Chapter 25

"Anyone home?" I called out, stepping into the gallery.

I'd tried phoning before I came here, but Casey hadn't picked up, and there was no response at her house. I found my friend sitting in her office chair, feet propped up on the desk, a glass of whiskey in her hand. She glanced up when I appeared in the doorway.

"You're a hard woman to find," I said.

She grinned and toasted me. "I just got back in from a sale. Now, you already look much better than the last time I saw you."

"The power of three layers of makeup. What are you doing?"

"I'm celebrating the first successful round of sales, my friend. It couldn't have gone better."

"That's good news."

"Very." She nodded and lifted the glass. "You want some?"

I declined, not wanting to disclose that I was still on painkillers, though the dosage had drastically decreased. Right now, I regretted the fact that I couldn't drink. Talking to Emmanuelle yesterday had been soothing, but Professor Killian's apologetic frown still ghosted through my mind.

"Is everything alright?" Casey asked.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "There's some trouble at school, but I'd rather not get into it right now, if that's okay."

"Yeah, of course. I hope you know that you can always talk to me, though."

"I do know."

"Good." She nodded, then bolted upright in her chair. "And guess what else happened? I talked to Haley Grim this morning. She's interested in displaying at my gallery. Would come here all the way from Maryland."

"That's great news!" I was so very pleased for her. Grim was still a newish artist, but this was a promising start. All those years of hard work were finally starting to pay off.

"I know. It's exactly what I'd hoped for. I also got quite a few inquiries from people still wanting to get a look at Emmanuelle's art. I've scheduled some private viewings next week."

I could feel my lips morphing into a big smile, then noticed how Casey was watching me with an expression I couldn't discern.

"What?"

"I'm just wondering whether you're going to tell me anything about you and our new residential artist." The lightness of her words made me swallow because there was nothing light about the penetrating look that she gave me.

"I didn't know this was the Spanish Inquisition."

"It's not. I just thought … Well, I thought you were still looking for an opening, so I'm giving you one. I could see it clearly during the exhibit. There's something between you two, isn't there?"

I gaped at her.

Casey eyed me with amusement. "Okay, maybe we can shorten this up a bit. You're gay. You've been gay all your life, but only started to really realise that fact around ninth grade." She thought for a moment. "I believe it was Mary or Maria, or something like that, one of our college chaperones for that field trip to New Haven. Granted, the girl was pretty." Casey's gaze locked on me. It was both kind and exasperated. "I know you don't like to talk about stuff a lot, and I've always respected that, but you forget that I've known you for a very long time, Sam."

"I never told you about any of this."

She snorted. "There was no need. But it's cute you thought I didn't know you're gay."

I let out a big breath, then I had to laugh. "Unbelievable. Since you know, can you tell me what to do too? Because frankly, I've no clue."

"Sam, feeling something isn't a crime, not knowing what to do isn't a crime, and, I hate to break it to you, being gay is really old news."

I scratched the back of my neck and looked longingly at the tumbler of amber liquid on the shelf. I was about to childishly ask for a bit of whiskey after all when I remembered something. "Wait a second. If you knew I was gay, why did you sign me up to that horrible dating website?"

"Well, I was just kind of hoping to give you a nudge."

"A nudge? That's what you call a nudge? What would you call an overt suggestion? Actually, don't answer that. I might never sleep again."

She cackled before shaking her head. "Don't distract from the topic. Come on, tell me the rest. You were doing so well."

"I feel like a passenger on the Titanic, Case. My feelings for her scare the crap out of me, and I don't know how to do this, and all the while I'm terrified it's not going to matter in the end, because she's just going to go back to Chicago again."

"There's always a chance of getting hurt when you admit you care about someone."

"You don't understand. Emmanuelle … she doesn't just have the capacity to hurt me—she could break me. And I'm not sure I would ever be able to put myself back together."

Casey"s eyes widened. "I didn't know you were in quite this deep. But maybe I should have. You're not someone who does things by halves."

I gave a bitter chuckle. "No, it seems I don't."

"Have you talked to her?"

"Not yet," I admitted. "We will when she gets back from New York."

"When you do, ask her what she wants. But more importantly, tell her what you want."

"You sound like the old man."

"We share a weird kind of Obi-Wan Kenobi wisdom. The old man is right. Wait." She blinked. "Did you finally tell him you're into women?"

"No! I mean, I am going to … Just, uh, not yet." One of her eyebrows nearly disappeared under her blonde bangs. "Well, what should I tell him?" I exclaimed. "What if she just wants something casual? Hell, what if I canonly do casual?"

Casey broke out into a laugh. "You? Casual? On anything?" She laughed more, almost spilling her drink.

"You're a hoot. What if it turns out she wants the real deal, I tell Frank about it, and it goes completely belly-up? I feel … Around her, I feel frighteningly out of control."

"That's the whole point of falling for someone." She set her glass down on the desk. "Talk to her. Just talk to her and be honest. That's all the advice I can give you."

"Do I have to?" Her face said it all, and I lifted my hands. "Fine, I will. When she gets back on Friday, I promise I will."

***

A black sports car pulled onto the lot with screaming tyres. A man in designer trousers and a half-open shirt got out of the driver's seat. He looked ready to tackle the world and then throw a party just to celebrate.

I approached him with a smile. "Hey, Remi, nice to see you again."

"Samantha!" he exclaimed and covered the last few feet between us to grab my arms and brush his lips over my cheeks. "I'm thrilled you're taking the time to show me around, and the weather is trés magnifique today!"

I was proud that the cheek kissing didn't catch me off-guard, and I gave Emmanuelle's brother an indulgent smile. The weather really was great. For a day in late November, the temperatures were on the verge of mild, and only a few clouds dotted the otherwise spotless blue sky. Still, judging by the wilting foliage, winter was almost upon us, and the next couple of weeks would likely bring the first real chill.

I did the same tour that I had done with Emmanuelle, only this time I found it much easier to focus. We joked and we laughed, and I found out that Remi was at least as charming as his sister, a fact he knew how to use to full advantage.

The afternoon passed quickly, and I rather enjoyed it, especially because he would sometimes give me snippets about where his family had lived, describing the beautiful landscape of Southern France or telling me a few small anecdotes. It made me feel closer to Emmanuelle. It already felt like I hadn't seen her for a small eternity, which was ridiculous. But it was still how I felt. I missed her. And hearing about her childhood somehow made me miss her less.

When we got to my grandmother's statues and he examined them with the same singular focus as his sister had, I couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"What?" he chirped.

"Nothing."

"Nu-uh, I can see how you're trying not to laugh."

I shrugged. "It's just … you look a lot like Emmanuelle when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Think hard."

Remi regarded me before nodding slightly. "I guess we are pretty similar in some ways. I never noticed how we both do that lip curl you mentioned the other night either. But in other areas, we're not alike at all."

"You mean how you always joke that she is less French than you are?"

He guffawed. "Non, non, I do not mean that. And about that, I am merely joking. Don't let her exterior fool you. She is just as passionate and expressive as any other of my countrymen."

"I'll take your word for it."

He seemed surprised. "But you must know how passionate she is."

"Uhhh, what?" I asked, and a nervous chuckle escaped.

"Sam, relax. I just meant … well, it was obvious to me at opening night that you two have chemistry. I just thought you were seeing each other and keeping it low-key."

Well, we were kind of doing that.

Were we?

He nudged me gently. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable just now."

"No, no it's fine. I'm just not used to … Well, Emmanuelle and I … we haven't really. … We're not..."

His green eyes widened, this time in complete shock. "Wait a second. You mean you aren't sleeping together?"

I cringed in embarrassment, but I could see him wince, too, doubtlessly because he'd just realised just how forward that had sounded. He laid a hand on my arm and sent me an apologetic look. "You must think that I'm a complete tool. I'm not, I swear. This is just … You have no idea how unusual this is. My sister is, well, let's just say that she loves a lot like she paints—unapologetically, but also fast and hard." He sighed. "Believe me, I can't even count how many people I've seen parading in and out of her life over the years. Most were severely disappointed."

Fantastic. More things to get anxiety over.

"Hear me out," Remi hurried to say when he saw my expression. "Art has always been her true love affair. All the other men and women were just flings. Well, at least since…" He caught himself at the last second and then rushed on. "Mon Dieu, I'm really making a mess of this. What I mean is that I can honestly say that it's the first time I've ever known her not to sleep with someone she's that attracted to."

"Maybe I just said no."

He hesitated as if the thought had never occurred to him. "Did you?"

"No," I answered quietly.

There was a silence between us.

And I wouldn't, I realised a second later. Even after hearing this, I wouldn't. I had no defence against this woman. My feelings were too deep, my longing too strong.

Oh, crap. I am so fucked.

Then I remember the person who'd been at her door when I'd called her. Was that the person whose name Remi had just stopped himself from uttering? Irene?

"Do you know … No, forget it." With a shake of my head, I started walking again, annoyed at myself.

"Do I know what?"

"No, really, forget it. I shouldn't even be asking you this. It's stupid and just horribly insecure."

"Sam, come on." Remi took a few quick steps and caught my sleeve. "It's fine. I know it's not easy to get to know my sister. You can ask me about her. That's fine."

I raised my gaze upward and sighed deeply. "When I called her the other day, there was someone at the door. A woman named Irene."

Remi winced. That was kind of all the answer I needed.

"They split up a while ago," he said after some hesitation. "Pretty ancient history, all things considered. I'm pretty sure that Irene has never gotten the memo, though. She thinks my sister is just out to explore the world for the time being before she'll return, and they can live happily ever after."

"But Emmanuelle doesn't plan to do that?" I asked, my heart squeezing at the thought.

"No, god, no! They were lovers when they were in school, in Paris, but Irene was so smitten she followed my sister to New York. She's a designer, but her family comes from old money too, so they had a lot of shared experiences. They were good together, at least until Irene realised that she was only playing second fiddle to Elle's art." He squinted. "She didn't understand my sister at all, and she had no real interest in her passion either. Irene would make up stuff to keep her from painting and try to make opportunities flitter away. In some way, I guess, she was trying to sabotage her. One time she even destroyed one of Elle's works."

"That sounds bad."

"Yeah, it was. And it was especially terrible for Elle. She really loved Irene, I think. One of the few people she ever allowed that close, but, in the end, the woman was just trying to control her. Even when Elle was traveling, she was constantly texting and calling, never accepting no for an answer, even from a thousand miles away."

A gust of wind breezed through the garden, but I hardly felt its chilly bite on my cheeks. I would have never guessed that about Emmanuelle, who always seemed so sure of herself, that she would let someone push her around like that. But then I thought about my mother, and how long she had stuck it out with my father. Love made you do crazy things, made you hold on to something with all your might even if it wasn't right.

"In the end, out of blind jealousy, Irene forced her to choose between her and art." Remi exhaled. "My sister chose art."

"I can't believe that she would ask her to do that."

"Yeah. It was a mess, believe me."

We walked back toward his car, and he drew the keys out of his back pocket only to let them glide through his hands in thought. "But nothing of that has anything to do with you, Sam. You can see plain as day that she cares about you a lot, and I think it might not be such a bad sign that she is taking it slow."

I sighed, still processing what I'd heard. "Your sister is just very hard to read."

A snorted laugh. "Oh, that she is. But you need to understand, growing up with my grand-mère? It was not easy for Elle. There is nothing she wants more than Marguerite's approval. But our grandmother is a single-minded woman, who doesn't disclose what she thinks, and I fear that my dear sister believes that she needs to be the same way." The corners of his mouth drooped. "Elle is expressive and passionate, but most of the world only knows her charming mask. It is only in her art that you can catch a glimpse of her true feelings."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome. And thank you for today, Sam. I really enjoyed it."

"No, thank you."