Chapter Nine #2
“I found it stuffy as well, but that wasn’t my only reason for wanting this walk.” He led the way to the right, and they fell into step. “And please, call me Roman. I know we’ll only be friends for a short while longer, but I’d feel better if you did.”
Only a short while longer? So, he didn’t intend to pursue this relationship after all.
Or this friendship, or whatever he might be calling it in his own mind.
At least she was finding this out now and wouldn’t have to wonder.
“All right, Roman. It’s a bargain. But now you must tell me your other reasons for inviting me out. ”
“You’ll think me silly.”
“I doubt that, but we won’t know for sure until you tell me.”
“Very true.” They paused to wait for a carriage to pass on the side street. They crossed to the other side, and then he continued. “I wanted to thank you for drawing my portrait. I didn’t realize at the time that it would come to mean something to me, but it has.”
“You’re certainly welcome, but I believe you helped me more than I helped you. I’ve struggled for a long time with drawing accurate features, and—”
He shook his head. “This was more than an art exercise, Anastasia. You saw me—the real me, a person I didn’t think anyone knew or remembered.
I’ve been so caught up in my business for so long, I’d even forgotten what it meant to be myself.
You say you need to practice more, but I say your skill is remarkable—I saw myself in that picture, the man I thought I lost. And I thank you for that gift. ”
“Oh. I . . . I hardly know what to say. That’s likely the highest compliment you could have paid me. I want my art to mean something—something more than just lines on a page.”
He stopped walking and turned to her. “That’s exactly what you did for me, so I’d say you’ve reached your goal. Thank you, and may you be blessed for that the rest of your life.”
She was so touched, she didn’t have words to reply. He didn’t seem to feel the need to say more either, and they continued on their way to the garden in silence, but a companionable silence rather than an awkward one.
When they reached the garden, Anastasia notice a few other couples there wandering between the rosebushes, but it was quiet and peaceful. “Of course you realize, now I wish I’d listened to you and gone up to my room before we left.”
“Are you chilly?”
“No—I want my sketchbook.”
He laughed. “Yes, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without it.”
“I take it nearly everywhere, but I didn’t think I’d have the desire to draw a plate of chicken and string beans, so I didn’t bring it down to supper.”
“We can go back to get it,” he offered, but she shook her head.
“If we only have an hour, I’d like to spend that hour in the real world with you. I can come back tomorrow and capture these roses then.”
“And that’s another gift you’ve given me. Do the wonderful surprises just keep coming where you’re concerned?”
She stopped walking in front of a rosebush with blooms of deep peach.
She reached out to touch the petals, trying to avoid his gaze, but she felt the heat of it clean though.
“You confuse me, Roman,” she said after trying to decide how far to take this conversation.
How brave did she feel? How badly did she want an answer?
“I feel as though one moment, you’re pushing me away, and the next, you’re trying to draw me closer. Which is it?”
He exhaled long and slow, and she worried that she’d offended him. “I’m not sure myself,” he said, taking a seat on the bench nearest her. He looked as though all the strength had gone out of him. “You’ve created quite a problem for me.”
“I have? But you said I’d given you a gift. More than one gift, in fact.”
“You’re right, and therein lies the problem.
” He held out his hand, inviting her to sit, and she joined him.
“I told your parents a bit of my story—how I grew up and so forth. What I didn’t tell them—what I haven’t told you—is that I decided a long time ago that I would never marry.
Not unless I was sure I could provide for a wife no matter what obstacles life threw our way.
I felt good about my decision because I’d never met a woman who could change my mind .
. . until you approached me at the park and asked if you could draw my picture. ”
A shiver raced down Anastasia’s spine. She would have liked to blame it on a change of the weather, but the weather hadn’t changed at all, and as she kept saying, she wasn’t cold.
This was a different kind of shiver, the kind that comes when someone senses that everything in their life is about to shift.
“And now I find myself questioning my resolve, wondering if I should push forward with it or give in to these new feelings. Wondering if I’m imagining things. Hoping . . . hoping that maybe you see even more in me than you demonstrated in my picture, but terrified of your answer . . .”
She’d never seen him flounder for words like this. His almost-constant composure was gone now, the last layer of his mask stripped away, and she saw the vulnerable soul inside the man. “Roman . . .” she whispered.
He threaded his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, then cupped her cheek with his other hand.
He was going to kiss her. She knew it, and she knew it wasn’t proper—they weren’t even courting, let alone engaged, but she closed her eyes anyway in anticipation.
When his lips met hers, they were so gentle and sweet, it was more of a butterfly’s touch than a passionate embrace.
“It’s probably time for us to be getting back,” he said, and she nodded. It hadn’t been an hour yet, but it was the right choice to make.
And yet how she wished they could stay.