She chuckled, shaking her head. “No.”
“No?”
“No, you’re not too old,” she confirmed.
Stepping back, he dropped his hand and immediately missed touching her. “Why did it matter?”
Tilting her head to the side, she pursed her red lips as though she was about to answer him. However, at the last minute, she lowered her head.
She’s shy.
Placing a finger under her chin, he told her softly, “I feel it, too.”
Her mouth parted as she blinked up at him. “You do?”
Silently, he nodded and then realized she couldn’t see him. “Yes. I feel you.”
A smile lit up her face. It was so radiant that it looked like it had burst from her soul. He couldn’t help but think that he was looking at an angel because she sure as shit didn’t seem to be real.
“What did you want to show me?” she asked, smile still in place.
“Are you okay to go up some stairs?”
Nodding, she stepped forward, closer to him. “Once I know my surroundings in a room, I don’t even need my cane. I use it just to get from point A to point B and, of course, to guide me through unfamiliar territory.”
“Well then, we’ll have to work on getting you familiar, won’t we?”
She shied away, and for the moment, he let her.
“Okay, come with me.” He urged her, leading her up the stairs.
He stops.
I look up at him from my notepad. “Why did you stop?”
Phillipe glances over at me as he asks a completely random question. “Is that your natural hair color? That honey blonde? It almost looks like you streaked the brown through it.”
Taken off-guard, I raise one eyebrow as I straighten my back. “You want to know if I streak my hair?”
He picks up the glass of water sitting beside him and takes a sip. “Well?”
“I really don’t think that has any relevance. Do you?”
Standing, he makes his way toward me. All of a sudden, I start to think that maybe I should have just answered his question. He leans down until we are eye to eye.
“Actually, it holds a lot of relevance. Why are people so offended when asked such a simple question about appearance?”
Straightening back up, he walks by me and makes his way over to the window.
“Looking at someone’s appearance is a privilege we take for granted, Gemma. Describing yourself to a person who cannot see you is difficult to say the least.”
He turns back to face me, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. Leaning back against the window frame, he crosses one leg over the other.
My eyes roam from his long legs up to the white button-up shirt he’s wearing. Phillipe is right. Seeing is something I take for granted, and I have to admit that it’s an absolute pleasure to see him. He seems to know my thoughts because he grimaces. He pushes himself away from the wall, turning to look back out the window.
“I racked my brain for days, trying to think of a way to let her see me, so she could know me. I even looked it up online, and finally, I came up with an idea.”
I sit silently, waiting for him to tell me. Please tell me, I internally plead.
He looks back at me over his shoulder. “She’ll tell you what she saw,” he informs in a cool tone as he makes his way past me toward the door. Just before he reaches it, he explains, “I think I’m done for the morning. Maybe we can meet again tonight? Let’s say eight?”
I nod before I realize that he’s not even looking at me. “Eight sounds good.”
Without another word, he continues out the door.
I quickly grab the journal and flick through it. I see there are several pages before the next stopping point, so I pick it up and move over to his soft chair in the corner. Curling into it, I can still feel the body heat he left behind. I snuggle back and open the book, eager to discover what Chantel saw.
Chapter Three ~ Vision
Vision ~
Today, I saw Phillipe.
That sounds so crazy, but it’s true.
When I arrived at the chateau today, I had no idea what it was he wanted to show me. In all honesty, I couldn’t even imagine what Phillipe could show me.
So, when he finally explained—well I’ll just type it here.
After leading me up a staircase with fifteen broad steps curving around a wall—which my uncle now tells me is a turret—through a part of the building on the west side of the house, Phillipe guided me by the hand, always gently, into a room off to the left.
Immediately, I was hit with smells that were foreign to me. The scent was strong, almost alcoholic in nature. It wasn’t drinking alcohol. It smelled more like rubbing alcohol.
We stopped walking, and that was when I asked, “Where are we?”
I felt him brush by me, walking farther into the room.
“My art studio.”
He’s an artist. How did I not know this about him? Why didn’t anyone tell me?
I had just assumed he ran the vineyard. From then on, I was very hungry for answers. “What do you paint?”
He chuckled, and the wicked rumble of it teased my skin.
“Pictures.”
Frustrated, I stepped forward and then stopped, not knowing what was in front of me.
“It’s okay,” he told me. “I cleared the space. There’s nothing to trip over or bump into.”
My heart sped up at the thoughtfulness of his gesture. “You did that for me?”
“Yes. I wanted you to feel comfortable and at ease here.”
Strangely, I did. Stepping closer toward the direction of his voice, I asked again, “What do you paint?”
This time, I heard him move. His feet shuffled across some fabric, maybe a drop cloth on the floor, before he stopped in front of me.
“I’ve been looking for something, something that will inspire me, Chantel. Something the world will look at and want to cry because it’s so fucking beautiful your body just can’t help but weep.”
I stood there speechless as his voice, coupled with the words he was telling me, pulled at my soul. From somewhere deep down inside of me, I realized what he wanted. I knew as he moved closer still that I was what he wanted to paint. I wasn’t sure how that made me feel.
Tilting my head to him, I stated softly, “The world is a big place. That’s a lot of people to touch and a lot of people to please.”
Absolute silence filled the space we were standing in, and he reached out, taking my hand. Tugging gently, he urged me forward, and I complied. I could hear the cloth as I now stepped onto it as well.
“Okay, how about this? For right now, I just want to please you.”
I frowned for a moment and moved my eyes to where I was sure his face would be. “You have pleased me. Thank you for showing me your studio.”
He laughed softly as he moved even closer, and I felt his hands grip my arms lightly.