Chapter 17
Lights illuminated every room of the library, casting a golden glow on the wide stairs leading up to the building. The parking lot was near capacity, and cars were already starting to accumulate in adjoining lots behind the gym and the art building.
Simon parked the Jaguar and sauntered around the front of the car to open the passenger door for her. Genevieve grasped the hand he extended, and he tugged her free of the low-slung leather seat, the hem of her high-collared black silk sheath sliding back into place at her knees. She tossed her red lace shawl around her shoulders to ward off the moist summer night air and gripped a small black purse just big enough to carry lipstick and her cell phone.
She had played up her eye makeup, knotted her dark brown hair atop her head, and stuck black lacquered chopsticks in to hold it in place. The ballet pumps felt strange on her feet. She’d grown too used to work boots or tennis shoes, or even going barefoot around the house.
“I like your hair like this, Genevieve.” Simon gave a gentle tug to a curled tendril lying against her cheek. “I’ve never seen you wear it in this style before.”
“Thank you. It isn’t comfortable for work with it twisted up like this, but for an evening function, it’s quick and easy.”
This new, attentive Simon was a little disconcerting. She was hyperaware of the possessive hand he placed against the small of her back as they walked across the parking lot and up the side steps to the front of the building. She hadn’t made up her mind how she felt about the change he was encouraging between them. He hadn’t said anything more, but the subtle touches, the lingering grasp of her hand, signaled the change he wanted.
She turned her attention away from what was making her uncomfortable to a subject she understood, the staid architecture of every building on campus. Each was constructed of red brick, had white columns across the front, and sported cupolas atop the roofs. “I wish they had experimented with a different type of architecture for the art building.”
Simon shook his head. “Fat chance. It would have ruined the symmetry of the entire campus. Not my words, President Connor’s. He’s guided everything toward the same style. He’s all about tradition.”
“Oh, you know him?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose one of my sculptures for the library would be totally out of the question.”
“Yes, unless it’s a traditional image of someone reading a book.” He reached for the door and opened it for her. “I didn’t realize you were interested in doing a sculpture for the school.”
“It would be good press for the community, and for me.”
They paused in the large, open foyer where small clumps of people stood talking. “Miranda loves my Water Baby so much she wants to put a proposal before the library board for a sculpture to go here in the foyer. Not a nude, but something unusual.”
She paused for a moment, scanning the area. “She wants to add some display cases for the art department, too, but I think it would be more natural to display artworks throughout the space. Place them so, while the students and other patrons move through the stacks and use the computers, there’s a point of interest to look at. Since the general public uses the library too, the art students could put prices on their works and possibly make some sales.”
“I think it would be wonderful for the school and the community. But I happen to be on the library board, and since you’re my client, I’ll have to recuse myself from the voting on the proposal.” Simon’s expression was apologetic.
“It’s okay. If President Connor is so traditional, I doubt I’d get the commission anyway. But I may do something for them to auction off to raise money for more books for the new wing.”
“A small sculpture, perhaps in wood,” he suggested.
“We’ll see.” It was so easy to razz him when she knew he’d want to have complete control over what she donated.
His raised brows had her grinning.
“Why do I get the idea I’m being teased?”
“I wouldn’t do that, would I?”
“Yeah, you would. I know you think I’m Ebenezer Scrooge because I steer you away from unprofitable projects, but I’m just trying to keep your career on a straight trajectory.” He guided her through the small clusters of people to the sprawling open area in the large reading room. Between the stacks on each side, tables had been arranged for the dinner part of the fund-raiser.
“I don’t think you’re Ebenezer Scrooge. I know you push for top dollar every time you sell a piece, and you’re meticulously honest about making sure I get every dime I’m owed. But mass viewing of what I do will bring me more sales.”
“Not from college students.”
“No, but Miranda hosts meetings here for visiting alumni and local corporations. She held one for the canning corporation that processes the mushrooms from MM Mushroom. Those will bring me word of mouth sales. There’s Miranda.” She waved to her and got a wave in return. “She looks like she’s got her hands full right now. I think that’s the mayor who’s bending her ear. I’ll let her catch up to us later.”
She took in the perfumed and primped women, and the men dressed in their dark, distinguished suits. The cost of the meal was five hundred a plate, ensuring only the very wealthiest in the area could attend. With the large chandelier alight in the foyer to emphasize the glitter of jewelry and the occasional sequin, it looked more like a state dinner than a library fund-raiser.
A student dressed as a waiter and carrying a tray of smoked salmon hors d’oeuvres on toast points paused beside her. Right behind him followed another student with flutes of champagne. She passed on the salmon, but reached for a glass of champagne.
A couple paused to speak to Simon. The woman’s blond hair was beautifully done, and her dress a pale shade of green that nearly matched her eyes. “Oh, you’re the artist who did the drawings we just acquired.” the woman gushed. “I’m Tina Richards. We’re so thrilled with the drawings. These will be our first original pieces. And so special, since they’re the first drawings you’ve sold. We’re hanging them in our study. They’re going to be just beautiful there.”
Her husband William was nearly his wife’s same height of five six, or so but appeared a little older. “You’re a talented young lady, Miss Warren. Sculpture and drawing. Like a female Michelangelo.”
“Wow. I’m flattered,” Genevieve managed. “I’m delighted you’re so pleased with them.”
Once the Richards wandered off to meet with a couple waiting for them, Genevieve said, “You didn’t tell me you already had them framed.”
“I haven’t. They saw them and wanted to choose the mats and frames themselves.”
“That was fast.”
“Your work speaks for itself, Genevieve.”
She felt both pleased and a little embarrassed by the compliment, and she turned the conversation back to the student work. “With local art being exhibited here, it might give you an opportunity to discover the next Matisse or Picasso.”
“I’m having a hard enough time with my Michelangelo,” he replied as he found their name tags and pulled out her seat. “Not really,” he said close to her ear, and slid into the seat beside her. “You’re not the typical temperamental artist. With some I have to do a lot of hand-holding through every show, vet their stuff, and oversee packaging it for shipment. You’re pretty self-reliant.”
“As my grandparents raised me to be.”
“That’s admirable, but you don’t have to carry the whole thing alone. That’s what you have me for. One day you may decide you want to share more personal thoughts and feelings with me too.”
All the ease she’d felt with him dissolved. “You just sprang things on me the other night, Simon. I haven’t had time to absorb it yet.”
“I know.” A tall man, vaguely familiar to her, paused beside him and spoke, saving her from her discomfort. “Have you met Frank Fischer, Genevieve?”
“Yes. I believe we met at the gallery once.”
“That’s right. You had that beautiful sculpture of a woman kneeling on a bed of fall leaves with a basket beside her. She looked like she might rise and go into the house at any moment. It was unbelievably lifelike. I was so disappointed to learn it had already been sold before I had a chance to enquire about it.”
She heard the empty flattery behind his words. Why did people do that when they had no real interest in what she did, or in owning anything she created? “I’m sorry. Maybe you’ll have better luck next time.”
“The next time she has a piece for sale, be sure to contact me, Simon.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, Frank.” She could practically see the eye-roll Simon suppressed, and bit her lip to keep from smiling.
The two men went on to talk about a meeting they had next week at the chamber of commerce, leaving Genevieve to study Simon surreptitiously. His dark hair lay thick and soft against his head in perfect layers. His jaw was perfectly shaven. His suit perfectly fitted to his tall, lean body. Would he expect her to be perfect, the way he did with his appearance and his gallery?
Her work was dusty and dirty, and sometimes she was, too. She couldn’t picture him with someone like her. There were days she stood at the kitchen counter covered with stone dust and ate lunch. If she tracked a little grit into the house, she swept it back out as soon as she was finished for the day, but she didn’t stress over it.
Simon picked at small things in the gallery to make presentation as flawless as possible. And his house was spotless. Everything had a place, and it stayed there. She wasn’t a pig, but if her clothes didn’t reach the hamper in the downstairs bathroom at the end of the day, she didn’t sweat it. She’d pick them up to wash later.
Andy had never had an issue with it. He’d added his to the pile, and even put a couple of loads in now and then when the pile had turned into…well, more than a pile. She couldn’t picture Simon doing a mundane chore such as laundry.
The client moved on and Simon turned back to her. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”
“No worries. Do you cook, Simon?”
“Yes. I’m quite good at it. I ran a restaurant for a time in Lexington before I moved here to open the gallery, and learned a thing or two while I was there. I’ll have to fix you dinner one night.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Do you cook?” he countered.
“When I’m not consumed by my work. When I am, I order pizza or run by and pick up Chinese takeout. Or fix a gallon of vegetable soup and eat it every day until it’s gone.”
“Next time, call me and I’ll cook you some egg drop soup or baked potato soup with cheddar cheese. It takes next to no time and it will give you a little variety.”
“Sounds tempting.”
She straightened in the chair. It was time to tell Simon about her new model now, so he wouldn’t think it strange when the next sculpture was complete and she hadn’t mentioned anything about it. “I’ve found my male model for the next piece.”
His brows crashed together. “Who is he?”
The sharp demand in his voice took her aback for a moment. His movements stiff, he shifted and rearranged the silverware next to his plate.
“He’s someone local, but he wants to remain anonymous, like the women I hire to pose for me.”
“Has he posed for you yet?”
“Yes. But only partially unclothed. I took your advice about the nudity making it more difficult to sell the pieces, and decided to use a drape.” She felt protective of Finn’s privacy. After having been naked before the world for nearly seven hundred years, he deserved to have his dignity preserved. He hadn’t seemed bothered at all by her request.
“He’s okay with that?”
“Yes. And I’ve done a couple of preliminary sketches already. He’s large and muscular, but no bodybuilder. And, as usual, I’ll change his facial features to conceal his identity.”
“He’s behaving himself?”
“Yes. He’s very courteous and polite. His body has the perfect symmetry for the piece, and he’s flexible like an athlete, so he can hold the pose so I can get both photographs and drawings. Once I get a few more done, I won’t need him to pose any longer.”
“I thought you were going to let me come out to keep an eye on him.”
“There isn’t any need, Simon. He’s behaving.”
“Those are the ones you have to watch out for, Genevieve.”
She laughed like she was supposed to, but at the same time recognized he could be placed in the same category. His attitude and the adamant sharpness of his voice made her wary.
She’d been alone a long time before Andy, and her grandparents had trusted her to look out for herself. Andy never questioned her ability to do so either. To have Simon suddenly go all… Was it possessive or protective? She didn’t know which, but she wasn’t buying into it.
President Connor climbed the steps to the dais set at the head of the room, successfully deflecting her from saying what she was thinking.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you will all take a seat, please. We want to start the meal while it’s hot. But first, let’s all thank our students, who are acting as our wait staff tonight.”
Applause followed while people went to the tables to get settled.
Connor continued, “And our cafeteria staff, who have catered the meal under the supervision of Chef Ryland Parker. He is the head chef for the Meyer’s Restaurant de Famille. There will be four courses. An aperitif, a soup or salad, an entrée, and a dessert. Our first course will be jumbo shrimp cocktail with freshly made cocktail sauce, our chef’s secret recipe. You’re welcome to visit with the people at your table while our food is being served.”
A herd of students began serving iced tea or water, while others placed shrimp before each of the hundred and fifty guests. The man beside her turned to say something. She was grateful for the others at the table, because they kept the conversation going, and filled the void that followed Simon’s territorial behavior.
The salad, grilled peaches atop a bed of spinach with English walnuts, feta cheese, ham, and a sweet and sour vinaigrette dressing, was a work of art, and delicious. “I wonder if they’ll give me a box to take food home,” Genevieve teased.
“I had an aunt who stuffed food in her purse every time she went to a buffet,” the man across from her said with a grin.
She held up the tiny flat bag she’d brought.
“Not even room for a chicken wing in there,” he commented.
“What do you think, Simon?”
“For five hundred a plate, I think you could probably talk them into giving you a plate.”
Leave it to him to come up with a practical solution, as always. “Good idea.”
She dug into the entreé of grilled yellowtail tuna, pasta blended with sun-dried tomatoes and asparagus with a divine sauce, and a carrot dish with raisins and nuts. The food was delicious, and now that he was distracted from her sculpting model issue, Simon had decided to be charming to everyone around them.
But she couldn’t get back to the easy, stress-free moments they had enjoyed for thinking about his reaction. She wished he’d never said anything to her about his change of feelings.
It was going to ruin their business relationship when she told him she couldn’t return them.
* * *
Finn watched from the shade of the cupola as the crowd trickled out of the library. Simon and Genevieve were surely not far behind. If she saw him, she would be angry with him for following them, but ever since he’d tracked the man to his house, Finn was suspicious of him. If he was her friend, why had he remained in his car and watched the police search Genevieve’s yard and not gone inside to secure her safety?
And though she hadn’t treated Simon as a lover, he’d seen the glint in the man’s eyes, and the possessive way he handled her while he guided her to his car and helped her in. Was that a normal part of courtship now? He’d handled enough women in his time to understand what Simon wanted. But Genevieve was still grieving her betrothed.
She kept Finn well-fed, entertained, and safe. The least he could do was to keep her safe as well. Beneath the streetlights, he caught a glimpse of the lace shawl draped over her arm, its rich red standing out like blood against the black of her dress. She looked fragile and feminine, very different from when she wore her bulky coveralls while working, or her shorts and T-shirt. He did enjoy the sight of her long, bare legs and slender feet. Her painted toenails… He jerked his thoughts back, but he couldn’t ignore the hardening of his cock or the heavy beat of his heart.
Was he any better than the man he was here to protect her from? Yes, he was. He knew his own intent. He would never harm her. He was here to make sure this man wouldn’t either. But every time Simon put his hand on her back, or grasped her arm, Finn’s stomach muscles tightened and the blood rushed to his head.
As soon as Simon’s car pulled out of the parking lot, Finn flew up, then toward home. He hovered just above the vehicle, keeping it in sight until it pulled into the driveway. He perched in the tall oak shading the porch and waited for the man to say good night. When he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Genevieve’s cheek, it took every ounce of Finn’s control not to fly down, snatch the man away, and hurl him off the porch.
“Thanks for this evening, Simon.”
“You’re welcome. Maybe next time it won’t be business when we go out, but pleasure.”
“We’ll see. When do you think the drawings will be framed? I’d like to see them before the Richards pick them up,” Genevieve said.
“They should be done by next week. I’ll call when they’re ready.”
“Thank you.” She unlocked her door.
“May I see the drawings you’ve done of the model?”
“Not yet, Simon. When I get them just the way I want them, I’ll share them with you.”
He nodded. “Another time, then.” He stepped back. “Good night, Genevieve.”
“Good night.” She slipped inside and closed the door.
Simon stood there for a second or two, staring at the door. When he turned, the porch light shone upon his features, which were set in a mask of rage. When he pulled out onto the main road, gravel pinged against the underside of the vehicle as the wheels spun hard to keep up with the revving engine.
It would seem Simon was displeased because he hadn’t been invited into the house. Finn chuckled and swung down the branches of the oak tree. His feet hit the ground, and he sauntered up the steps and, stretching his wings out, sat down in one of the rocking chairs on the porch.
It would seem she had discussed her drawings with Simon. But he had called him a model. Was that what he was?
With a piece of charcoal, she meant to carve away those areas that made him a monster and turn him back into the man he had been before. She meant to show the sketches to Simon when she finished.
There was an intensity in the way she studied him from the very beginning. He first experienced it when she knelt and rested her palm against his face that first day, inside the storage room. She really looked at him. Really saw him.
It wasn’t horror or distaste she felt. He’d seen those reactions on many tourists’ faces when they came upon him on the castle grounds. Hers was more a sharp, focused consideration, almost as if she could see beneath his skin to his bones.
Did she look as fierce when carving stone as she did drawing him that afternoon? An idea occurred to him, and he stopped the rocker’s gentle motion. What if she carved away his tail and the points on his ears while the stone encased him? Would it rid him of those things when he became the real monster? Could he convince her to try it?
But if she took his wings, he could no longer fly. He would miss flying. But he was getting ahead of himself. They could try something small and see if it worked.
He was willing to take the risk. What was the sacrifice of a tail, or two spiny knobs if he could be who he was before?
No, that could never be. He had been irrevocably changed by the curse. By everything he lost. But he could be human again, at least in appearance. He could be a man. At least part of the time.
So many thoughts clamored inside his head, he covered his ears and closed his eyes to block them out. But the most important one pushed its way forward. If he looked like a man, could pursue her as a man, would Genevieve accept his suit?
With that idea driving him to action, he shoved to his feet, went to the door, and rang the bell.