“And this painting? How did it get here?”
“I spoke to your Weston. He told me who he was, explained that he knew the terms of our relationship. I expected grabuge.”
“Garbage?” He expected garbage? What?
“Merde. Non. How you say this…may him?”
At that, I piggy snorted. “Mayhem?” I laughed.
“Oui. Mayhem. However, he was a true gentlemen. Said he’d seen the exhibit photos online and wanted to buy them.”
“Buy them. As in all of them?”
“Oui,” Alec responded as if this were not unusual. I found it highly unusual that my laid-back surfer guy wanted to spend millions on pictures…of me. We’d definitely be discussing his misuse of hard-earned dollars upon his return. God, I hope he returns.
I got up and walked through the house quickly, looking from room to room. I didn’t see any more images of me staring back. “Well…”
“I told him no. That there was only one he could have, and if he picked the right one, I would sell it to him.”
Jesus. Alec was a weird guy. Complex, peculiar, loving, demonstrative, demanding, devastatingly good in bed, but downright bizarre. Then again, weren’t all artist types? You couldn’t peg their strange nature or label it, because most people didn’t respond the same way.
“And?”
“He chose well. He chose you.”
The way he phrased it sent ribbons of tingles running up and down my arms. I rubbed them, hugging my body since no one was there to do it for me.
“They’re all of me, Alec.”
“Non. The others were times in your life, experiences, as well as some things you acted out, for the sake of the art. That one image was a direct result of who you are today. And he wanted it. So I let him have you.”
The word “have” sounded strange on his tongue. “What does that mean?”
“Consider it a gift to you and him. To your love.”
“You gave my boyfriend an image worth a quarter of a million dollars?”
“Actually that was worth half a million.”
“Fuck!”
“Mia. Je t'aime. I was going to give you half the money it made anyway. This way, you get a beautiful reminder of who you are each and every day. I adore that he hung it above the bed you share. No better place could have been chosen for that image.”
I sniffed, tears pricking at the back of my eyes. “I love you too, you know? In our way.” I meant every word.
He laughed. “Oui. I know, ma jolie.” And just like the painting’s name, he ended our call with two words. “Goodbye, love.”
I hoped that wasn’t the last time I’d hear from my filthy-talking Frenchman. Even if he was essentially giving his blessing to Wes and me in a way, I still wanted him in my life. He’d always be a part of this journey, and I’d love him until the day I died. I just loved Wes more. Was in love with him and needed him to come home.
* * *
The night was cooler than the last time I was here, but I’d been cold for weeks. I looked up at the stars and wondered if Wes could see them where he was. Even though I promised myself I’d let him initiate the contact, I pulled out my phone and hit the number for him. It went straight to an automated voicemail. Powerful bursts of tension licked through every vein as I steadied my breathing, trying not to panic because he didn’t answer. He was probably sleeping. The man was healing from a gunshot wound to the neck for crissake. Relax, Mia. You spoke with him yesterday.
“Hey, um, it’s me. Just wanted to hear your voice tonight. I’m home. In, uh, Malibu.” My gaze went to the dark ocean waves off in the distance. When I spoke, my voice shook. “The house is quiet. I don’t know where Judi is.” The waves crashed against the shore and the wind picked up my hair, chilling me even more. “I love that you unpacked my things. Or maybe that was Judi, though I hope it was you wanting to merge our lives together.” I picked at the threads at the seam of my jeans. “Wes, God, I miss you. I don’t want to sleep in our bed alone.” As much as I tried not to let them, the tears came anyway, and a few traitors trailed down my cheek. I didn’t know what else to say to tell him how much I needed him. Wanted him. Didn’t think I could live a beautiful life without him in it.
“Remember me,” I whispered and disconnected. For us, those two words meant as much, if not more, than any words of affirmation we could give one another. I glanced once more at the sky, turned and went to my old bedroom. If I couldn’t have the real thing, I wouldn’t sleep in the bed we shared together, either.
* * *