Chapter 28

I woke up to an empty bed. Early morning light fell in through the window, announcing that it wasn't time to get up yet, and I burrowed deeper into the silken bed sheets. They were criminally soft and elicited more than one pleasant memory of last night, the dark green reminding me of Emmanuelle's eyes.

I woke up again an hour later and, seeing that her side of the bed was still empty, I could no longer contain my curiosity about what had lured her away. With some muscles luxuriously sore after not having been used in a very long time, I stretched and had to chuckle at myself. It had been very enjoyable to use them again.

Very enjoyable indeed.

The carpet was soft under the soles of my feet when I got out of bed, pulling on one of her shirts lying next to the dresser. It must have been a sleeping shirt because it ran down to my thigh and it smelled like her—enticing, delicious jasmine. My first stop was the bathroom, and I managed to relocate the toothbrush I'd used a few days ago. A look in the mirror revealed a person I hadn't seen in years. Was this really me?

I hadn't felt this loose in fifteen years, and I looked it.

When I stepped into the living room, I found what had made Emmanuelle leave the bed. She was sitting on a highchair, wearing nothing more than her robe, and seeing her hand poised above the canvas, a colour palette in hand, filled a space in my heart that I hadn't even realised had been empty.

I padded closer, mindful not to startle her.

"I'm sorry," Emmanuelle said when she noticed me. She let the palette sink with a rueful look. "I didn't mean for you to wake up by yourself, and I don't even have the excuse of making breakfast."

Her expression was apologetic but also a little tense, and I was reminded of Remi's words about how Irene had never understood this part of her. I smiled reassuringly. "Hey, no worries. I know how it is when inspiration strikes."

"You do, don't you," she mused and started to relax. Her lips quirked.

"What?"

"I've just … In all the years, I've never been with an artist before. It's nice that you get it."

"Of course. I have the same urges. It's hard to explain to someone who doesn't have the same passion, but trust me, I get it."

The smile made her face light up, and she tugged on my shirt. "This looks good on you, by the way." I rubbed the back of my neck, grinning stupidly, and she tugged harder, making me step between her legs. "I hope you don't think it was easy to leave you lying naked in bed."

Her robe gaped open, and the words stuck in my throat.

This shred of cloth is a sin.

The kiss was soft, ruled not by passion but by tenderness. This time it was me cradling her face in my hands and when we broke apart several minutes later, Emmanuelle's eyebrows drooped.

"As much as it pains me to say this … we should talk, Sam."

I drew her head against my chest, holding her close. "Mhm, I know."

"You should go put more clothes on, though, otherwise I can't focus."

A weak chuckle shook my body. "Look who's talking."

She leaned her head back, and I winked at her, making her grin.

Half an hour later, we sat at the kitchen table, both with a cup of coffee in front of us, and Emmanuelle was playing with my left hand. The motion made butterflies swirl through my stomach again, but I was starting to accept that as a regular occurrence whenever she touched me, or looked at me, like she was doing right now.

"This isn't what I expected to happen when I came to Providence," she started. "I was prepared to leave again as soon as the exhibit was done. I had no idea I'd make a real friend or meet someone I would feel so attracted to." Emmanuelle squeezed my hand when I wanted to interrupt her. "I'm not finished."

I nodded, trying to settle down. Hearing her words made it difficult not to feel nervous. I had fallen, and I had fallen hard. I couldn't hide from it anymore, and I knew without a doubt that whatever happened from now on, she already possessed a piece of me.

"This woman I met," she continued slowly, the humour in her voice making one corner of her mouth curl up. "She doesn't have any idea how attractive she is, or how nervous she makes me. She makes it look easy to be courageous and kind, and she never seems to have any doubts about what the right thing to do is. Neither my family's name nor my money interests her, and she cares very much, even though she tries really hard not to show it." My ears began to tingle, and Emmanuelle chuckled. "She also happens to be a terrible liar and very easy to read, two qualities I cherish enormously."

There was a pause, and she gazed at me intently before drawing a deep breath. Would she get to the reality check now? I squeezed my hands together.

"But you're not the only part of this equation." She briefly faltered. "I have to be honest. In the past, I've not had the best track record. My art consumes me and does so often. I've never really cared about the way it shapes my relationships, but it's different with you. Perhaps I felt that you weren't like any of my other lovers, a … gentle soul, someone so far removed from my kind of world that I didn't dare think of you in any romantic way."

"Because I wouldn't be able to understand you?"

"No." Emmanuelle emphatically shook her head. "No, quite the opposite. I feel seen when I'm with you. But friends stay, and lovers don't, and I liked you too much to let myself go that way, despite my attraction. I think in a way I didn't want to ruin you. Keep you from being pulled into my world. It's not always pretty."

"So, what changed?"

Sheepishly, she ducked her head. "You're very hard not to think about. And seeing you get hurt? That really scared me."

"I'm fine, though."

"Yes, I know, but it showed me pretty clearly how much I already cared, that I couldn't keep ignoring it."

"I think I'm fine … with you not ignoring it."

Casey was right. I couldn't stay scared forever. And however terrified I was of getting hurt, sitting here with her, looking at her, and seeing how she looked at me, a part of my fear dissolved. She cared—she really cared, despite what I had heard about her past.

"I'm still not great at relationships," she whispered.

"We can just be bad at it together."

"I remember you telling me you don't date."

"I don't, but that's not really what I mean."

"What do you mean, then?"

"Sharing. Sharing isn't easy for me," I admitted. "But I'll try to work on that." She lifted my hand and pressed a kiss on my palm. The gentle understanding on her face made a surprising calm spread in me, and I chuckled. "You know when the first time was that I saw you?"

"It wasn't in front of the gallery?"

"Oh no." I laughed. "The first time was at an exhibit in New York. You looked ravishing in a dark grey cocktail dress, and I'm not sure whether I stared more at you or your paintings that evening."

"Well, you certainly didn't stare at my earlobes." A deep, rumbling laugh spilled from her lips when she saw me grimace.

"Do you have to keep teasing me about that?" I huffed.

She grinned. "I'm sorry, go on."

I stared at our intertwined hands. "It's hard for me to let someone in. I've had a pretty rough time since my parents died, so it doesn't come naturally, and you manage to get under my skin so easily it's scary. You read me like an open book. It's very disconcerting sometimes. But I'm tired of fighting my attraction to you, so very tired, and I don't see the point anymore. I like you a lot, and I'd be happy to spend more time with you. We could take it as slow as we need to."

Samantha Hale, did you seriously just invite someone to date you? For real? You?

Silence reigned in the kitchen, but I felt much lighter after finally speaking the words, even if it was only a part of the whole truth.

All in good time.

Emmanuelle smirked. "So, you like looking at me, huh?"

"You have no idea," I said and tugged one hand free to put a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "You're very pretty. But you're also so much more than what you allow others to see. You are at once both the peace and the chaos of my heart."

God. You're such a hopeless case.

Giving me an amused smile, she leaned back to take a sip of coffee. "You, Samantha Hale, can be very charming."

"We both know I have to try very hard for that."

Our chuckles were almost in unison.

"Then I guess I should stick around a bit, just so you can practice a bit more."

"Yeah?" My voice was giddy.

She drew me in for a kiss. It was only a quick one, but it was all the confirmation that I needed. She was serious.

Holy shit, I think that's a yes.

Emmanuelle squeezed my hand, drawing my gaze to her green eyes. "There is one more thing I'd like to ask you about, though."

"What is it?"

"The student who called you last night. What was that about?"

I explained what had happened at the school gate, and how the dean would hopefully be able to put the official inquiry to rest, now that Pete would rescind it. With no open complaint, there should be no more reason for the suspension either.

"I'm relieved," Emmanuelle said. "Though I can't say I was a big fan of Lacie when she showed up at the exhibit, she did a nice thing there." The artist leaned back, taking a sip of her coffee before putting down her mug. Her forehead creased as if she was contemplating whether to say something or not.

"Is there anything else you want to ask?"

"Were you two…" Emmanuelle paused.

My eyes grew big. "What? No! Of course not."

She sighed in relief. "Good. That's good. I'm assuming she'll keep being your student."

"Yes," I said, eyeing her. A thought crossed my mind. "Are you … You're not jealous, are you?"

She opened her mouth to answer, only to close it again after a moment. "I'd like to say no, but it appears I can't."

I blinked in surprise, but a part of me was pleased. Still, her thinking that I would ever give in to Lacie Lennard made me snort. "You have no idea how long I've had to wrestle with Lacie's overtures. Do you know how weird it feels to be in the sights of a girl who's likely ten times as experienced as me and who prowls through the classroom like a tiger in heat?" I sighed. "I was incredibly uncomfortable during the last few weeks. You have it easy. Everyone falls over their feet in an attempt to please you, but I'm usually ten shades of awkward with people."

"Only at first," she said gently and rubbed soothing circles over my palm with her thumb.

"Yeah, well, most don't stick around to find that out, or if I'm completely honest, I don't even give them the chance to. But anyway, while she has helped me become better at dealing with weird situations, I've never had any intention of taking her up on her offers."

"So, I guess I should send her flowers and a thank-you note, now that I know there was never anything going on between you two?"

"Don't you dare! I think we might finally be able to find a platonic level on which we can operate, but let's not tempt fate by dangling a big, juicy carrot in front of her face."

"Just to clarify, I'm the big, juicy carrot in this scenario?"

I opened my mouth. "Uh, yes?"

Emmanuelle snorted. When she leaned forward, dark hair tumbled over her shoulder. I brushed the soft strands away again, luxuriating in the feel of it, and she nestled her face against my palm. Her gaze told me we wouldn't need to talk about Lacie Lennard again.