face close to mine.
I lowered my eyelashes at him. I had learned a few days earlier that he enjoyed that little gesture. I knew that when I did that he couldn’t help himself from giving me a kiss. When he pulled away I asked, “Do you like my cheeks rosy, Sir?”
Victor twirled me around in his arms once before putting me back down on my feet. “It’s very...becoming of you.”
I laughed at his choice of words. “Sometimes I think you’ve been transplanted here from some long-ago era. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who talks the way you do.”
“I should say the same about you. The last part, I mean.”
I stuck my tongue out at him.
“You’re lucky no one saw that.” Victor tried to sound serious, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. I loved that I was able to make him comfortable enough to show this side of himself, this kind, gentler side.
As we started to make our way back to where our driver was waiting for us, I noticed an old lady sitting by a fountain with an easel set up. She held a paintbrush in her hand and seemed to be concentrating deeply on the small piece of paper sitting on the easel in front of her. Surrounding her were a bunch of tourists waiting in line to have their portrait drawn of them. I sighed wistfully. “That looks like so much fun,” I told Victor.
“Well, let’s go over there and watch her for a while,” Victor said, pulling me forward along with him.
“Wait, what…”
We stood watching as the old lady finished up an adorable painting of a small girl. She gave the picture to the girl who took it and ran over to her parents with excitement. The father walked up to the lady and dropped a few francs into an opened suitcase. As the crowd of tourists left we walked up to the lady.
“Bonjour, ma belle dame,” Victor said to her, the old lady look at him and blushed profusely. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Victor could woo anyone. He continued speaking to her in French for a while longer before he beckoned me closer to him. “This lovely lady is going to let you paint portraits for all of these tourists while I take her out to lunch.’
“What, really?”
“You told me you would enjoy it, correct?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Don’t worry. I know you would feel bad about stealing away her customers so whatever money you would be making you can give directly back to her.” He turned his head and winked at the lady behind me. I did not know it was humanly possible to blush as profusely as she did at that moment. “I’ll see you in a bit, Dove,” he told me before walking away with the ecstatic old lady.
I stared after them in stunned silence for a moment before sitting on the edge of the fountain in front of the small easel the lady had set up. A blank sheet of paper and an array of watercolor paints were ready for me to use.
“Excuse me?” I snapped my head up. A young man and a woman stood just in front of me. The man’s accent sounded as though he were Australian. He spoke to me slowly; he probably thought I only spoke French. “Can you draw our portrait for us?” He pointed to the woman. “Both of us together?”
I nodded, and decided to play up my part as a painter on the sidewalks of Reims. “Oui,” I said to him with a smile.
It felt a little strange at first to be using paints after going without them for so long, but after a while both my mind and my hands remembered what to do, how much pressure to apply to the paper, and how to shade in certain areas to create a sense of depth to the image.
The couple ended up loving the painting I made of them, and immediately after they left another group came up to me to have their portraits done. I had no idea how much time went by before Victor and the old lady returned.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Victor asked as I gave my seat back to the lady.
“Oh, it was so much fun. I had so many people come up to me to get their picture drawn. And they absolutely loved what I did for them.” I turned towards the old lady “Merci beaucoup,” I told her. I had left the money I had made next to her art supplies for her to find later. She waved her hand at me, embarrassed but still very pleased.
I was having more fun than I could ever imagine during these past few days, but I worked hard to remember to curb my tongue, to stand up straight and walk with poise, and to remember all of the mannerisms proper for a lady associating herself with a man like Victor. Victor’s harsh criticism became less and less as the days went by until he was hardly correcting me at all (not that I was making that many mistakes anymore) and I could get by with teasing him every now and then.
France was a gorgeous country, and I drank all the sights in eagerly, almost forgetting that one day we would have to leave. Our days in Paris were numbered.
The next day, I changed into the new dress Victor had bought for me the night before, remembering the smile he gave me as I thanked him gratefully for the lavish garment. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it seemed like something was changing within himself as well. Some of the harshness he had shown when we first met was starting to wear away.
I was scared that once we returned to the United States, he would resume his cold, hardened persona again.
It was a warm night, and we decided to walk to dinner. Our path was along a cobblestone street, and I imagined this is what a fairytale princess must feel like, walking arm and arm with a gorgeous prince down in the middle of a beautiful, European city.
The restaurant was near the Seine River. Before we went inside we stopped to look at the calmly flowing water. He took his hand in mine as we watched people stroll alongside the water, wrapped up in their romantic reverie like us. A warning bell started going off in my mind as I realized he was holding my hand for all around us to see, but I decided to ignore it and enjoy the moment.
We went to dinner at a beautiful restaurant with an outdoor veranda. By now I had memorized what each and every utensil next to my plate was for, and I thoroughly impressed Victor as we made our way through each course of the dinner. Even when I did make a small mistake—forgetting to use my knife or reaching across the table for something instead of asking politely for it—Victor would only give me a gentle reminder.
“You’re really coming along well, Dove.”
So have you, Victor.
As we finished our dinner—Coq au Vin, with a glass of red wine—a string quartet began playing. I watched curiously as couples occasionally got up from their seats and started dancing. I envied the way the couples seem to know each other’s movements without saying a word, their feet gliding across the dance floor effortlessly. The way they looked so lovingly into each other’s eyes as they performed these beautiful moves was enough to make me sigh longingly.
“Would you like to dance as well?”
I started at Victor’s words, not realizing he had been watching me admire the dancers. “No, no, no. I can’t dance,” I began, but decided to change my wording into something more suitable for him. “I mean, I don’t want to embarrass you because of my clumsiness.”
Victor didn’t say anything more, and I figured he must be pleased with what I said. The next time the waiter came by our table, the two of them spoke quietly in French. The waiter left and returned a moment later with what appeared to be an answer to Victor’s question. I watched him slip a folded bill into the waiter’s hands. “Merci beaucoup,” Victor told him. I waited for him to share with me what he had said to the waiter, but he acted like none of that just happened.
A few minutes later I began noticing people being herded out of the restaurant by the wait staff. I looked questioningly at Victor, but he continued to sip his wine as though nothing was wrong. “What’s going on?” I asked him.
“Relax.”
Within minutes the entire restaurant was empty except for the wait staff, the string quartet, and us. Victor got up from the table and took my hand, drawing me up from my seat. He led me to the middle of the open floor. The band began playing a slow song as his
left hand reached for my right and the other hand rested on my upper back. “Put your hand on my shoulder and then mirror my steps.” He stepped forward and I stumbled back, practically tripping over my feet. I burst out in laughter, and I even had Victor chuckling.
“I’m no good at this,” I mumbled.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I’m not expecting you to know this. We’ll go slowly at first. One, two, three. One, two, three. Step to the beat of the music. It is easier if you match your feet both to my feet and to the music.”
I stared down at our feet, determined to get the steps right. When he stepped forward I should step backwards; when he stepped to the side, I should step to the same side with him. I made many mistakes, up to a point where I fell on the ground, doubled over with laughter, but Victor was patient with me the entire time. After a while I started getting the hang of it, and we progressed to more complicated moves. We laughed at my mistakes, and Victor praised me when I did well. Suddenly we were gliding across the dance floor with such ease as though I had been dancing my entire life.
Bonds of Fate - Part 1 (An Erotic Romance) Page 7