A Bittersweet Beginning (Montgomery Ink Legacy)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Leif

“Le but de l’art est de trouver le sens. L’émotion n’est que le début.”

I blinked at the professor’s words, translating the French as I went along.

Perhaps it should make a little more sense than it did, or maybe I was losing my mind.

Considering I hadn’t slept last night, thanks to an all-night party turned protest, and rolled into class with a baguette and a prayer, I wasn’t sure which was which.

I didn’t mind.

This was what a semester in Paris learning about art and yourself was for, after all.

“Now, for those of you still learning French, I commend you for taking this class. Remember, however, that you will still need to follow the program in both languages.”

I scribbled down notes, then focused on the subject in front of me.

The long lines of his neck, the way his hand settled on his hip.

Figure studies in an art class weren’t anything new for me and this wasn’t the first naked man I’d ever drawn.

In fact, the first one had been my boyfriend at the time.

Then I’d drawn a figure study of my girlfriend when the guy and I hadn’t worked out.

I was an equal opportunity artist and relationship kind of guy.

Now I was a single man in Paris, trying to get through this program without showing the world that I was a failed Montgomery.

No pressure or anything.

By the time the class ended, I was ready for a latte and a nice walk in a country not of my own, but of a history long since cemented in the echoes of history.

As my classmates and I said our goodbyes, each of us heading toward our respective homes and lives, I let the full scale of my new life settle on my shoulders.

It didn’t feel real, but then again, nothing felt real when I wasn’t at home.

A Montgomery in Paris.

Honestly, that sounded as if it should be the next subject line for the Montgomery Family Newsletter.

And yes, there was indeed a monthly newsletter that went through all the major accomplishments for any Montgomery in our family who wanted to let the others know.

It might sound ridiculous to some but considering the number of people I had in my direct family, let alone the connections that were close to us, it was needed.

Hell, even my group chats exploded during certain times, because we were a nosy bunch, and we couldn’t help it.

The latest had been when the favorite family cheese monger had decided to retire.

I always thought growing up in the Montgomerys and liking cheese was a joke, but it had turned into the pastime.

It was like when you told your grandma that you liked frogs when you were six, and boom, every gift that you get until the end of time has to do with frogs.

Suddenly you have a frog collection. The Montgomerys had a cheese collection.

Each family had their favorites. We not only had a cheese drawer, but a curated one.

Then of course, we had the merch to go with it.

One did not lean into a joke without merch.

Our favorite cheese monger retired right before I had come to Paris, and as a joke, we celebrated with him.

One of my uncles had pointed out that we should give him a party, and it sort of exploded into a real event where we ended up sending him and his wife to Aruba for the week.

I have no idea how that happened, but I had donated along with others and the man finally got to have his dream vacation with his wife.

The person who’d replaced him had large gouda shaped shoes to fill, but we weren’t that insane when it came to cheese.

My stomach rumbled, and I looked into a store window wondering if I could find a shop and get myself some cheese.

It wasn’t quite lunchtime, but I didn’t care.

I was in France and that meant I could have cheese.

It was an unwritten rule. Of course, thinking about cheese and my family made me a little homesick.

I had been in Paris for three weeks. Three weeks in which I felt like I was lost, exhilarated, exhausted, and wondering what the hell I was doing.

I was grateful that between AP courses, exams, and an overloaded schedule, I’d gotten my bachelor’s degree in business in three and a half years.

I had now graduated and was ready to face the world.

Except the fact that I didn’t want to go solely into business.

I wanted to show the people around me that I could be the artist that I wanted to be.

My father had traveled the country when he was younger along with his cousin Shep and had learned art from some of the greatest tattoo artists out there.

Now he, Aunt Maya, Uncle Shep, Aunt Adrienne, and a few others, were well-known enough in the world of tattoos and ink, that their art and memories were legendary.

I wanted to be a tattoo artist. Hell, I was a tattoo artist. I’d been apprenticing at my father’s shop in Denver since before I was eighteen.

Not to mention working shifts with my aunts and uncles in Colorado Springs.

I’d even gone to a friend’s down in New Orleans where my uncle had once worked and learned from a few people there.

Now I was in Paris taking a different approach.

I had been accepted into an art program.

It was one where it moved past the basics and into some of the subjects that I had always been interested in but hadn’t been able to truly focus on.

A few of the people that I painted and drew next to were already in galleries and well-known. I was the only tattoo artist there.

It also meant that I didn’t quite fit in. Hell, I had never fit in except for with my family.

Those around me painted, sculpted, and drew to their hearts content.

They were artists, and the art world told them that they were artists.

They made art. I sculpted people’s flesh, according to one person.

Or dug into their body with needles and forever scarred them.

It was all bullshit but a few of my classmates were excited about what I did.

I had gone into a few tattoo shops in Paris, and because I had gone through the paperwork and worked with them before, I’d been able to do few small pieces for those people in the program.

I was figuring it out, at least that’s what I told myself.

That morning I’d had a silhouette class, where I’d spent hours trying to get the angles that I wanted, doing my best to get the shading just right.

Working with pen and pencil was far different than working with a needle and ink, but I wanted to stretch my abilities.

I didn’t want to be a tracer. I wanted to draw.

I had the talent, I knew it. And it wasn’t just because my dad was one of the most famous tattoo artists in the world.

The name Montgomery meant something in that profession, and I had a lot to live up to.

So I needed to learn to be better.

My back ached, my hand hurt, and I was glad the class was over for now. I had spent three weeks immersed in Paris and art. And I really just wanted a coffee.

I loved this city. It constantly moved, and there were so many things to see.

I had my sketch pad ready to go, and I couldn’t help but stop sometimes at a small cafe and work with what I saw in front of me.

They would never make tattoos, that wasn’t the point.

I wanted to breathe in culture and something different than who I was.

I stopped by my favorite coffee place, got myself a latte, and sat down to people watch.

Everything moved a little slower here, even though they never stopped going. I could sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee, and just be, without feeling like I had to move on to the next phase.

I was full of baguette and salted butter like any good tourist should be, and I was happy.

I missed my family, but I would see them soon.

“Bonjour,” a woman said as she came up to me, smiling.

“Bonjour,” I replied, knowing that my accent was ridiculous.

My French was decent, not great. But I was getting the hang of it, and most people spoke English here anyway. I honestly wanted to give it a try. She didn’t say anything else, just walked past, and I sat up a bit straighter, wondering if I had something on my face.

Then again, with the way her gaze raked down my body before she turned the corner, I knew exactly what she wanted.

I had been in Paris for three weeks, and while I had gone out with a few friends I had made in the program, I hadn’t enjoyed every taste of Paris.

My lips quirked. That would come.

My phone rang, and I finished my latte before answering so I wouldn’t bother people around me. Though there were already people on their phone so they wouldn’t care.

“Hey Mom,” I said as I hit connect on the call.

“Leif. I’m so glad that you answered. I think I got the time zone right.”

“Mom, you are a brilliant woman, you know you got the time zone right.”

“Sometimes I get distracted because my baby boy is so far away.”

I rolled my eyes but kept moving.

Sierra Montgomery wasn’t my birth mother, but she’d raised me since I was ten years old and I called her mom. She was the best of everything in my life, and I was so damn grateful that my father had groveled enough to keep her in his life.

“Is that Leif?” a deep barrel of a voice said from the other line.

I couldn’t help the smile spreading over my face at Austin Montgomery’s voice.

While I was tall with broad shoulders, my father was even more so.

He had a huge beard, usually a funky haircut so he could show off his latest ink, and was covered in tattoos.

After all, he had been in the business longer than I’d been alive.

He was also one of the kindest men I’d ever met.

Honorable, ruthless when it came to protecting his family, and a good man.

When I said I had more than a few things to live up to, Austin Montgomery just being himself was one of them.

“Hey Dad,” I said, knowing I was on speakerphone.

“How’s Paris?”

“Incredible.” I angled my face up to the sunlight and grinned. “I just had a latte and had a baguette earlier. Now I’m going for a walk and going to hit the market before I go back to campus.”

“And you’re being safe?”

“Mom.”

“What? I would say that no matter where you were. You’re alone. You are making friends though, right?”

My lips quirked into a smile. God, I loved this family. “I am. I promise.”

A younger voice filled the line. “Hey Leif! I miss you!”

“Miss you too, Colin.”

I had three younger siblings, with Colin being eight, and the two youngest being toddlers.

Our age gaps were a little ridiculous, but I didn’t mind.

It meant that I had been able to be part of their lives from the start, and when I was ready to be a dad, I would at least have some experience in changing diapers.

Not that my parents had given me any extra responsibilities when it came to raising their kids.

I hadn’t been put in any parental roles, but I had wanted to be part of my siblings’ lives.

That’s why it had taken me so long to get here.

But that had been on me, and moving my gap year to the end of my college career rather than in the middle of it like I’d planned.

“Tell us everything,” my mom ordered.

I shook my head, knowing she couldn’t see me, and went into detail about the exact nature of my morning.

“Leif Montgomery, you know your brother’s listening.”

“Boobs are gross,” Colin said, and as my mom admonished him for that, I chuckled.

“But you’re enjoying yourself?” my dad asked as my mom and Colin laughed in the background.

“I am. It’s a little overwhelming, and I don’t have the talent of some of the others, but I’m learning.”

“Leif, you have immense talent. And I’m so damn proud of you for going outside your experience and comfort zone in order to become a better tattoo artist. And I can’t fucking wait for you to work alongside me.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tight. “I want to do you proud.”

“I already am.”

We each cleared our throats, because while we were comfortable with emotion, I didn’t want to dive into it in the middle of a Parisian walkway.

I told them a little bit more about my afternoon, and then we said our goodbyes, as they were just getting ready for the day and I had a late evening class. I was going to meet up with friends afterwards, and I was excited.

I turned the corner, heading to the market, trying to figure out what colors of flowers I wanted. I would just let the inspiration strike. We had to work on still life for the next week, with a different image each day, and I wanted to add color to my repertoire.

I turned another corner, my thoughts on something other than what was in front of me, when someone rammed into me. The flower she held slapped my face before fluttering to the ground, and I moved my arms, trying to catch her.

“Crap!” she called out, and I gripped one shoulder and one hip, trying to keep steady, but then it was no use. I fell back and pulled her on top of me so she wouldn’t get hurt, then slammed onto the brick pathway.

Somebody called out and ran towards us, and I just lay there, looking into the most gorgeous hazel eyes I had ever seen. Reddish brown hair fell over her face and into mine, and I reached up and plucked a yellow flower that had laced itself into her hair.

“Hey there. Are you okay?” I asked. I cleared my throat and realized we had been silent for a little too long as people came towards us, asking questions in French that took me a moment to translate. I hadn’t hit my head, but it sure felt like it.

And as the woman looked down at me and blinked, I couldn’t help but smile.

Because if this was going to be how I ended the day, having a beautiful woman land on top of me and stare at me with those soulful eyes that I couldn’t wait to draw, it was going to be a hell of a night.