12. Invitation
Samantha
Monday morning, life-drawing class.
Our model is a dancer, one of those men whose every movement seems sculpted in light. Chiseled muscles, perfect balance, a true work of art.
For three hours, I focus alongside the others on a series of poses—quick ones lasting one to five minutes, longer ones stretching thirty to forty-five minutes.
I study the solids and the lines, the shadows, the light. This work is essential: these drawings will become the foundation for my paintings.
My final project: Movement and Persistence Through Time.
I want to explore the way movement transforms light. How a memory lingers while a gesture disappears. In my canvases, I layer paint, explore transparency and blur, until the image seems to slip away, vanishing before the viewer’s eyes.
At noon, I meet Alexander outside for lunch. We’ve decided to start appearing together in public, slowly.
When he sees me, he steps out of the car, a radiant smile lighting up his face. The kiss he presses to my lips is chaste, but my entire body reacts to his touch.
He takes my large drawing portfolio and places it carefully in the trunk.
I love the way he handles my work as if each sketch were precious, fragile, unique.
Gilles drops us off at a small, discreet bistro where a table is waiting for us.
“So,” Alexander says when I tell him about my morning, “the life model was incredibly handsome?”
His tone is light, but I can feel the tension beneath it.
“Yes. A thirty-something stripper,” I reply, feigning innocence. “He even invited me to one of his shows.”
Alexander freezes.
“No way,” he says, a hint of hardness in his voice. “You’re my fiancée. You’re not going to places like that without me.”
I arch an eyebrow. Provocative.
“What bothers you more?” I ask. “That I might meet another man… or that I’d see naked men?”
He inhales sharply through his nose.
“Both,” he answers. “I’m not joking, Sam. If you want to go, I’ll take you. But you’re not going alone.”
I look up at him.
And suddenly… I see the crack in his armor.
This isn’t the confident CEO speaking. It’s a man who’s been betrayed. A man trying to control what he can so he doesn’t get pulled under by his trauma.
And even if what we have is just an arrangement, a facade, he needs reassurance. His insecurity makes my chest ache. This is what Kristel’s betrayal has done to him.
Instinctively, I place my hand over his and murmur,
“I promise that as long as we’re in this together, there won’t be anyone else.”
His eyes lock onto mine, as if he’s weighing my sincerity.
Then his thumb brushes gently over the diamond on my engagement ring—a slow, almost tender gesture.
“Thank you, Sam,” he whispers.
My heart implodes. Because despite everything he’s been through, despite all his mistrust… he believes me. And that thought warms me from the inside out.
Lunch is pleasant. Simple. Natural.
For an hour, I almost feel like everything is back to the way it was—before the lies, before the masks, before this improvised fiancée charade.
We’re good. He relaxes little by little, and we simply enjoy the present moment.
Then Alexander drops the bomb.
“Your father was waiting for me at my place last night.”
I freeze, my fork suspended between my plate and my mouth.
Did I hear that right?
His expression darkens as he continues.
“He wanted to talk to me about Kristel. He… wanted to plead her case.”