It was the last portrait Alec had taken of me back in February, standing at the space needle observation deck taking in the view of Seattle. My hair was blowing out behind me in a fan of ebony locks. That day, I’d felt liberated. Free of the burden my father had inadvertently placed on my shoulders and the requirement to be whatever the client needed—all of that gone in that one second of peace. In that moment, I was just Mia, a girl seeing real beauty for the first time in the landscape before her.
I couldn’t believe it. Weston had purchased the most expensive piece Alec had created of me. I mean, in our conversations over the year, I’d finally told him about Alec. Well, not the nitty gritty details, just the basics. I made a point to tell him about the art, how each piece had changed me, allowed me to see life, love, and myself more clearly. We’d been in bed, naked, wrapped around one another when I told him how much I owed Alec for that lesson. How taking his money felt wrong because of what he’d given me, but I’d had no choice.
Pulling out my phone, I scanned the contacts and pressed the call button.
“Ma jolie, to what do I owe this extreme pleasure of your voice,” Alec answered in that smooth, sultry tone that reminded me of far better, happier times spent underneath the sinful Frenchman.
Turning, I scrambled onto the bed, sat cross-legged, and stared at the painting. “I, uh, I can’t believe…” Instead of finishing, I flipped the phone around and took a picture of the work, sent it to him, and lifted the phone back to my ear. I could hear the ding from my text through the line.
“Mia, parle moi, are you okay?” His tone was anxious.
My voice shook as I took in every facet of the beauty in front of me hanging over Wes’s bed. My bed with Wes. “Check your text.”
“I do not care about this type of communication, chérie.”
“Just do it.” I groaned, hopefully making my point.
A few clicks could be heard. “Ah, mais oui, you are seeing you, non?”
There are moments in time when a person wants to reach through a phone and strangle the person they’re talking to. This was one of those times. “You’re missing the point, Alec. Why am I seeing me in my boyfriend’s bedroom?”
Alec gasped. “Ma jolie, you have a copain? A boyfriend?” The word rolled around in his French accent almost making me forget I was annoyed that he wasn’t getting it. “You have made a life commitment. Félicitations!” He congratulated me, yet provided no answer as to why the art was there.
I groaned. “Alec, honey, pay attention.”
He hummed. “Oh, chérie, you always have my attention. Especially when you are bare to me. I can remember exactly what it felt like to have you in my arms that month. You recall, oui?”
“Alec, we are not going to take a walk down memory lane right now. I need answers. From you. How did this piece end up here in my bedroom?”
He chuckled and sighed. “Always eager for information. Perhaps it was meant as a surprise, compte tenu de votre amant.”
My French was rusty since I hadn’t been studying or talking to Alec much by phone the last few months but he’d basically inferred it was a surprise from my lover.
“Wes bought it?”
“Not exactly.”
My spine stiffened and I clenched my teeth so hard I could have broken rocks between them. “This is not the time to be coy. Spit it out, Frenchie.”
He made a gag type sound. “Spitting is a vile habit, one of which I do not partake.”
I rolled my eyes and flopped back on the bed. “Alec…” I warned.
“Your lover did not pay for the painting,” he said clearly.
“Then how did it get here?”
Getting information out of my Frenchman when he obviously didn’t want to give it was harder than getting a man to stave off an impending orgasm after going a few serious rounds. Fucking impossible.
Finally he sighed. “Ma jolie, I will be honest with you, oui?”
As if I needed to respond—he knew what I wanted, yet I did so anyway. “Oui. Merci.”
“Your lover called my agent. Wanted to purchase Goodbye Love. I have been refusing to sell it.”
That surprised me. An artist who created art specifically to be sold and shared with the world was refusing to sell? “Why? That makes no sense.”
He hummed again noncommittally. “It just is. I love you and wanted to make sure your beauty was being appreciated by the right people. I had rules about every painting. There were two I wasn’t planning to part with.”
“And which two would that be?”
His voice lowered to the sexy growl I knew far too well. “I like to see us in our moment of love. I have hung Our Love in my den at my villa in France. Je ne pouvais pas m’en séparer,” he said and I racked my brain, trying to put the words together into something that made sense. Mostly, I think he stated that he couldn’t bear to part with it.
I laughed. “Alec, that’s silly. The point of the exhibit was to share the art.”
“Ahh, but I want it seen daily by the right eyes. I have sold the others, each to individuals I have vetted and spoken with personally.”
I shook my head and licked my dry lips. Emotions were swirling inside me, seeing the art, talking to Alec, missing Wes. I felt like the aftermath of a tornado. I was trying to pick up the shredded pieces of my thoughts and feelings even though they didn’t match up right.