Chapter 11
Eleven
COURAGE
THAT NIGHT, PHILLIPE stands at the kitchen window with a cup of coffee in his hand, staring out to the lit arbor. He can see Gemma under the large branches, sitting on the bench he placed down there many months ago.
He wonders about Gemma Harris. What does she really think about everything she’s heard? She doesn’t really give him a good indication of her opinion either way.
One thing he does know is that although she’s attracted to him, there’s definitely a wary and suspicious side of her. Oh, she lets me into her body, but there is no way that the woman who flinched away from me this morning trusts me.
Feeling a headache coming on, he places his empty cup in the sink, turning to make his way up the stairs. When he reaches the Rhapsody painting hanging on the wall, he stops for a moment and allows himself to look over her.
Taking in a deep breath, he sighs. As he lets it out softly, he shakes his head.
“What am I doing?” He knows he won’t get an answer, but he feels the desire to voice his request. Reaching out, he runs his finger down the sweet curve of flesh on the canvas before dropping his hand as though the memory burns him.
Turning on his heel, he makes his way to the studio.
Tonight, he is painting Armor. He is painting strength. He needs to remind himself of that, especially when familiar words keep running through his mind. Don’t let them make a villain out of you.
She is still in his head.
Spreading the drop cloth out under his easel, he moves to where he wants Gemma to stand and angles a soft spotlight on the area. Everything is ready. All he needs is her.
The only problem is that he has no clue which woman he’s referring to at that precise moment.
I glance up to the studio window and watch as a light is turned on in the west turret. After what happened this morning, I am unsure of how this evening will go.
I know what Phillipe wants from me. He made that clear earlier today. I am finding it hard to gather the courage I need to actually go up there, remove my top, and stand before him—a man who, for very good reasons, is still annoyed at me.
I look down at the bench and the inscription, Love looks not with the eyes, and try not to envy a woman who had eyes she could not see from. Because at this very moment, I would do anything not to have to stand before his perceptive and annoyed gaze.
Oh well, best to get it over with. I make my way inside and upstairs to extend my trust with the hope that he will give his in return.
When I reach the studio, I don’t wait for permission.
I simply make my way inside, determined to prove to him that I can be strong—just as strong as Chantel.
As I move through the room, I ask myself, When did this become a competition to me?
No matter how long I think about that, I still have no answer, and now, the question itself is starting to disturb me.
Noticeably, there is no music tonight, just silence. This, for some reason, pleases me.
“You came.” His familiar voice travels across the room. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
Straightening my shoulders, I try to remind myself that he is not referring to this afternoon when I brought myself to a spectacular climax fantasizing about her. No, that dark secret remains solely mine.
I make my way over to where he obviously wants me to stand and turn to him. “Of course I’m here. This is why you invited me to the chateau, correct?”
He tilts his head to the side. “What’s different tonight?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, tugging on the bottom of my shirt, a little nervous now.
This man constantly has me questioning myself.
It’s hard to believe that I ever had a moment where I was comfortable enough to let him inside of my body—unless, of course, I hallucinated that whole episode in the vineyard as well.
With the way my mind keeps playing tricks on me, it would not surprise me.
“What is different?” he repeats, moving toward me. His long legs cross the space in no time at all. “You seem defensive tonight, like you’re out to prove something…or perhaps you’re hiding something.”
Swallowing hard, I clasp my fingers together, fidgeting with my nails. “I’m not hiding anything. How absurd.”
I don’t feel he’s convinced, because those shrewd eyes narrow as he licks his bottom lip.
“Maybe I’m defensive because you challenged me this afternoon. Will you be wearing your armor? Does that ring a bell?” I snap in a tone far bitchier than I expect.
His silence is unnerving, his stare unwavering, as he slowly shakes his head. “No. That’s not it. You’re hiding something.”
Clenching my jaw, I stay stubbornly quiet until he finally turns and walks back to where he set up his paints.
“So, take off all my clothes, then? We can’t work in sections?” I ask, trying to decide what he wants.
“No, we can’t work in sections. You need to remove it all.”
“Can’t I leave my pants on until you are ready for that part?”
An eyebrow goes up as he states very calmly, “No, Gemma, you know better. The piece is full nude—unless, of course, you aren’t brave enough. I don’t understand the problem. I have seen it all before.”
I curse my own insecurities. I’m not sure if I’m ready to be so vulnerable and so exposed to him again. I reach down, unbuckle my pants, and unzip them quickly, pushing them to the floor. I kick them to the side with a little more force than necessary.
“I suppose you need these off as well?” I ask in a surly tone.
Phillipe looks at my fingers, which are touching the lace of my white panties. “Of course.”
I roll my eyes. It figures he would find a way to make me feel like I just asked a stupid question. I’ve started to unbutton my shirt when I realize he is still standing there. He patiently watches me with intense eyes, pulling his lips into a pensive line.
I raise my eyes to his and decide to try to lighten the mood. “So, I’m just supposed to bare my soul to you?”
“Well, you’re asking me to bare mine.”
Contemplating his terse reply, I reach back to undo the clasp of my bra. “That’s true in a sense, but what you are doing and what I am about to do are two completely different things.”
His eyes have moved, focusing on my breasts and my arms, which are paused behind my back for the moment.
“Yet each of those two things requires an enormous amount of trust,” he reminds me.
I can see that he’s trying to teach me a lesson—something along the lines of: You blew my trust this morning by thinking I would hurt you, so take off your shirt, and maybe I’ll forgive you.
“So, are you willing to trust me?”
I unhook the bra and slowly lower it, revealing my aching breasts to him. Moving my arm to the side, I drop the piece of lingerie on the floor.
“Yes, I am. Now, my question remains. Are you going to trust me?”
Courage ~
Tonight didn’t go very well.
My parents arrived at my uncle’s two nights ago. They made a “special” trip in order to meet the man I had moved in with. They wanted to meet Phillipe, so we went over to Uncle Beau’s home.
I’m so annoyed right now because I feel like it has somehow put a wedge between us. He didn’t say much at all when we got home, and right now—well, I don’t even know where he is. He left around ten minutes ago and told me he needed to go for a walk.
He’s never just left. I suppose this is our first fight. I keep reassuring myself that couples do that…right?
All I can think about is how upset he was.
“What do you want me to say, Chantel? That did not go well,” he told me.
“I’m sure they didn’t mean to make it sound the way it did,” I tried to reassure him as we made our way into the kitchen, but honestly, I knew that my parents weren’t being very welcoming.
“They accused me of brainwashing you, and you just stood there.”
“I did not!” I replied while I tried to convince myself that I hadn’t.
“I hardly think ‘Mom, I wanted to go’ was very convincing, especially after I just told them that I would look after you and I couldn’t help but want you close to me.
” He sounded defeated. “How could you let them make you question us, Chantel? They basically told you to leave, and when you said nothing—well, you might as well go and pack your bags.”
“Phillipe—”
He brushed by me. Suddenly, I felt more alone than I ever had before.
“Yes?”
“Don’t leave like this,” I begged. I hated that he was feeling this way, and I hated that I couldn’t express how I felt.
“I just need to be alone for a while. I’m going for a walk.” His voice softened as he asked me, “Will you be here when I get back?”
How could he think to question it? How had I made him question me?
“Of course. Where else would I go?”
I never received an answer. Instead, all I heard was the kitchen door as it slammed shut, making me jump where I stood.
Why hadn’t I told my parents everything I felt?
I didn’t understand my own reluctance, and that annoyed me.
Maybe it was because I didn’t want them to judge me—judge me like they had him. That didn’t seem fair.
It makes me wonder what kind of coward I am. I’m an adult. I’m a grown woman who found a man she loves. How dare they make me question that, and how dare I let them make me.
I need to find him. I need to go and find him and bring him back.
Bring him back to me, to us, and to the world we belong in. I need him to come back and paint me as I am—strong, courageous, and brave.
Armor—that’s what I need when I deal with my parents from now on. I need a suit of armor and the courage to stand behind my convictions to fight for what I want. And what I want is Phillipe.
I can feel my bare nipples harden in the cool air. They almost seem to be begging for attention, like they remember what they received earlier, and they want it again. I slip my fingers into my panties and slide them down over my hips, all the while keeping my eyes on the silent man across from me.