Chapter 18
Luc is going to teach me to drive?
“Are you coming?” My new driving instructor pokes his head through the doorway.
“I guess you have a driving lesson.” André raises his eyebrows and nods his head toward the door.
“I’m living in the twilight zone,” I mumble, my numb feet stomping my way to the door.
“Have fun,” André calls just as I slam the door shut.
Learning to drive with the really hot, cute guy who I can’t stand. Yep. André is right, fun is totally the thing I’m going to have.
Luc honks the horn; I can see him angrily waving his hands in the windshield. “I’m coming,” I yell. Impatient turd-sicle. Releasing a deep breath, I descend the stone steps and quickly make my way to the truck.
“Are we learning to drive, or are we just going to stare at the car?” Luc huffs when I open the driver’s side door.
“I’m surrounded by turd-sicles,” I grumble under my breath, closing the door behind me. I buckle my seat belt, staring at Luc expectantly, waiting for my next instruction. Luc spends the next ten minutes running me through the important aspects of driving, showing me how to adjust the mirrors, and how to use the pedals, the indicator, and the hand brake.
“Impératrice, the car won’t start by staring at it.”
“Maybe if you gave me the keys,” I say through gritted teeth.
Luc laughs. “The keys,” he points to where the keys are already in the car, “are right there.”
“Oh right.” Heat floods my cheeks. Good one, Rory. I twist the key Luc pointed at, and the engine roars to life instantly as the windscreen wipers start squeaking and the hazard lights blink. “Oh pear and fig sticks,” I squeak, touching buttons on the middle pane of the car, causing the windscreen to blow cold air as the heat blares in our faces.
“Impératrice.” Luc laughs, grabbing my hands and placing them in my lap, before touching all the buttons to turn everything I just turned on, off. “You weren’t lying about never driving,” he muses, still laughing. A shiver goes down my spine at that name—I need to look up the meaning of it. Because that name ties my stomach in knots. The good kind. Although, there has been a time or two I’ve felt the need to shit from pure excitement. Sadly, both of those times were because Luc smiled at me. Damn him and his honey eyes.
“Really? What was your first clue?” I deadpan.
“Why do you say that?” he asks. “Is it an American saying?”
“No.” I snort. “It’s stupid. Mom hates swearing, she always told me that it makes a woman seem unladylike. Not that she was the poster child for manners.” I shrug, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Every time I would swear, she would correct me with her stupid saying.” God, I’m sounding like the poster child for mommy issues.
I can feel the heat of his gaze on the side of my face. “I think it’s sexy when a woman says fuck.” The way he drawls makes my panties wet. I turn the steering wheel a little too far and we almost hit a tree.
Luc quickly puts his hand on the wheel, correcting the car at the last moment. “I can see we’re going to need more than one lesson.” He laughs.
I shake my head, needing to focus on the road. “Oh goodie, more lessons,” I mutter.
I stomp into the chateau. A whole two weeks of driving lessons down, and I’m still not getting any better. At this point, I’m blaming the teacher. I slam the door shut behind me as I make my way to where André is still working on the windows.
“Fun driving lesson?” André asks.
“W-w-T-t-F-f,” I continue to stammer, looking for the correct word.
“Ah, she is lost for words. Must’ve been a really fun driving lesson.”
“André,” I growl. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I rest my thumb and forefinger on the bridge of my nose, blowing out a harsh breath, trying to count to a million at this point, because any number under that is not enough to calm me down. “Did you see what he wore today? A bike-riding helmet.”
André gives me a blank stare. “Well, it is necessary, at least he compromised on the shin pads.”
“A bike helmet is not necessary, and the shin pads were ridiculous, because protection from the knee down is not vital.” I roll my eyes, my fingers tingling with how annoyed I am.
“Says you,” André grunts.
“Do you know how embarrassing it was driving down Chemin des Plaines with Luc mouthing ‘get out of the way’ at anyone driving opposite us?”
“You should be thanking him; he’s doing his civic duty.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I pop my hip out. “Whose side are you on, André?” I gasp in mock hurt.
“The side who didn’t scratch my car.” André glides a stroke of paint on the window frame.
“I told you that was an accident.”
“Aurora,” he blows out a calming breath, “there is duct tape holding my side mirror on.”
“I said I was sorry.”
André nods. “Five times.”
“When are these lessons going to end,” I growl, picking up a paintbrush.
“When you stop collecting things,” Luc grunts from behind me.
“Oh goodie, Luc’s here.” My voice is anything but excited as I look at him over my shoulder. “Shin pads again?” I grumble. Luc is seriously getting under my skin, and not in the good way.
“Don’t worry, tomorrow I won’t forget my cup either.”
“Good idea.” André nods, sharing a silent conversation with Luc.
I stare between André and Luc and mutter, “Turd-sicles.”
“Did she run over anything today?” André asks, handing me the tray to dip my paintbrush into.
“My driving instructor said I was much improved.”
“Sofié is not going to be happy when she finds a nice tire track on her flower bed tomorrow.”
“That. Was. An. Accident.” I gasp, having sworn Luc to secrecy over it.
“And I kept your secret for as long as I could,” he paws his chest, “André, here, blackmailed it out of me.”
“Hey,” André holds his hands up in defense, “I’m just glad we moved all the power cords after Aurora ran over them.”
“That was also an accident.” It’s like these two are working against me or something.
“You mean when you caused half of Carcen to have a blackout?”
“Shut up,” I grit out, my jaw ticking. Who the hell would keep such vital cords in the middle of the driveway? The way I see it, André should’ve used a different power supply, and maybe had, like, an orange sign with do not run over on the cords or something.
“Hey, I’m not complaining. I mean, everyone misses the giant cords connected to the power lines. It takes someone special to try to avoid it and yet still drive over it.”
“You’ve been talking to Luc,” I huff, because we have two very different versions of this story. “He told me it would be fine to drive over.”
“I said, try to avoid them. If you can’t, go over them slowly.” Luc unclips the stupid helmet and tosses it to the side, his hair sticking up in different angles, and yet he pulls it off so well.
“Yellow, lellow.” I wave him off with a flick of my wrist.
Luc stares at me, blinking. “What?”
“You know, like potato, pahtato, yellow, lellow.” I shrug, “It’s a classic from the Book of Aurora.”
André mouths, The Book of Aurora? as Luc replies, “God help us, she has a book of sayings.”
Popping the lid on the tin of a new can of arctic white, the turpentine smell excites my senses. The only good thing about my driving lessons being finished for the day is now it’s officially time to start painting all the newly fixed windows. Luc enforced a hard rule I wasn’t allowed to paint the windows until I had enough hours driving under my belt, I could take the car out on my own–incase André would need me to randomly go and pick up more supplies. I guess jokes on him, I’m not even able to drive down the driveway without taking something with me, let alone to the center of town. I lift the paint tin and pour a bit of paint into the tray. Running my hand over the bristles on the new paintbrushes to loosen them up from their stuck state. My fingers tingle as I sniff the new brush smell deep into my lungs. I love opening new paintbrushes; there is something so magical about each new bristle standing at attention, just waiting to be dipped into paint and turned into something magical. I dip the brush in the paint, excitement bubbling in my chest. Finally something I’m actually good at. With easy flicks of my wrist, the shell of the window is painted in record time. My hair is caked with white paint clumps, my fingernails tarnished with streaks of drying paint, and splashes of paint stain my clothes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” André lightly squeezes my elbow, causing me to jump, so in the zone I forgot he was here.
“Yes.” I smile at André and kiss him on both cheeks before he leaves with a soft click of the door. Already in such a groove, I continue on throughout the night.
“Aurora,” I hear my name being called. “Aurora, wake up.”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble and swat him away like an annoying fly.
“Aurora, wake up.” André deflects my hand and shakes my shoulders again.
“André, we’re friends, but what are you doing in my room at the crack ass of dawn.” My eyes open a sliver to see a shit-eating grin grace André’s lips.
“Having dreams about me in your room, eh?” André jokes. “Tell me, is it with or without my clothes on?”
“Turd brain,” I grumble as I move to a sitting position.
“You do know in French that is not an offensive term.” André laughs.
“W-w-w-what am I still doing here?” I smooth a hand down my matted hair. As I scan the room, my eyes catch on the window frame I started painting last night.
André takes both of my hands in his own and lifts me to my feet. “If I knew you were going to sleep here, I would have stayed,” André says, his eyes softening.
“I started painting these window frames and I must have fallen asleep,” I say on a yawn and stand on the balls of my feet, stretching the kinks out of my body.
“Wow,” the only word André utters as he looks over the mural I spent the night doing. “Aurora, what is this?”
I smile as I stare at my artwork, explaining the story behind it to him. “From beginning, middle, and end, these paintings tell a story of the young duchess lost in an enchanted forest, meeting the protector of the forest—the lion with sapphire eyes that is dotted around the chateau. As the duchess journeys farther into the enchanted garden, she encounters a dove, a sign of peace. It guides the right way. As she moves farther down the path, she finds a raspberry bush. Plucking one of the succulent berries, the duchess bites down, sending rivets of red juice down her chin. But the berry causes her to become sick and turns her into a tree in the forest, now under the protection of the lion with sapphire eyes. There, she stayed for fifty years, waiting for her soul mate. Until one day, a duke gallops down on his shiny black horse. He stops at the base of her tree and sits down, letting the blades of grass rest between his fingers. He looks up at the sky, his eyes searching, beseeching, looking for the person who completes his soul. When a crystal-clear tear drops and lands on the exposed root of the tree. Something magical happens. The curse is broken, and the duchess is freed,” I explain the story behind the painting. “Here they are walking hand in hand to the gates of Chateau des éveillés.” I’d perfectly replicated the front wrought-iron gates.
“Aurora, this…this is art.” André admires my work, taking in what I’d created.
“Thank you,” I reply, a gentle blush heating my cheeks, slowly rubbing a featherlight touch over the dried painting. It was probably one of the most challenging paintings to do, mostly because a window frame doesn’t give you much room to paint a mural, and I had to use my dad’s oil paints. “I wanted to add a bit of quirkiness to the room, but with a tribute to its original owners.”
André shakes his head, gaping at me. “I cannot figure you out,” is all he mumbles, a smile firmly set in place.
“Trust me, neither can I,” I mumble.
“They came out so well.” Each window frame tells its own story, but together they tell a more elaborate one about finding love. On the outside I left it plain white, keeping the fa?ade of the chateau as I’d found it, but inside was a different story. It is my story.
André side-eyes me. “Are you like some kind of undercover artist?” he questions.
“I believe the correct term is starving artist,” I joke, masking the pain in those words.