Page 57 of Brooke
“Snatch from the wall?”His neurons weren’t functioning. “You mean to steal?”
Axel laughed heartily and shook him gently. “Yes, my dear Maestro, to steal.”
He exhaled sharply, his bones seeming to collapse under the weight of this shock. “Someone might want to steal my painting. God! I don’t think I’ve ever had a better compliment.”
Suddenly, all he wanted to do was dance around a fire like the caveman who’d just painted Lascaux, maybe howl at a full moon while he was at it.
Another solid clap on his shoulder brought him back from his primal reverie. “The theft of an artist’s work may be a compliment, Sawyer, but the loss is quite painful, as I can attest. But that is a dismal story, and this moment is cause for a celebration. One, because you painted what your soul beseeched you to paint, and two, because you showed it to someone. Me. I am honored. Shall we have a drink to commemorate this grand moment?”
Sawyer pushed his spectacles up his nose, a burn rising from his neck to his eyes. He was touched that the man understood and wanted to celebrate with him. God! He was like Sawyer’s new best friend. “Something dark and strong because I’m about ready to lose my mind. Jesus! I’m coming out of my skin. Maybe I should take a walk.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Axel moved to a sleek black bar cart in the salon and picked up a crystal decanter, then poured the brown liquid into fragile, engraved snifters. “You can bawl like a baby with me, Sawyer. I have done the same before, during, and after creating. It is a human expression, especially after moments of great creation.”
Cry like a baby… Yeah, he could feel that shit rising, pressing at the back of his eyes. He took off his glasses and rubbed the sockets fiercely, his throat filled with knots. “I’m glad you understand. Some might freak.”
“Not me.” The snifter was suddenly being placed in hishands, and he caught the spicy fumes of cognac. “Sit down, Sawyer.”
He gave a shaky breath before feeling like he could open his eyes without staining his cheeks with repressed tears. Axel stood beside him, a broad smile on his face. A certain comraderie shimmered between them like evening light on a river. They were both artists. They both knew the agonies and triumphs of such a calling.
“I think I will sit down. Rubbery legs aren’t my usual, but you could break them like a chicken bone today.” He took a few steps until he sank into a slanted chair, kicking back and staring at the engraved leaves in the border of the ceiling. Beautiful, the artist in him thought hazily. This man surrounded himself with his finest creations. Sawyer felt the same in his vestibule, surrounded by his paintings in various stages on their easels.
Axel situated himself on the sofa across from Sawyer, pointing to the painting. “I cannot wait to meet her. Your Nanine. Brooke’s Nanine. She must be a very special woman, not only to bring such a diverse group of people together, but to inspire them to come back to Paris when she needed help the most. All of you up and left what you were doing the moment you heard of her heart attack and now have stayed to help her and her restaurant.Thatis quite a woman. I see why you had to immortalize her.”
“That’s Nanine.” He had to hold the snifter with two hands to drink, his hands were shaking so. “I’ve never loved anyone like her. She’s mother. She’s muse. She’s teacher. She’s…everything.”
Axel seemed to fill up the entire couch as he rested his arms on the back of the sofa. If Sawyer had been in possession of a drawing pencil, he would have sketched the image. He knew what the title would be if he painted it: A God at Home.
“Your love for Nanine shines through in your painting. How you understand her and what she is thinking is clear.”He sipped his cognac. “Sawyer, again, I can say it a million times. You have an incredible talent. I hope today you have opened yourself even more to that truth. The lies we hear whispered in our minds are designed to destroy us.”
Cue the scary music, Sawyer thought.
“My advice. Tell them to fuck off when they come. The more you do, the less they show up.”
He gave a goofy smile free rein on his face. “I will. Thanks. Like seriously, man.”
“I know, Sawyer. To your brilliant creation.”
When he lifted his snifter, Sawyer did the same. They drank silently, gazing at the painting. Suddenly Sawyer wasn’t seeing any areas of improvement needed or feeling crushing doubts about his choices. He could simply sit and admire it, the taste of cognac bright and cleansing in his mouth. God, it was a miracle!
“So…how’s everything going with Brooke?” he finally asked. “Because I feel like I need to tell you that she means the world to me. All of us. And while I really like you, I’ll challenge you to a duel or something if you hurt her.” He’d realized the ends to which he’d go to protect her or any of his friends the other night when her scream had split the air and brought him running.
Axel kicked out his large feet in front of him, resting his snifter on his belly. “It’s my nostalgic love for history, but I do so once yearn to hear the words in life,Demain, à l’aube.”
Tomorrow at dawn—the call for a duel in French. God, they were like brothers from another mother. “Me too. But you’re skirting the question.”
“You speak of personal matters, which I cannot respond to as a gentleman.” An amused look filled his eyes. Sawyer knew it would make him crazy until he found the right blend of blues to mimic the color of his irises. “But I will assure you. I have no plans to hurt Brooke. My every intention is to makeher happy. As she does me. For as long as she lets me. Which I hope is long. Does that assure you?”
He took another sip of his aged cognac, his hands steadier now. “I suppose it will have to. Don’t be offended or anything. I said the same thing to Thea’s beau, Jean Luc, whom you haven’t met. It’s rather like a brotherly impulse, I guess.”
“Ah…” The silence stretched as Axel settled back into a manly sprawl. “I see. Only I imagine you would wish a friend to do the same with a woman who enters your life. You desire to protect another’s heart because you yourself want to be protected.”
His heart gave a sound knock against his ribs at that observation. “You’re right. People need to know the heart is nothing to be trifled with.”
Axel laid his hand over his massive chest. “No, it is a living, breathing entity inside of us that fuels our existence as human beings.”
His limbs relaxed in the face of Sophic discourse. “You do not believe the mind serves that purpose.”
Axel tilted his head to the right, tracing his snifter thoughtfully. “No, the mind is the executioner until the heart and mind become aligned. A relationship can take many years to create, and even then, whispers from the past can rise once again in the mind and attempt to destroy everything. When you think of it, the human experience is quite a battle between the mind and heart.”
