5. Chapter Five - Abby
Abby
“M ay I sit here?” I look up from the crossword puzzle I'd been trying to solve, blinking, confused. It takes me a moment to realize the question was directed at me, my brain still in my morning pre-coffee fog.
I can’t remember the last time I slept as amazingly as last night. First, I took arguably the best bath of my life, the hot water working wonders on my aching feet and muscles. Hell, I was about to fall asleep right there, but as my eyes became harder and harder to open with each blink, I thought switching to the bed would be better than, you know, drowning.
And I’m so glad I did. The bed is so big and I kept my window open slightly, letting the cold night air inside as I huddled under the thick blanket. The mattress made me feel like I was laying on a cloud and I fell asleep within what felt like seconds.
Do I feel fit as a fiddle? Definitely not. My feet still ache like I ran over coals instead of cobblestones, but I feel well enough for my trip to Louvre today. I mean, they have some benches in there, right?
I booked one of the earliest time slots to avoid the crowds and, hopefully, get a good look at the Mona Lisa without having to stand in line forever. That also meant I was one of the first people to show up for breakfast. I had my pick of the tables, so of course I chose one with a nice view and close to the buffet, basically the best seat in the room, all to myself.
Well, at least for a little while.
Now all tables are taken and Mr. Rude is standing on the other side of mine, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. I open my mouth to say something, but before I can even get a word out, he just plops down in the seat across from me.
“Well, I probably wouldn’t have said no,” I say dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. I’m not trying to start a fight, but after what he pulled yesterday, I’m not inclined to go out of my way and be nice to him either.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, sounding genuinely remorseful. I glance up at him, surprised. I didn’t think that word was in his vocabulary.
He looks a little more lively than yesterday. His dark circles have lightened up and that constant snooty frown has smoothened out. Instead of his, in my mind, signature sweater, he’s wearing a simple t-shirt that shows off his annoyingly toned and tanned arms. Funny how seemingly a little sleep is already making him more approachable than yesterday.
“You know what, I’m done anyways,” I declare and get up, gathering my cutlery, shooting a wistful look at my still half-full coffee that I was looking forward to drinking at ease before leaving. Maybe I’ll find some on my way. I still have half an hour to kill, but I don’t want Mr. Rude to ruin my day before it even properly started.
“No, stay. I didn’t mean to chase you away.” He lets out a small sigh and looks up from his coffee. For the first time, our eyes meet. My stomach does a little flip, and I glance away almost instantly, my face suddenly feeling way too warm. I’m so glad that I’m wearing makeup today, otherwise, he would see the bright red color that has crept into my cheeks.
Did I mention that he’s really handsome? It was easy to forget about that when he behaved like a dick, but now?
“I owe you an apology,” he continues, and I tilt my head curiously, now mentally prepared to meet his eyes again. Still, I look at his eyebrow instead as he goes on. “I didn’t sleep for like, two days, was hungry and just… more shit from work kept piling on and I snapped. I took it out on you.”
“And?” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“And what?”
“Well, you said you owe me an apology, you haven’t actually apologized.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles like a scolded child, but I’m not letting him off the hook that easily.
“For…?” I bait and watch as he shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s amused.
“For running you over at Gare du Nord and behaving like a jackass at the reception,” he says, narrowing his eyes like he’s amused about me still talking to him like he’s a toddler.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Good job, buddy,” I can’t help but tease him, my face softening. “Apology accepted,” I say and sit back down, taking a sip of my coffee. “You should really apologize to André and Julia too, though.”
“To who?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion as he stirs some creamer into his coffee.
“The two employees at the front desk you screamed at yesterday.”
“Ah.” The confusion washes off his face. “Yeah, of course. I’ll do that later,” he assures me and takes a sip of his coffee, then gets up. “Do you mind keeping an eye on my stuff while I get some food?”
“Go ahead,” I tell him with a nod and he gets up to get in line at the buffet. My eyes follow him, curious.
It seems his temper has truly dissipated today. He doesn’t seem fazed when a child runs into him, even though it makes him drop the croissant he was about to get and he doesn’t even react when the lady in front of him accidentally elbows him in the stomach while getting herself some cheese.
I’m still suspicious. After all, he genuinely behaved like a grade-A asshole yesterday. So far, having a bad day sounds like a reasonable explanation for that, though, so maybe I should cut him some slack.
I check my watch. Still ten more minutes before I need to leave to make it to the Louvre on time. I might as well stay until then.
“What’s your name?” I ask him when he sits down again. He looks up, surprised.
“Huh?”
“What is your name?” I repeat myself and lean my elbows on the table. “I’ve been calling you Mr. Rude in my head but I doubt that’s your real name. Or asshole, but I think we’re past that. Now that you’re not behaving like one, I’m not sure what to call you.”
“It’s Reed,” he says, opening his mouth as though he’d continue, but stops himself. “What’s your name?”
“Abby,” I say, reaching out my hand.
He takes it, a little unsure at first, but his grip is warm and gentle. Tiny sparks dance across my skin as his fingers wrap around mine, just for a moment.
“Nice to meet you, Reed,” I add, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Just like that?” His eyes jump over my face like he’s trying to discern if I’m being serious.
“I’m giving you a do-over.” I shrug and take another sip of my coffee. “And it’s the only one you’re getting. The only chance to repair your image in my head. No judgment. At least for now.”
“Thank you,” he says, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. He looks at me, and I freeze. There’s something in his eyes, that sharp, intense blue, like they could see straight through me. It’s the kind of look that makes you feel exposed, like he’s reading every thought in your head with just one blink.
Get a hold of yourself, Abby!
“You’re very welcome.” I clear my throat nervously. “So what do you do that’s been giving you a hard time yesterday, Reed?” I ask, quickly avoiding his intense gaze.
“I’m a… consultant,” he says, somewhat reluctantly. “You know how it is. High-demand clients with last minute issues.”
“Last-minute issues? Could you even resolve it from afar?”
“We managed to resolve it, yes.” He shoots me a smile. “And now I can finally enjoy my vacation and relax a while.”
“Hmm.” I nod and drink the few sips left of my coffee while he’s taking a bite off his croissant. The conversation dies, but to my surprise, the silence is not awkward. At least not for the few minutes I’m staying before I have to leave anyways.
“Well, Reed. It’s been nice meeting you officially,” I finally tell him as I stand up. “I have somewhere to be, but I’m sure I’ll see you around. Enjoy your very regular hotel room.” I wink, unable to help myself teasing him about the whole debacle.
“Hey, you said no judgment!”
“That wasn’t judgment, that was payback.” I grin and wave as I gather my dishes and walk off.
Me: *image*
Me: Success!
Max: Good old Mona. Congratulations on getting there before the crowd.
Me: Thank you. I’m just smart like that.
Max doesn’t need to know that after I entered the Louvre, I power-walked through long corridors, sprinted up several staircases trying to not make it look like I was running, and then needed to take several minutes to catch my breath when I arrived at the right level. My thighs burn, my lungs are on fire, but I was the fifth person in line for the Mona Lisa so it absolutely paid off, because there is no way my battered feet could have managed standing in that line for an hour just to snap a picture I could also find online.
Once I was first in line, I quickly snapped a few pictures and selfies, then, like the wind, I was out of there again to enjoy the rest of the museum.
I mean, yes, she’s kind of iconic, but then again, is looking at the Mona Lisa really worth standing in a crowded room for hours, just so you can get an unobstructed view of the painting from several meters away? There’s so much else I could do, like exploring the other paintings, sculptures, antiques and whatever else this giant of a museum displays.
So, I walk back to the beginning of the corridor that holds the Italian paintings, determined to get culturally enriched.
The first painting that catches my eye is called “Triumph of Titus and Vespasian” by Giulio Romano. I’ve never heard of the guy, but a quick Google search tells me that he was a pupil of Raphael and that name absolutely rings a bell.
It shows two important-looking men riding in a decorated chariot pulled by horses, surrounded by people and an angel flying behind them to drop crowns on their heads.
Maybe I should have gotten the audio tour after all. I sigh. That’s what I get for not wanting to get in line. It’s not too late to get one, but the thought of walking down all those stairs and grabbing a guide, then walking them up again just to have a bit of background to the paintings I’m looking at already makes me grimace. My feet are still killing me a bit from the escalated walk along the Seine yesterday and I’m trying to get into their good graces again.
And who really needs an audio guide if I have my phone ready to look up all the information I want?
I gasp as someone crashes into me, throwing me off balance for a second and making me take a step back. That can’t be a coincidence. It’s too much like yesterday to be a random accident. I catch myself, straighten up, and glare at the culprit.
“You!” I hiss when I notice Reed head in front of his mouth and silently laughing beside me. “Watch where the fuck you’re going,” I say mockingly and playfully punch his arm, making him laugh even harder.
“Sorry, I couldn’t restrain myself,” he says with a chuckle once he’s calmed down. “You’re really cute when you’re annoyed.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s okay to annoy me.” I roll my eyes, heart beating into my throat. But I swallow the nervousness quickly. “You know what happened last time,” I continue with a grin. “Karma is on my side.”
“It certainly is.” He grins.
“Did you follow me? What are you doing here?”
“Coincidence,” he shrugs and I look at him wide-eyed, not sure if I believe it. “Seriously. I bought my ticket last week, you need to see the receipt?”
“No, that’s alright,” I mumble, still skeptical.
“If I’d known the Louvre is what had you in a rush I would have offered to share a taxi. Anyways, what are we looking at?”
“Well, I am looking at that one.” I point at the painting in front of me. “Not that I know who Titus or Vespasian are, but I like how dynamic it is.”
“Titus was a Roman emperor and Vespasian was his father,” he explains. “Here they return to Rome after their victory over the Jewish revolt and the capture of Jerusalem.”
“Have you learned a pamphlet by heart?” I ask him, eyes widening. Does he seriously just have that kind of background knowledge on the scene depicted here up his sleeve? I look around but there’s no other badge to elaborate, so he’s definitely not reading it off somewhere.
“Art used to be my favorite subject in school.”
“Please,” I scoff, shaking my head. “If your school was anything like mine, you painted bananas and maybe occasionally watched fifty-year old documentaries on Da Vinci. You’re trying to tell me that coincidentally your teacher taught about this very specific painting I’ve never heard of before seeing it here?”
“Well, you caught me,” he admits with his hands raised in defence and a chuckle falling from his lips. “I just like art and reading.” He shrugs shyly. "And my memory’s sharper than you give me credit for."
“I knew it,” I tease him and poke his arm jokingly. “You’re an art nerd! Well, that’s great for me, because I’m too lazy to return downstairs to get myself an audio guide. How about you just tell me some background about the interesting paintings?”
“How do you define interesting?” He raises his eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
“Whether I like them or not.” I grin and give him the biggest puppy eyes I can muster. “It’s probably not going to be too many, just the ones that catch my eye. And preferably some less…” I gesture at one depicting a scene from the bible that even I recognize. “…religious and more historical.”
“Alright, then let’s head over to the French paintings.”
We smile at each other for a moment and then he leads the way to the French paintings because, apparently, he doesn’t only remember history very well but also the layout of the Louvre. I’m pretty sure I would have gotten lost at least twice on my way there.
“I come here whenever I’m in Paris, which is at least once a year,” he explains casually and leads me past a room I walked past before. That explains it, I guess.
I have a map of the Louvre on my phone and I’m not afraid to use it, but I would much prefer to not have to stare at my phone so often while I’m in the presence of century-old paintings. It just doesn’t seem right to stare at a phone screen while facing these intricate artworks, like I’m disrespecting the ghosts of their creators.
He leads me through the Mona Lisa room again.
“Stop.” I just saw a painting of dogs. Those warrant a picture. After I snap one, we continue further until we reach a room with red walls and a painting that reaches from the floor up to the very, very high ceiling.
“What the hell?” I whisper in awe as I come to a stop, laying back my head to try and take the painting in. “How big is this?”
“Roughly six meters high and ten meters wide,” he says, not sounding impressed at all. But I’m flabbergasted. How do you even paint that? I mean the logistics must have been a challenge and it still looks so lifelike.
“This is one of the interesting ones,” I let him know and pull on his sleeve, before I step a bit closer. “Tell me about it, oh walking art history book. Please.”
The painting is absolutely massive, yet packed with the smallest, intricate details. At its center, a woman kneels on an elegant pillow in front of three large steps. A man holds up a crown in front of her, while in the background, a stern-looking figure in church robes, who I’m assuming is a pope or bishop, holds a large golden cross. Surrounding these three are crowds of people, even standing on balconies, all gathered in a grand, expansive room.
“Hmm, let’s see.” Reed taps his chin, eyes dancing over the painting. “It’s Napoleon’s coronation, painted by Jacques-Louis David, and commissioned by Napoleon himself. It took him a bit longer than two years to paint.”
“No wonder,” I whisper, almost losing my balance as I try to lean my head back more to see the top. “It’s so intricate I thought it would be more like five years.”
“The coronation took place in Notre Dame. The guy holding the crown is Napoleon.” He points at him. “The unfriendly-looking guy holding the cross is Pope Pius the… seventh, I think?” He scratches his chin as he thinks, looking very handsome doing so. “The woman kneeling is Joséphine de Beauharnais, Napoleon’s wife. The girls behind her are his sisters and the child in front of them is Napoleon’s son—” He points at the figures as he explains about them and I can’t help but stare. He has really pretty forearms and hands.
Get a grip, Abby. You can’t just crush on the next best guy who has intellect and good looks.
“Oh wow. The whole family was there, huh?” I clear my throat.
“Fun fact: not everyone in the painting was actually there in real life. See that woman sitting on the throne?” He points to a figure in the stands. “That’s Napoleon’s mother. And the guys all the way on the left?” He gestures toward two men. “Those are his brothers. Neither of them attended the coronation because Napoleon and his brothers had a falling out and his mother didn’t attend as a way to protest the friction between them.”
“Wow,” I say and shake my head. “If my brother were to ever get crowned for something, there’s no way I’d miss out on the fun, even if we argued.”
“I don’t know, it doesn’t look very fun.” He takes a critical look at it. “But what do I know, maybe official ceremonies were a quicker and more entertaining back then.”
“True,” I agree and take a few steps back, trying to get a better look of the whole thing. “I wish I could have seen Notre Dame from inside yesterday. It looks stunning.”
“Is it still closed?”
“Yeah, of course. I read somewhere that it’s not supposed to be back open for another year or so.” I purse my lips in a pout. “What a shame. I guess I’ll have to come back here.”
“You don’t look very thrilled about that.” He laughs. “Not a fan of Paris?”
“I am, kind of. Maybe.” I shrug, making him chuckle. “Maybe I’ll come during a less… romantic time though. Spring seems to draw out all the lovebirds.” I roll my eyes when I realize that at least five couples are in here, holding hands and whispering to each other. “Anyways, is that what Notre Dame looked like from inside?” I point towards the painting.
“I don’t think so.” He does that sexy chin scratch again. “The balconies were still there of course, but I think they got rid of the curtains.”
I sigh as I take another long look at the painting. Then we slowly make our way further into the room and my eyes wander around the others on the opposite wall.
“Oh, that one!” I point to our left. It shows a young man lying on clouds, reaching out toward a glowing woman floating over him, who is wearing a light, flowing dress and seems to shine with soft, golden light. Her arms are stretched toward him, like she’s trying to lift him up or take him with her. It looks warm and magical and makes me stop dead in my tracks to take a closer look.
“Pierre-Narcisse Guérin. Aurora and Cephalus.” He takes a long and hard look at the painting. “Aurora is the Greek goddess of sunrise. She fell in love with Cephalus, a very skilled mortal hunter. I’m not really sure what exactly the painting depicts, but in the myth, Cephalus rejected Aurora as he was already married. In some retellings, it is said that she took him anyway and bore him a child. His wife, however, figured something was up and followed him to the woods one day to spy on him. She made a sound and out of reflex, he threw his spear and killed her.”
“Wow, that’s so tragic,” I whisper. “That poor woman.”
“That poor woman,” he agrees. “And that poor man. Imagine living with the knowledge that you killed your wife who you rejected an actual goddess for.”
“He really must have loved her,” I whisper, eyes dancing over the painting. That gives the painting a whole new perspective, way more tragic than I initially thought. “It is beautiful though. I really like the light in it. It definitely stands out against all the dark paintings of naked people.
“Look, there’s another one.” I step closer. The picture shows an unconscious woman, held under her shoulders by a guy with a rather glorious beard in a brown robe, while another man with a desperate expression on his face hugs her legs as his hair drapes over her thighs. It looks… passionate. Looking at the man tugs at my heart. “ The burial of Atala ,” I read the badge out loud. “ The native American Chactas buries his Christian fiancée Atala who has poisoned herself to preserve her vow of chastity. Oh wow. Why are all of these so tragic?”
“The painter is Girodet. He also did the painting over there.” Reed points somewhere behind me and I follow his eyes to another painting with beautiful light. “That one is ‘Sleep of Endymion.’ Bright moonlight is kind of his thing. And so are tragic stories.”
“Why? What’s Endymion's story?” I ask, already making my way across the room to take a closer look at that painting.
“Endymion was a human shepherd who was considered extremely handsome—like the perfect example of male beauty. The moon goddess fell in love with him and asked Zeus to put him into an eternal sleep, so he wouldn’t leave her and his beauty would be preserved. According to the myth, she went on to have fifty children with him.”
“So basically sleeping beauty, the Grimm version,” I mumble.
“Basically,” he agrees with a nod. “Just male and he never woke up. The moonlight represents the Goddess Diana who’s visiting him at night, drawn by his beauty.”
“That’s kind of sad. Imagine just sleeping your life away.”
“The horror,” he says, deadpan, and I grin.
“Okay, I can get behind the sleep, but forever? In the wild? And naked?” I shudder. “No thank you.”
“You make a point.” He chuckles and lays his hand on the small of my back to lead me to the next painting. I bite my lip to hide my grin, quite enjoying the warmth of his hand.
“Well, I think I’ve seen enough drawn genitalia for today,” I say as we walk down the stairs, his hand still resting against my back.
“I don’t want to disillusion you, but if we go to the statues, you’re going to see a lot more of those.”
“At least you didn’t offer to show me yours.” I roll my eyes when I hear his low chuckle. “Seriously, how can there be so many naked people for such tragic stories?”
“Tragic, but also full of love,” he points out, but I shake my head.
“From what I’ve seen here, love causes you nothing but problems, death, and tragedy,” I point out and sigh when I see another staircase. “It makes me think I’m better off not dating after all,” I say under my breath, barely above a whisper.
I see him look at me for a long moment from the corner of my eyes.
“Such a shame,” he whispers, and I glance at him, heart beating into my throat. Did he really say that?
Maybe I’ve imagined it. His presence does things to me, like butterflies racing in my stomach and a constant blush gracing my cheeks. Auditory hallucinations don’t seem out of the question. So I pretend like I didn’t hear it.
We walk through exhibitions of Roman, Greek, and Egyptian artifacts and statues until we reach the final wing of the museum.
“Okay,” I whisper, drawing out the ending of the word as I slowly turn around myself and take in the room. “That’s… different.”
“Different how?” He laughs. I shake my head and gesture around the very off-looking room.
“I mean look at it! A marble room with naked people in every corner? Very Night at the Museum if you ask me, only they have orgies when they come to life, not bash in each other's heads.” He shakes his head at me but I’m not done. “And trees! Why the hell are there trees in here?”
“Now that you say it,” he agrees and tilts his head, trying to see the room from the perspective of someone who’s never been here. “You’re right. It’s kind of weird. I never noticed.”
He leads me closer to the statues, his hand still at the small of my back. And I have to admit, I really like it there. I almost can’t focus on the statues, much too distracted by the warmth of his hand, his low voice as he explains about the artworks.
“And there’s the first butt,” I say and giggle, quickly whipping out my phone to take a picture to send to Max. Only seconds later, he answers with aubergine and water drops emojis that make me grimace.
Me: Ehw. Don’t disrespect the ART.
Max: That ass is art alright.
I shake my head, a grin tugging on my lips. I’m pretty sure I knew Max was gay before he realized it himself, and supporting him and being there for him is one thing, but the intricate details he felt compelled to tell me about each and every of his sexual encounters was a whole different can of worms.
There is just some stuff a sister doesn’t need to know about her brother. Thankfully, he’s calmed down since he got together with his boyfriend. Accidentally calling his boyfriend daddy in my presence out of instinct, I can deal with, but I really didn’t need to know about his encounter with a guy that was into knife play.
He’s not too wrong about that ass though. It’s a nice, marble ass. Then I take a step back to get a better look of the whole statue and not only its backside and let Reed lead me through the room.
“These poses are so dramatic,” I say seriously as we walk past a statue with an especially over-the-top expression. It’s of a man, completely naked except for a cloth draped across his upper body, which he’s gripping tightly in one hand. His other arm is raised behind his head, elbow sticking up to the sky, while his head tilts back and his eyes are closed like he’s about to fall asleep standing up.
Reed steps a little closer, and I try not to pout when he lets go of me. “I think he’s supposed to be dying,” he says with a chuckle.
“No way,” I giggle, walking over to read the plaque. “Michelangelo. Dying Slave. Are you serious?”
“Maybe people just died more dramatically than they do today,” Reed shrugs, and I bite my lip from smiling when his hand lands on the small of my back again as we continue looking at the statues.
“I’ve got to say, I’m very impressed with the foliage though. The way it’s conveniently placed in a gravity defying way is just amazing.”
“That’s the beauty of art,” Reed points out. “You can create whatever you want to, gravity be damned.”
“I know, it just boggles my mind.” I chuckle, then come to a standstill. “Oh wow.”
Her dress looks like it’s blowing in the wind, as though she’s walking straight into a strong breeze, making it hard to believe that it’s actually made of stone. It looks so lifelike, so light I can’t stop looking at it. She also has large wings, with feathers that look extremely detailed, even from way down here. The statue stands high up on a huge stone base, like she’s standing on a windy cliff, overseeing the whole room.
“Is she missing her head and arms or are they left off intentionally?” I ask Reed in a whisper. It sure looks like they broke off, but who knows? Artists do some strange things to their artwork after all. Maybe this is a symbolism I just don’t understand.
“They’re actually missing,” he explains in a whisper. This one is catching the attention of a lot of visitors who are mumbling among their groups. “As are her feet, even though you can’t really see them from down here. She’s Nike, the Goddess of victory. It’s supposed to show her as though she just landed with only the heels of her feet on the ground.”
“Wow.” I whistle softly. “Do you know what her arms looked like?”
“They think she used to hold a spear or a cross in one hand, and a trumpet in the other—you know, one of those really long ones, I forget what they’re called. For a long time, the statue wasn’t even in one piece. They only recently put more of her back together after finding new parts.”
“That’s so cool,” I whisper, eyes jumping all over the statue, not knowing where to look. It’s all so impressive. “Why didn’t they repair her though and add the arms?”
“I think they only cleaned her up. They didn’t want to add any brand-new elements; that’s probably blasphemous in the art community.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. I still wish I could see her in her full glory.”