“What, honorable enough to fix your painting?”
“No. Honorable enough to take into my confidence. If the need were ever to present itself.”
As the meaning of his words began to dawn on me, my back stiffened. He was spying on my family to see if I was good enough for Vincent. He must not have gotten the memo that it was definitely and definitively over. “There will never be a need. Don’t worry, Monsieur Grimod, I will not be intruding upon your precious home life again.” Appallingly, I felt a tear run down my cheek, and I wiped it angrily away.
The sharp lines of his face softened. Touching my arm lightly with his fingers, he said, “But dear girl, you must come back. Vincent needs you. He is inconsolable.”
I looked down at the ground and shook my head.
Jean-Baptiste placed his perfectly manicured fingers under my chin and lifted it until my eyes met his. “He is willing to make extreme sacrifices to be with you. You don’t owe us—him—anything, but I would beg you to please come hear him out.”
My resolve began to crumble. “I’ll think about it,” I whispered finally.
He nodded, satisfied.
“Thank you.” His voice cracked as his lips uttered words they must rarely speak. He walked rapidly toward the door and began making his way down the stairs, as I heard the elevator ascend.
Mamie stepped out, looking down at her notebook, and then up at me as she came through the door. Glancing around the empty studio in confusion, she asked, “Well, where did he go?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
IT WAS RAINING. HARD. I WATCHED THE RAINDROPS hit my floor-to-ceiling windows with a force that made them ricochet into the pond that was forming on my balcony.
I had been thinking about Vincent ever since Jean-Baptiste had talked to me a few hours before, comparing what he had said to what Jules had told me in the café. Vincent was trying to work things out. To find a solution. Should I give him a chance to talk, or would that just be opening myself up to the risk of more pain?
What’s better, I thought, to be safe and suffer alone, or to risk pain and actually live? Although my head and heart were leading me in two different directions, I was certain that I didn’t want my life to resemble what it had for the last three weeks: a drab existence void of color, warmth, and life.
I walked to the windows and peered out into the darkening sky, wishing the answer to my question could be printed there in plain letters across the rain clouds. My gaze lowered to the park below, and I saw the form of a man leaning back against the park gate. He was standing in the pouring rain, no umbrella, looking up at my window. I stepped out onto the balcony.
A gust of cold air caught me, and I was immediately drenched by the beating rain, but I was able to see the upturned face, three stories below. It was Vincent. Our eyes met.
I hesitated for a second. Should I? I asked myself before realizing I had already made up my mind. Ducking back into my room, I grabbed a towel from a chair and dabbed my face and hair as I searched for my rain boots. Pulling them from under my bed, I raced out into the hallway, bumping into Mamie outside the kitchen.
“Katya, where are you going?” she asked.
“Have to go out. I’ll call you if I’m going to be late,” I said as I threw my coat on and grabbed an umbrella.
“Okay, darling. Just take care. It’s pouring outside.”
“I know, Mamie,” I said, grabbing her and hugging her violently before I ran out the door.
“What has gotten into you?” I heard her call as the door slammed behind me and I sprinted down the stairs.
Once out the front door, I turned the corner of the building toward the park, and then came to an abrupt halt. There he was. Standing in the lashing rain, looking at me with an expression that made me stop in my tracks. It was an expression of dizzying relief. As if he had come across a pond of crystal clear water in the middle of a desert. I recognized it because I felt exactly the same.
I dropped my umbrella and threw myself on him. His strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me up off the ground in a desperate embrace. “Oh, Kate,” he breathed, nuzzling his head against mine.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked.
“Trying to be as near to you as possible,” he said, kissing the raindrops off my cheek.
“How long . . . ,” I began to ask.
“It’s become a bit of a habit. I was just watching until I saw your light turn out. I never thought you’d see me,” he responded, setting me down. “But let’s get you out of the rain. Will you come back with me? Home? So we can talk?”