Chapter 8
Eight
SOPHIE
Sophie walked the perimeter of the small gallery space, stopping before each piece to admire it, the way she’d been trained to do as a little girl when her father used to take her to the museums on Saturdays. But today, she wasn’t as interested in the art as she was in what led her sister to acquire each piece. She wanted to see what Isabelle saw. To understand her sister better. To connect on a level that they hadn’t before but maybe finally could.
She turned at the sound of the gallery door opening, expecting to see Isabelle but instead coming face-to-face with a man, and a good-looking one at that. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair that cut across his forehead, and Sophie found it a little hard not to stare. But it was his eyes that held her attention, unwavering in their deep-set intensity, as if he was expecting something from her.
Maybe wanting something.
Unsure as to what to say to greet this potential customer, she gave him a nervous smile while her mind went blank, losing all the French she’d managed to remember in the past week.
Finally, she gave up and said, “I don’t work here.”
“I know,” the man replied in a heavy French accent.
“And how is that?” Sophie was curious, wondering if this man had frequented the gallery before.
His dark eyes raked over her. “Because you look and sound like an American.”
Even though Sophie was, in fact, an American, and therefore should look and sound like one, she knew an insult when she heard one. “Very astute. Today is my third day in Paris.”
The man gave a little smirk. “I see. So you thought you’d visit a small gallery, and snap a few photos for your social media, after eating the required croissant for breakfast, of course. Tell me, do you plan to take a river tour after this?”
Sophie’s face flushed with heat. She had hoped to take a boat cruise today. A ride down the Seine checked off one of many lifelong dreams, and it would be a great way to see the buildings and soak in the reality that she was here, and that against all odds, she’d made it happen.
The man jutted a finger at Sophie’s large tote bag, which still hung from her shoulder since she hadn’t known where to set it and didn’t want to take liberties by resting it on Isabelle’s small polished desk, which appeared to be an antique.
“You might want to get a bag with a zipper,” the man advised. “You don’t want to lose your wallet.”
Oh. Well, that was almost nice. “Thank you,” she said pertly.
“People like you are prime targets for pickpockets,” the man said.
“People like me?” she asked, barely suppressing her anger. She clutched the straps of her bag a little tighter.
“Young. First time in Paris. Maybe a little…we have a word in French… na?ve ?”
Sophie felt her nostrils flare. “It’s the same word in English.”
This earned her a little smile. “Ah. Well, isn’t that nice?”
Nice? There was nothing nice about this conversation. And she intended to end it, immediately.
She opened her mouth to tell this man to come back another time, preferably when she was back in New York, but just then the door opened and Isabelle breezed in, looking more than a little rattled, with a pinch between her brow and a faraway look in her eyes.
“Ah, Gabriel!” Isabelle quickly composed herself and greeted the man with a broad smile. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“I just walked in,” he replied, kissing her on each cheek.
Sophie’s own cheeks warmed, and she wondered if she was expected to do the same or if the moment had passed. She hoped that it had and that she wouldn’t have to get within an inch of this rude man.
“I see you met my sister,” Isabelle said proudly. “She probably knows even more about art than I do, and she’s certainly far more creative. It seems that the artistic gene missed me.” She gave a little smile, not at all bothered by this. “But then, it just makes me appreciate what others can do all the more.”
Sophie stood a little taller in Isabelle’s presence. It was impossible not to bask in the light that her older sister always shone on her. Now it was her turn to give Gabriel a smug look.
“We didn’t have the pleasure of being introduced. Gabriel Duvall.” Gabriel crossed the room, and Sophie felt her shoulders stiffen as he set a hand on one and kissed each of her cheeks, finally giving her a proper greeting. He smelled like fresh soap, and even though the gesture was customary, she knew, nothing more to it than that, somehow, it felt…affectionate. If she didn’t know better she’d say that he’d lingered a little longer with her than he had with Isabelle.
But then, Isabelle was a married woman. And probably five years his senior.
“Sophie Laurent,” Sophie said, feeling a blush warm her face.
“An American sister?” Gabriel asked, glancing at Isabelle in confusion.
“Yes,” Isabelle said with a smile in Sophie’s direction. “We share a father.”
“Ah,” Gabriel said with a simple nod, as if that was that.
And any of the awkwardness that might have been there disappeared. There was no need for an explanation or expectation of a juicy story to tell. Isabelle was French and British. And Sophie was…
Staring. She didn’t realize it until she felt Isabelle’s gaze pull her away from this infuriating man, and one look at Isabelle’s knowing expression brought a full blush to Sophie’s cheeks.
So the man was attractive in a classic, if not slightly unkempt way. Jeans and a leather jacket, even on a warm day. His curly dark hair was tousled and his thick eyebrows framed his intense hold on her, which she had no doubt held oodles of judgment.
Self-consciously, she smoothed her hair with her palm.
“Gabriel is an artist,” Isabelle explained to Sophie. “And not just any artist. My star artist. It’s Gabriel’s opening that we’re prepping for today.”
Sophie tried not to show her surprise. This was the guy that her sister couldn’t stop talking about? The new talent that every gallery had hoped to feature for his debut? The one who all the press would be featuring?
Isabelle had portrayed him to be a quiet creative, someone who kept to himself. But all Sophie saw was an arrogant cad.
And a handsome one, which probably only added to his ego.
Sophie refused to feed into it by fawning over him, instead opting for a tight smile of recognition.
“So, Gabriel,” Isabelle said as she moved to the back of her desk. She seemed a little harried, Sophie thought, and it wasn’t like Isabelle to be anything other than composed.
Or so that was what Sophie always thought. But what did she really know of her sister in fairness? She hadn’t seen her in five years, and before that, nearly eleven years had lapsed, painful teenage years when Sophie longed to reconnect with her older, sophisticated sister. To know that even though Papa was barely in her life anymore, her sisters still could be.
Now, though, seeing Isabelle check and then recheck her cell phone and then finally shove it into her handbag, she saw a more human side to Isabelle. Something more relatable. Something that almost made her feel like she was on equal footing.
Isabelle took her seat at the small desk and folded her hands in front of her, giving Gabriel a huge smile. “I’m dying to see your final painting. Now I can strategize the order of the pieces.”
Gabriel shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. “That’s why I’m here. I’m afraid I need a few more days to get it just right. I hope that’s not going to be a problem.”
“Not at all!” Isabelle said, but Sophie could tell by the high pitch of her voice that it was going to be a problem, at least a small one.
Maybe this explained the way Isabelle was behaving. This gallery show meant a great deal to her if she invited both Camille and Sophie to attend. In the excitement of coming to Paris, Sophie had managed to almost overlook the true purpose of her visit.
All the more reason to help her sister, she decided. Sure, she longed to see the sights, and positively ached to get outside and wander the streets, but there would be time for that.
Right now, her sister needed her. And it had taken twenty-eight years for her to be able to say that.
“I hear your show is going to be a big success,” Sophie said to Gabriel, trying to control her stomach from fluttering when he stared at her from the hood of those thick eyebrows. “I’m actually in town to see it.”
He looked surprised, or maybe flattered. It was impossible to know and Sophie wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. Right now, all she wanted to do was make her sister’s day a little easier, and ensure that this show was the success she deserved it to be.
“You came all the way to Paris for my opening?” He frowned at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Sophie’s cheeks didn’t feel like they could burn any hotter and she wished she hadn’t said anything. Of course she hadn’t flown halfway across the world just to see a random artist’s opening, even if her sister did own the gallery.
She’d come because she finally had an excuse. After ten long years.
“Well, I came to visit my sister. Sisters,” she corrected her, feeling the heat in her face rise by a few degrees.
She glanced at Isabelle, hoping to be saved, but Isabelle was frowning over some paperwork now, so Sophie was on her own.
With this man. Who would not stop staring at her, his mouth twitching, no doubt wishing he could insult her again, had Isabelle not been present.
“Sisters?” Finally, Gabriel turned his attention to Isabelle, forcing her to look up at him again. “How many Laurent women are there?”
Isabelle laughed. It was a lovely sound that made Sophie relax. “Three of us. My middle sister, Camille, just came over from London yesterday. I’m afraid she’s still jet-lagged.”
Gabriel frowned. “From a short train ride?”
Now Sophie had to bite back her smile. Maybe Gabriel wasn’t so bad after all.
“And how long are you here for?” Gabriel asked her.
“I leave a week from Sunday,” she replied, already sad that two nights had ticked by so quickly.
“You’re in town for a while then,” he remarked. Then, with a little smirk, he said, “I hope that there are enough tourist traps to keep you busy.”
Sophie glowered at him, but Isabelle seemed to have missed the slight. Instead, she brightened and said, “Oh, Sophie can’t wait to take in all the sights of Paris!”
She grinned at Sophie, who felt her own smile wither.
“To really appreciate Paris, you have to see it like a local,” Gabriel said, his gaze locked on her in a way that made Sophie shift on her feet, feeling unsettled.
“Of course!” Isabelle said, nodding enthusiastically. “I hope to give Sophie more of my time, but I’m so caught up in preparing for your show.”
Gabriel’s dark eyes didn’t waver. “I can show you around the city. If you’d like.”
“Oh, no—”
“Of course she’d like that!” Isabelle said at the same time.
“Don’t you need to finish that last painting?” Sophie stammered. Her cheeks felt like they were positively on fire now.
But Gabriel just shrugged and said, “I can’t work all the time. I’m French!”
At that, he and Isabelle shared a laugh, one that Sophie couldn’t quite match, and she gave her sister a nervous smile and a less-than-subtle look that Isabelle either didn’t catch or chose to ignore.
“Well, speaking of work, I should be going,” Gabriel said. “It was a pleasure.” He gave Isabelle another kiss on each cheek with the promise to call and then pushed through the door, giving Sophie a little wave before disappearing down the street.
“Isabelle!” Sophie couldn’t help it. She felt anxious. Nervous. Even distressed. But not in the way she did when she was around Camille. Now, this was more of a tightness in her stomach feeling. Apprehension, she realized.
Or maybe…more like…anticipation.
Nonsense! The man was a jerk, completely infuriating.
Handsome, but truly…loathsome.
“What?” Isabelle blinked at her innocently as she stood to fetch a glass of water from the small bar cart in the corner.
“You know that I have a boyfriend,” Sophie said as she followed her.
Isabelle looked up at Sophie with a little smile. “I know you’ve been dating a man named Jack for two years. And that you’re taking some space. Is that how they classify a boyfriend in America?”
Sophie swallowed back her answer, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to explain any of this to Isabelle, at least not easily, or quickly. And Isabelle was stressed out about all the work she had to do. The last thing Sophie should be doing was adding to it right now.
“But I’m supposed to be helping you in the gallery,” she said as Isabelle started riffling through a box next to her desk.
“You are helping me,” Isabelle said, stopping to look at her squarely. She huffed out a breath before speaking. “Gabriel needs some watching over, especially if he’s ever going to finish that last painting. This is his first opening, and he’s never created an entire collection before. I’m afraid that without a bit of pressure, this last piece will never be finished. He may have downplayed the event just now, but trust me, he knows just how big it’s going to be.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Sophie said.
“What do you mean by that?” Isabelle asked, amused.
“Just that he doesn’t seem to be lacking in the confidence department,” Sophie said knowingly.
“Oh.” Isabelle waved a hand through the air. “He’s French!”
Yes. And so was Papa. And Sophie had had her share of French artists for one lifetime. It would seem, however, that Isabelle had not.
“You love this gallery,” Sophie commented, looking around once more, thinking of the work that must have gone into making the space as it now was. Even though it was full of other artists’ work, and an eclectic mix at that, Isabelle’s stamp was all over it. There was warmth, beauty, and accessibility to everything about the space.
Seeing the distress in her sister’s face, Sophie suddenly felt bad for resisting Gabriel’s offer. “Do you really need that last painting to complete the collection?”
Isabelle didn’t need to think about it. “Yes. He’s been dropping hints about this particular painting all over town. The anticipation has been great for business, but people will be coming to the opening expecting to see it. If he doesn’t deliver…”
“He will,” Sophie assured her, even though she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t know this man, and Isabelle wasn’t the type to worry without good reason. And right now, she was clearly, visibly concerned. “Unless…I can’t speak to his character.”
Other than to say that he was smug, rude, full of himself, and extremely outspoken. Throw overconfident in there and it was a truly unappealing mix.
“Oh, he’s a great guy,” Isabelle assured her. “And a brilliant artist. Just…temperamental, you know?”
Sophie raised an eyebrow, and they shared a small smile. They’d both grown up with the same father, if not under the same roof or at the same time.
“If you spend a little time with Gabriel, you can help me by putting the pressure on him, and asking about the painting a bit, subtly, just to encourage him.” Isabelle tipped her head. “Plus, you’ll get to see all the best parts of the city, I’m sure of that.”
“I suppose that it would be nice to have a tour guide,” Sophie admitted, especially since it was clear that Isabelle would be otherwise unavailable for several hours each day. And it would be an excuse to get out of the apartment and away from Camille for a bit, too.
“Absolutely!” Isabelle agreed with a firm nod. “Trust me, Gabriel knows all the best spots in Paris. You want to see the real Paris, not just what the guidebooks tell you to see.”
“I just don’t want him to think of this as a date,” Sophie said.
“So what if he does?” Isabelle shrugged. “He’s single. You’re…taking space. And you’re in Paris!”
Sophie looked out the window onto the narrow cobblestoned street, at the antiques shop across the road, and the iron balcony with cascading flowers overhead. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of music from a street artist, like something out of a story. A movie. Or a dream.
Yes. She was in Paris, at long last.
“Make the most of it!” Isabelle went on. “Have the whole Parisian experience. The food. The sights. Maybe even the romance.” Isabelle waggled her eyebrows and Sophie felt her stomach go all funny again.
“Maybe there’s a better way to encourage Gabriel to finish the painting,” she said, feeling desperate. “I don’t see how I could have any influence over him. Besides, won’t spending time with me take him away from his work?”
“Even an artist needs to replenish his creative well. And if you are worried about how it will look, think of it as research then!”
“Research?” Sophie asked weakly.
“For your novel.” Isabelle seemed surprised to have to clarify, and it dawned on Sophie that Isabelle didn’t have any reason to question Sophie’s ability to finish a book, and finish it successfully.
She had faith in her.
If only Sophie could find it in herself.