The sad look in Marianne’s eyes troubled Dominic. Curiously, it had one more effect on him that he didn’t expect. As soon as he found himself in the corridor, he was filled with an uncontrollable urge to draw those eyes. His canvases and his palette beckoned. For the first time in a while, his inspiration was a total outsider. Without much thought, he quickly climbed the stairs to his attic, desperate to capture, in lead and paint, those almond-shaped, hazel eyes.

I didn’t like what I saw; but I think that devastated look would make a great painting. It’s funny how sadness can bring out the best in people. Poets, songwriters, composers, painters… we all need the pain. We can’t create without it. Now’s not the time for philosophy, Dominic. Do it. I doubt she’ll want to remember that look, but I can’t help it.

Dominic picked up a pencil from his desk and began to draw the outline of her doleful face. Minute after minute, Marianne’s expression came into life: her chiseled jawline, her high cheekbones, her small nose and the few strands of her hair in her face. He could feel his heart beating like a drum, as he drew her curly eyelashes. Dominic clenched his jaw, as he recalled the tears that were about to topple over the edge of her eyes.

“This might be a little tricky.” He said to himself, as he moved on to truly capturing the moment.

“It’s very nice.” A familiar, high-pitched voice with a strong accent filled his ears. It was none other than Melanie Chantal, Jean’s fiancée. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

“Quite well, actually,” Dominic replied, looking down at her over his left shoulder. “Come closer.”

“Is that…? Oh, Mon Dieu,” Melanie whispered, as she obliged. “That’s Marianne! She’s here? What did you do to her?”

“I’ve drawn her. I’ve painted her.” Dominic’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “She arrived this morning.”

“This is not funny, Dominic. Why is she about to cry?” She raised her voice.

“I was hoping you could shed some light on that.” He sighed, tossing his brush across his desk behind him. “I just mentioned that her book hadn’t sold that well and she ditched me.”

“I have no idea,” Melanie claimed, solemnly. “Where is she?”

“I’m guessing she’s still sleeping,” Dominic muttered, slipping his hands into his pockets, as his lazy footsteps brought him closer to the small window of his attic. Daylight was slowly fading away. The rain had not let up one bit. If anything, it was even stronger. The evening sky was occasionally lit up with a bright flash of lightning. As he looked down at his rose garden, Dominic noticed a feminine figure. She had a purple umbrella in her hands. Just before she stepped into the garden, he caught a glimpse of her black heels. He could make no mistake. It was Marianne.

“Excuse me…” he murmured, as he turned around. Dominic brushed past Melanie, as he sprinted across his attic. Desperate to let her know about his painting, he rushed down the stairs, feeling his heart thumping in his chest. A blinding streak of lightning and a deafening crack of thunder ripped through the air, as he pulled his massive, front door open. Dominic rushed outside. The rain soaked his hair and his face, as he closed the distance between himself and Marianne. His loud, hurried footsteps grabbed her attention, well before he reached her. Marianne turned around to face him, as he brushed past the first, red rose tree. By that time, his white shirt was so drenched that it stuck to his body.

“Jesus Christ, Dominic!” She exclaimed, as their eyes met. “What are you doing out here?”

“Well…” he gasped, his chest rising up and down, as the vaporous air from his exhalations clouded his vision. “I came here to tell you that your face will stay here, long after you leave.”

“What are you talking about? How?” she asked, surprise written all over her face.

“I memorialized it. I memorized it,” Dominic confessed, as raindrops rolled off his cheeks. “Every single line of it; I could even remember your tears. I painted your face, Marianne.”

A gasp of surprise left her lips, as her umbrella slipped through her fingers. He bent his head down towards her, watching as a few raindrops landed on her forehead. Wrapping his left arm around her back, he raised his other hand to her face, as she circled her arms around his neck. Dominic pulled her closer, as their lips locked in a long, gentle kiss. Yet another bright flash of lightning and an even louder crack of thunder filled his ears, as he caressed her face. With Marianne’s warm breath on his soaked skin, he stroked her back, feeling more and more raindrops streaming down his forehead and his cheeks. She slid her hands down the back of his neck, as his grip around her grew tighter. Running his thumb across her cheekbone, Dominic felt the cold water on his fingertips. He pressed his forehead against hers, as his hand slipped up into her hair. Threading his fingers through it, he planted a short kiss on her chin and leaned back, opening his eyes.

“God…” Marianne said, her voice a soft, breathless whisper, as she gently shook her head. “You painted me?”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a small smile on his face as their gazes met. “Memories can always fade. I wanted to remember that moment exactly as it was.”

“What are you, Dominic?” She wondered, running her hand up his neck. “A king; an artist? What…?”

“I’m just a man.” Her questions widened his smile.

“You’re freezing.” Marianne remarked, staring at his blue lips. “We need to get back inside.”

Dominic was about to speak, but then, he heard Melanie’s squeaky voice and a long, cheerful applause.

“Tres bien!” She cried, sticking her face out the window. “Come on! Dominic, bring my friend in, before you guys catch a cold!”