The Palace (Chateau 4)

Gilbert stepped inside. “Sir, the crew has delivered your paintings. They’re approaching in the roundabout.”

Fender was immediately on his feet and across the study.

“I’m very excited to see the pieces you’ve picked out.” Gilbert followed him out of the office and into the foyer. “Once we’ve decided where to hang them, I’ll get them up right away.”

I inserted the petal into the book and stepped into the foyer. Maybe I knew Fender better than Gilbert did, because I could tell Fender was not himself right now. When I looked toward the rest of the house, I saw Fender return, carrying a gas can.

Gilbert was right behind him. “Sir, what are you doing with that?”

They walked out the front doors, and I followed them.

The small paintings were already lowered out of the truck, wrapped in brown paper, and the men were just taking the enormous painting out of the truck. It took twelve men to do it.

Gilbert halted. “Uh, sir. Where on earth is that going to fit?”

Fender ignored him. “Leave it here.”

The men looked confused because Fender had just asked them to drop the painting on the cobblestone driveway.

Fender held the can and flashed his eyes with irritation. “Now.”

They gently set it on the ground, and then the truck drove away.

Fender started to pour gasoline all over the painting.

Gilbert literally gripped his chest as if he might have a heart attack. “What are you doing?”

Fender left the empty container on the portrait then lit a match.

“Sir!”

He tossed it on top—and it burst into flames.

Gilbert ran down the steps. “Have you lost your mind? This painting cost you a fortune. It’s going to stain the cobblestone.” A chicken with his head cut off, he ran to the painting and started to give orders to the men to put it out. “Get the hose!”

“No.” Fender slowly walked away from the flames, like the blazing heat didn’t bother him in the least. He did what he wanted, and now that he was done, the urgency was gone. He moved up the steps, eyes locked on me. “Let it burn.”

Ten

Winner

Fender

I stepped into her bedroom and found her seated in the living room.

In the evenings, she worked on her French. Her textbook was open along with her notebook, and she taught herself when Gilbert wasn’t around. She improved with every passing week, able to carry on short conversations in French.

She turned to look at me over the back of the couch when she heard me, her straight hair shifting like panels of a curtain. In her nightgown, she had her ankles tucked under her ass with her notebook on her lap. The fire burned low in the fireplace, just simmering coals at this point.

I walked around the couch and took the seat beside her, eyes hypnotized by the way she looked in the gentle firelight. Her cheeks were brightened by the glow, her eyes glimmering like diamonds. In silence, I stared at her, still offended that another woman had ever been declared as the most beautiful. In the present or the past, it didn’t matter. Melanie triumphed over any other contender.

She broke eye contact and closed her notebook. Her little thumb clicked her pen so the ink wouldn’t run everywhere. Everything was set on the coffee table before she turned her gaze back to me.

“Alexander is coming to paint your portrait tomorrow.”

Her eyes shifted back and forth subtly. “Do you think he’ll still do it if he knows you destroyed his painting?”

“It’s none of his business what I did with it. Transaction is complete.” I turned my chin forward and looked at the dying fire. “Ugliest painting I’ve ever seen.” I watched the red color underneath the destroyed logs, glowing bright with incredible heat.

Her hand moved to my thigh.

All it took was a touch, her slender fingers on me, to give me that rush of blood to the head. My anger was usually easy to maintain because I was always mad, and I never forgave. But it was impossible to hold on to now. She pulled me under, took me back to a peaceful existence that was quiet like the falling snow. My heart was incapable of resisting her. My eyes incapable of not feasting on her beauty. Nothing in the world softened me the way she did.

Fucking nothing.

I turned back to her, seeing her blue eyes burn a little brighter when my gaze came back to her.

“Make love to me…” Her pretty eyes pleaded. Her fingers kneaded. Her lips parted for an anxious kiss. Her words wrapped around me like an invisible string, binding her to me forever.

My stare lasted several seconds, immersed in the moment, the invisible heat between us, the connection between our souls. We were star-crossed lovers—she was my Juliet. If she died, I’d die.

I lifted her petite body as I rose to my feet and carried her to the bed. She was set at the edge, and I kept one arm around her waist as I lifted her and pulled off her panties. My hand bunched up her dress above her belly button, and I kissed her soft skin, tasting the swell at the bottom of her breasts.