Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
André held my hand, but watched his feet as he walked, clearly thinking about something. We paused at a crosswalk, and I tugged him into me. “What’s on your mind?”
He hesitated a bit before asking, “Do you want kids?”
“It was never an option with Regan.” I shrugged. “I haven’t had much time to think about it since. You?”
André shook his head. “I didn’t think I did, but then I saw you holding that baby.”
The light changed, and I nudged André to walk, taking his hand once more. “We’ve got a long time to decide about kids. We don’t have to have a long emotional talk about it right now.”
André gave me a grateful smile, tugging me in for a kiss on my cheek.
Back at the apartment, I sat on the couch to prepare for our weekly Golden Girls marathon. “Are you sure you’re ready for me to go back to work full time?” André asked. “I could always stick to video conferences.”
Was I ready? Ha. Not in the slightest. But if I truly loved this man, I couldn’t keep him glued to my side forever.
“You have to, if for no other reason than yourself. I know you say it wouldn’t bother you to stay home, but I can’t let you do that.
You have to go in and close this deal—in person.
Shaking hands is much more satisfying than hanging up a Skype call. ”
André took the seat next to me. “I’ll call you every chance I get. And I can always come home for lunch. The office isn’t that far away.”
He then reached for the remote, and my brows furrowed as he turned the TV off.
“There’s a reason I had to keep you out at lunch today,” he confessed.
“What are you talking about?”
André stood and extended a hand to me. “Come with me.”
Respecting my request to see him at all times, André didn’t ask me to close my eyes. Instead, he led me down the hall to the spare bedroom.
I was glad I’d unpacked that case.
“I hope it’s okay, Penn and Mitchell had to rush to finish it while Amanda and I had you distracted.”
André pushed the door open and led me inside.
The original furniture was gone, and the walls had been painted a pristine white.
A blank canvas sat on an easel in the corner, with blank ones propped against the wall.
The wardrobe had been replaced with a bookshelf, filled to the brim with hundreds of paints and rows upon rows of brushes.
Strolling over to the brushes, I ran my fingers across the bristles. I’d never felt ones so soft. Tubes of acrylic and cases of oil paints in every color imaginable sat on the shelves.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I got a little of everything,” André said from his position leaning against the doorframe.
I gasped. “I think you bought Joann’s out of business.”
“Is it too much?”
I shook my head. “I love it. But you didn’t have to take those gorgeous pictures off the walls.”
He shrugged. “Paint me some new ones. I felt terrible about you being here alone all the time. I thought it would be nice for you to have this back.”
I set down the tube of gold acrylic paint in my hands and crossed the room to him.
“I love you,” I said, hauling him into a bruising kiss.
Monday morning came faster than I expected. I had André and both counterparts of Double Trouble on speed dial. I was terrified to be left alone, but it had to happen.
André and I were both awake well before his alarm.
Neither of us had much to say, so I rolled out of bed to make him some coffee. I thought about making breakfast, but it would have been useless. André would only eat breakfast if I cooked, but forcing food down would just be a bad idea.
I’d had years of practice at masking, but André wasn’t so lucky. He stumbled out of the bedroom ten minutes before he had to be out the door. He’d showered and fixed his hair, but the dusting of stubble across his chin gave his nerves away—he never skipped shaving.
With Regan possibly looming around every corner, I was less than thrilled about being left to my own devices, but it was time for me to support André. He needed me.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to just stay home for one more day?” he asked, sitting down on the couch to tie his shoes.
I did. God, it was all I wanted, but I couldn’t do that to him. Things needed to return back to normal.
“I would love for you to stay home with me,” I confessed.
“But I can’t ask that of you. You’re not me.
You need to be around other people. You need to see your clients’ faces while they make the biggest decisions of their lives.
You’re more important to these people than you think and leaving the apartment every day is more important to you than you realize.
You have to do this. I can’t make you isolate yourself. ”
“One more day won’t kill me.”
“No, it won’t, but one turns into two, and that turns into a week that turns into a month and the next thing you know we’re living like cavemen.” I forced myself from the couch, grabbing his bag and his jacket. “Now you need to go, or you’ll be late—again.”
André reluctantly pulled himself to his feet, slipping into his jacket and taking the laptop bag. “You’ll call if you need anything?”
I nodded, blinking away tears as André pressed his lips against mine.
We lingered, neither of us wanting to be the one to break it.
He didn’t look at me when he pulled away, only shutting the door behind him.
Flipping the deadbolt, I checked the back door before doubling back to re-check the front. After that, I… froze.
I stood in the middle of the living room, wondering what to do with my day. For once, we were caught up on all the cleaning. I’d been feeling better, and we’d been able to establish more of a routine, which left me with very few options.
Looking at the door to my new studio, the supplies inside seemed to taunt me. I went to the bedroom, digging out a T-shirt and pair of jeans that could survive getting dirty and changed into them.
The fact that André had turned his spare bedroom into a studio just for me was mind-blowing. It was always a goal of mine, and I had a decent amount of money saved before Regan found it.
The canvas sitting on the easel was a bit big to start with, so I swapped it for a smaller one.
Refusing to spend the day in darkness, I walked to the window and yanked the curtains open.
A newly-bloomed magnolia tree across the road caught my eye and after dragging the easel to the window I got to work.
I painted all day. André got held up at lunch and couldn’t make it back, so I kept working.
I was jarred back to reality when I heard the front door open and André called out to me.
“In here,” I responded, dipping a fine detail brush into the gold paint. In the past, I used what was cheap. This one, however… It was like André had bottled liquid gold.
“Wow…”
Still fully dressed, André walked into the room.
I glanced down at myself—paint smeared every exposed inch of skin. “You should change before you touch me. I think I’m wearing more paint than the canvas.”
André only smiled, stepping up behind me. “I think I’ll be okay. That is stunning,” he said.
I set down my brush and tried to see what he did. Green, purple, and golden-yellow meshed together in a way that shouldn’t work. In the middle was a crisp white magnolia. Real ones didn’t have veins of gold, but the shimmering paint provided something that the painting was missing.
“It’s not perfect. I haven’t painted in years.”
“It is perfect. I’ve never seen anything so flawless. Aside from you, that is.”
“Oh, shut up,” I admonished, catching myself before I smacked him with my paint-covered hand.
Suddenly, my days were spent rushing through chores so I’d have more time in the studio.
If I could lose myself in the painting, I didn’t have the space to think about anything else.
I found inspiration in the smallest things: dogs walking by, or trinkets that André had collected during his travels.
It didn’t matter what the painting was, or how much I hated it once it was finished. André would only smile and say, “It’s perfect,” before hanging it the moment it was dry. Piece by piece, I filled the apartment walls.
Though I spent days working on a true masterpiece.
I’d selected the finest oil paints André had bought, along with the biggest canvas, and I did my best to recapture the night I spent with André during Mardi Gras.
I’d never struggled so hard on a piece, pouring over it for the better part of a week.
Every night, André would fill me in on work over dinner. Typically, he talked my ear off about whatever client he’d been arguing with. Though when it came to this big sale he’d been chasing, he was oddly tight-lipped. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have been suspicious.
He’d also discovered my old clothes and immediately threw them away, replacing them with a brand new painting smock.
I was fishing it out of the dryer on a Tuesday morning, when he emerged from the bedroom in the nicest suit I’d seen yet. It was navy blue, with a matching silk tie that he tied effortlessly.
“You must have a big meeting today,” I commented, scared to even touch him for fear of ruining it. André didn’t care, scooping me up in his arms for a toe-curling kiss.
“I’d say so. I think I’m finally closing that big sale. Are you finally going to finish that painting you won’t let me see?”
“I think so—I want it to be just perfect.”
“It will be.” I stretched onto my toes, letting the tip of my tongue tease André’s before he grabbed his bag and left.
As I walked to the studio—my studio—I tried to find the opening to the smock. I just about had it when I heard a knock at the door. Smiling, I turned back without a second thought.
“Did you forget your keys again—”
My words hitched. Something closed around my throat, and everything went black.