Page 56 of Brooke
Because Thea finding her wedding dress by herself wasn’t as big as this monumental piece of news. The mother of her heart was moving in with her father! Marriage might be down the road. And it was happening without any prodding or orchestration from her.
Nothing in her life was going as planned.
She might as well throw out her day planner. No, that was ridiculous, but the earth under her feet seemed to be shaking, as if someone was detonating ordnances in the Paris catacombs under the city.
Her list of people and things to fix was shrinking fast. That was a good thing, right?
Except now she didn’t have any excuse not to fix herself all the way.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Sawyer normally didn’t like secrets.
But in keeping with his current zipped-lip situation about Brooke’s involvement with Axel, he decided to continue with a secret of his own.
Nanine’s portrait.
He opened the closet where it had been drying for weeks since the mad night he’d painted it. With the critical eyes he could never rip out—Medea, who’d ripped out her own eyes in the Greek tragedy, was bolder than him—he studied his creation. His muscles all vibrated as he agonized over every brushstroke, every color choice.
Nanine was magnificent, in sheer female form as much as in character. How did one capture her spirit? Herje ne sais quoi? Grinding his teeth, he carefully touched the canvas to see if the deeper brushstrokes were still wet. But no, Nanine’s inner fire had dried this painting in record time, perhaps along with Sawyer’s inner fire to paint the woman he loved more than anyone else.
He simply had not been able to deny his compulsion to paint her.
And if the painting was good enough, he wanted to hangit in the front of her restaurant. She should never be forgotten, even if she was no longer cooking in the back.
He could not live in a world in which her culinary genius, her very presence, faded from people’s memories. Portraits captured history. He knew that as an art professor, but he also felt the call to make someone immortal with his own fingertips.
My God, the rush. Along with the gnawing fear. Was this portrait of her good enough to steal a person’s breath and make them wonder about the subject? For years and centuries to come? Okay, perhaps not centuries. That thought had him starting to hyperventilate. But maybe it would add to the lore of the beloved restaurant as Madison won Michelin stars and acclaim for Nanine’s.
His painting had to be that good.
There was only one person he could trust to tell him, so he bundled the painting into a carrier and snuck out of the house for the confidential meeting he’d arranged yesterday.
With Axel.
When he arrived at the man’s apartment, Axel buzzed him inside and then met him in the garden. Sawyer barely registered the beauty of the space, which would normally have filled him with awe. His palms were sweating, along with other parts best left unnoticed.
“Sawyer!” Axel called, looking like a giant amidst the greens and autumn colors around him. “I’m so glad you called. Is that the painting?”
He bobbed his head, saliva pooling in his mouth.
“Come inside.” His large hand gripped Sawyer’s shoulder as he met his eyes straight on. “Bravery of the heart is always richly rewarded, but I understand the agony of creation. Let us hurry, then.”
He headed to his open front door at a healthy clip. Sawyer rushed after him, his glasses sliding down his nose in his haste.
Inside, Axel showed him into his salon, its balanced décor created by simple contrasts of the color green. He’d have to analyze that later. With shaking hands, he unzipped the carrier and drew the painting out with reverence, Nanine’s mysterious brown eyes communicating her unshakable bravery.
“May I?” Axel asked, his massive arms extended.
Sawyer handed it to him and watched as the large man walked it over to the mantel over his fireplace, clearing space for it. Finished, he started walking back until he was in the adjoining kitchen. Despite his wild thoughts, Sawyer realized Axel was giving himself the best distance to view the painting: twenty feet. Another reminder that the giant blond dude knew his stuff.
“Your pulse is audible, so I will put you out of your misery,” Axel said quickly. “The painting is brilliant! Captivating. Breathtaking. Your use of tonals especially pleases the artist in me, but what makes it remarkable is the way you captured the slight smile on her lips, hinting of the reserve and restrained joy of a French woman, and the look of warmth, courage, and suspicion in her eyes. She is welcoming you, politely, as she dares you not to see how magnificent she is.”
Sawyer felt his knees give out. “Yes! That’s exactly how she looks at her restaurant. I had to paint her like that. Not like she is with me and the roommates, but there. In Nanine’s. I want to hang it in the front of her restaurant so she will not be forgotten. Is it good enough?”
“In my opinion, absolutely.” Axel walked toward him and gripped both of his shoulders, his strength tangible and his support appreciated. “In fact, I would tell Kyle to provide it with security because it would be a prize to snatch from the wall.”
