Chapter 18

Casey's office was mercifully quiet. I sank into a chair in the corner. For a while, I wondered if it would be rude to just spend the rest of the evening here. That stunt had just cost me a good portion of my social battery for the night.

"So this is where you've been hiding." I raised my head at Casey's voice. She stood in the door with pride on her face. "That was fantastic, Sam. You played beautifully. Your mum would be proud."

That hurt a bit, but it also made me smile. "Thanks, Case."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just needed a moment. That was a lot to process. I hope the crowd was okay with me not being Bobby Daniles?"

"Are you kidding? I'm pretty sure they forgot all about him after the first minute. They loved it. You should have seen Jackson's face. Worth it just to see that!"

Relief spread in my chest. "That's good, then."

"Are you going to come back out? You know, she's been asking about you."

Her words made my stomach flip. "I hope she isn't angry I butted in."

"She isn't angry at all," a warm voice said from the doorway, and my gaze landed on Emmanuelle. The room receded, all my attention captured by the vivid sparkle in those green eyes.

Casey looked from one of us to the other. "Uh, I think there's something I need to check … uh, elsewhere."

"Hey, you," I greeted softly, barely noticing Casey disappearing.

Emmanuelle shook her head in stunned bewilderment. "Why is it that when I finally think I have you figured out, you manage to do something that completely surprises me?"

"Maybe it's a talent?"

She laughed quietly and stretched out one hand. "Join me?"

My heart fluttered, but I accepted the hand and let her pull me up from the chair. We walked back towards the main hall, and she hooked her arm through mine.

"I wanted to introduce you to a few people. Even if I fear I have to beat them off with a stick now, after your performance. A lot of the guests were curious about you. You played beautifully, Sam. Thank you for stepping in and making it special."

"All good. I mean, it was me who suggested hiring our missing musician, so I'm just glad it worked out in the end. I would have felt terrible if there'd been no opening act because of me."

"Even if that meant performing in front of a gazillion people?"

"If it's for a good cause," I murmured and held her eyes.

Because I did it for you.

After a long moment, she averted her gaze but plucked at my elbow playfully. "Somehow I knew you would say that."

Emmanuelle escorted me to a small group next to the piano. The only male of the quartet wore a light grey suit and had the same eyes and the same long eyelashes as my favourite artist, though his hair was several shades lighter. He greeted me by stepping forward and brushing his lips lightly across my cheeks. "You must be Sam. I've already heard so many good things about you. And that performance! I'm Remi." He grinned.

"Can't you wait for me to introduce you?" Emmanuelle huffed.

"Elle, don't be so uptightly American. If she's your friend, then she should know what to expect. We kiss, we argue, we exaggerate! We are only ever as French as our l"émotion!"

"You have to excuse my brother," Emmanuelle explained with narrowed eyes. "He can be a bit of a trial. You'll find my other friends to be much nicer."

"Hey!" Remi exclaimed.

The artist turned to a petite, dark-haired woman in a blue dress who was holding a large glass of scotch and looked a bit tired. "This is McKenzie, a childhood friend of mine. I don't know how many of my exhibits I've already dragged her to."

"Too many to count." The woman chuckled wryly and extended her hand. I clasped it almost with relief. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," I replied.

A taller woman in slacks and a blazer let her glass of red wine sink to indicate McKenzie. "Don't believe one word of her complaints. Those two are thick as thieves. You better not try to get between that."

"Personal experience?" I inquired with an eyebrow.

"Something like that," the blonde conceded and flashed her teeth. "I'm Lauren, a recent addition to the group, hence the still finding out about the dos and don'ts."

"Which doesn't make you any less welcome," Emmanuelle interjected. I caught an intimate and meaningful look passing between Lauren and McKenzie.

Aha. My gaydar may be a hulking wreck, but even I can figure that out.

My gaze came to rest on the last member of the group, an older woman in a lime-green dress with grey streaking through her short dark hair, who'd kept quiet so far. It took a moment for me to realise that I was looking at Marguerite Renaud. The Marguerite Renaud. Herself. In the flesh. She carried herself like a queen. Hell, she was a queen.

Okay, don't freak out. I know she is a legend, but don't. Freak. Out.

"My grandmother, Marguerite Renaud," Emmanuelle stated quietly.

"Mrs Renaud." I nodded respectfully.

She regarded me with a piercing gaze and then stepped forward to lightly kiss both of my cheeks. Ears warming, I felt flushed. How the hell could I keep getting surprised by the greeting?

"That was an excellent rendition of Chopin," she said, and I could see Emmanuelle's eyebrows rise.

"I'm pleased you liked it. It was a favourite of my mother's."

"It is one of my favourites as well."

I noticed how Remi looked a little perturbed at our exchange. Before I could wonder too much about it, Lauren touched my arm. "Emmanuelle's told us you work at a landscaping company. She said the gardens look fantastic."

"She's too kind."

"I doubt that," Remi chimed in. "Despite being French, my sister doesn't much have disposition to exaggerate. Maybe you'd have time to give me a tour?"

"Remi!" Emmanuelle admonished him, looking embarrassed. "She's not a tour guide."

"It's fine," I said. "I'd be happy to show your brother around."

The corner of his mouth curled up at my words, making me laugh. They all looked at me questioningly, and, even after feeling good from the performance, my hand instinctively rubbed my neck.

"It appears to be a family trait," I explained, avoiding Emmanuelle's gaze. "You both curl one corner of your mouth up when you're feeling smug about something."

Remi flushed, and the group hooted. Afterward, we talked about the exhibit. What they thought about the arrangement, how they liked the gallery. Providence itself.

I was relaxed, mostly, even if Marguerite Renaud's poise and sophistication were more than a little daunting. Even an hour later, I couldn't stop feeling awestruck. During the conversation, I wondered when I had stopped feeling that in Emmanuelle's presence. After a while, Marguerite Renaud was whisked away by an old acquaintance.

"You don't know how rare it is for her to speak praise," Emmanuelle disclosed.

Remi nodded. "Very rare."

"I'm glad I didn't mess it up, then."

Emmanuelle opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by an excited call.

"Ms Hale!"

I flinched, knowing that voice. "Lacie?"

The girl approached while beaming bright pearly teeth from behind us, a red mini dress clinging to her curves. She gave the rest of the group a wave before eyeing me cockily. "Ms Hale, I didn't know you played piano. You sounded great! Seems there are many hidden talents you've never shared with your students."

"Lacie. I'm surprised to see you here," I said.

Why had it never occurred to me that I might run into one of my art students? Of all my guesses, she would've been the last on the list.

"Students?" Emmanuelle asked, and a stray lock of hair fell into her face as she eyed me with confusion.

Whoops, I think that's another thing I never mentioned.

"Oh, didn't she tell you that she teaches?" Lacie prattled on. "Her lectures are very popular among the student body."

"I'm just a sub," I hastened to explain. "Art history at the RISD."

It wasn't that I'd consciously hidden that I taught; it just never cropped up before now. Not even at Harry's wake had it occurred to me to mention it.

"I thought the dean offered you a permanent position," Lacie said innocently.

"How can you possibly know about that?"

"Puh-lease, such a nice and juicy bit of gossip? Of course, I'm the first one to know about it. People tell me things," she divulged as her shark-like smile returned and she gave me a wink. "You know just how convincing I can be."

Did she really just say that? Jesus.

"How about you have a good look around," I retorted sharply, "and prepare a short discourse about the art exhibited here."

Irritation flashed across her face, but her smile never wavered. "I'd be happy to."

"Good, then stop ignoring the painter whose exhibition you're visiting."

When I motioned toward Emmanuelle, Lacie at least had the good graces to blush when she noticed that the artist stood less than five feet away. "Oops, sorry!"

"If you'll excuse us, there were some other things I wanted to discuss with my friends. I'll see you in class." My tone was a little terse, but it kept Lacie from saying anything else. She vanished back into the crowd with a coy swivelling of her hips.

Laughing self-consciously, I turned back towards the group. "Well, that wasn't at all embarrassing."

Emmanuelle's face was inscrutable. "She's your student?"

"Seems a bit overeager," Remi remarked, watching after Lacie.

"A bit is saying it mildly."

At my words, everyone chuckled—everyone except Emmanuelle.

"Are there any other surprises I should prepare myself for?" she asked. Her voice sounded off. Then her grandmother called her name. With another impenetrable gaze, she excused herself. I looked after her. It was pretty clear I had upset her, and I hated that.

Remi's voice at my ear had me start. "I take it she didn't know you taught?"

"I think I forgot to mention it."

"Don't take it personally," McKenzie said, taking a deep pull of her scotch. "Emmanuelle prides herself on her ability to read people." A strong emotion darkened her face before she shook it off again. "She's usually right."

"Makes it difficult to surprise her," her brother added. "Try planning a party for a human lie detector. But, if you ask me, she's just too used to people telling her everything about themselves once she utilizes her charm. Makes her less equipped to deal with surprises."

Lauren swirled the wine in her glass around, staring at it. "Some people simply don't like surprises."

"Only the control freaks among us," quipped Remi, then straightened. "Oh, oh, I think it's finally unveiling time!"

Emmanuelle approached the canvas with a few minglers trailing behind. She raised a hand, quieting the crowd. "Thank you all for coming here tonight. This exhibit means a lot to me. I came here, to Providence, to paint against a backdrop of picturesque skies and crashing waves, but little did I know just how much I would end up incorporating it into my art. This painting is all I ever wanted to convey, a crystal image of the hopes I nurse, and the obstacles I had to overcome, that I still measure myself against, even today." She took a deep breath. "And now, without further ado, let me introduce you to my latest work. I call it The Flying Kite."

Murmurs rose as the sheet was removed. People jostled around me to get closer, but I barely noticed as I stared at the canvas.

Jagged rocks loomed out of the water in front of a shoreline that ran all the way to the horizon. Roaring waves crashed against the obsidian cliffs, with some of the white crests momentarily dwelling between the rocky aisles, showcasing the formidable strength of wind and water. The sky was grey and brooding; the sea was a molasses of blues, blacks, and purples. A lone figure ran along the shore, their hand stretched skywards, and I knew it was really a boy even if the figure was too small to make out any features. The thing he was grasping for was a lonely red diamond with a silver-ribboned line, the only fleck of colour against the ominous clouds. The kite swerved in the wind, freed of its anchor, and I thought that I had rarely seen anything more powerful than its steep and exuberant rise.

Incredible.

The painting was captivating. Potent. Haunting. A literal breath of fresh air. And standing there staring at it, I was convinced that sooner or later she would get her wish.

Laurent Lambert would be crazy not to want to display her work in his gallery.

After the initial shock wore off, I felt my lips draw into a toothy grin.

A most unexpected source, huh.

I was touched that she'd used the events of that afternoon as inspiration. It made me feel closer to her, connected in a way, as if the experience was an invisible string tangling around us and tying us together. And I was also just … very proud of her. Proud and awed.

You did it, Emmanuelle. You did it.

While I saw the infamous Mr Williams talk to Marguerite Renaud with excited hand gestures, I had trouble discerning the mood of Emmanuelle's grandmother. Was she pleased? Maybe even a little proud? I hoped so.

I finally caught Emmanuelle's questioning gaze. She stood to the left of her creation, the crowd a sea of moving bodies around her. I squarely met her eyes.

This time, when the room receded, neither of us looked away. And I could no longer contain the emotion, any of my emotions really. It was tiring, and it seemed pointless, and for just a second, I simply stopped caring about my rules, about the fears that had always been so deep-seated that they made me choke, even about self-preservation. Her gaze was too powerful, peeling away layer after layer until I was laid bare. And I let her. Relenting had never been such a powerful compulsion.

The smile I gave her came from deep within, from times when I had run through the meadows with my mother while the cherry blossoms flew, and anything and everything seemed possible. From times when her piano filled the house with giddy sounds, and the endless blue expanse of the sky had been the limit of my imagination. When my father had carried me on his shoulders just so I could get a little closer.

That moment, it didn't hurt to remember. Not my mother's radiant laugh, not even my father's rough, gentle hand. And some part of me begged those emphatic green eyes to somehow understand that, in this one beautiful, terrifying instant, I was completely open to the world.