J.C. and the Bijoux Jolis: The Rousseaus #3 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 14) (6 page)

“
Attends!  Écoute Étienne...
”

“
Non
.” Étienne reached out, putting his hand on his older brother’s knee and locking eyes with him. “
Toi Jean-Christian, seulement toi, mon frère
.”

You. Only you. My brother.

Étienne’s eyes were severe—dark and strong and full of faith that Jean-Christian didn’t feel he deserved.

“
Pourquoi
?
Pourquoi moi
?” asked J.C., thinking that there wasn’t a worse person on earth to be the guardian of a little girl than him.

“Because you took care of me.” Étienne sighed softly, still holding his older brother’s eyes. “Because I never had to see what you saw. Because you always went with him into the city so he wouldn’t take one of us instead, so we wouldn’t have to see, so we wouldn’t have to be the excuse he used.”

J.C. inhaled sharply, sitting back from his brother, shock making goose bumps rise on his skin. “You knew?”

“I suspected,” said Étienne sadly. “Now I know for sure.”

J.C. dropped his younger brother’s eyes, ashamed of the things he’d seen—the women his father would kiss and maul in the elevator of the Morris House Hotel as the electric doors closed—ashamed of the way his mother would search his face for answers he couldn’t give.

“Hey,” said Étienne softly. “You protected me. You’ll protect Noelle too.”

“
Oui
,” said J.C., looking up at his brother with gratitude and conviction. “
Oui. Avec ma vie
.”
With my life.

Étienne sat back on the couch, putting his arm around Kate and pulling her close. “So yes? You’ll be her godfather?”

“It’s an honor,” said J.C., nodding at Kate. “
Merci,
Kate. I won’t let you down. I won’t let
her
down.”

“You’re not out of the woods yet,” said Kate, a minxy smile tipping up her lips as Jax and Mad returned with champagne and glasses. “Lib is going to be her godmother.”

Fuck. Of course she was.

Prickly, skinny, angry Libitz who hated him.

Smart-mouthed, foul-mouthed Libitz who kissed like a Siren and wanted nothing to do with him.

He would be bound to her for life now, watching over a child who belonged to both of them equally.

Great. Fantastic. Aces. What a fucking mess.

And yet the baby growing in Kate’s belly was
his
blood,
his
flesh, part of
his
family, and already safely housed within
his
heart. The minute he’d heard her name, he’d included that child under the umbrella of profound love and unswerving protection reserved for his siblings only. Noelle Rousseau was
his
niece and
his
goddaughter. Fuck Libitz Feingold if she didn’t like it. She’d have to learn to live with it. He wasn’t going anywhere, goddamnit.

He smiled at Kate, certain that he’d never had to work harder to appear pleased. “Wonderful.”

Kate snickered. “That’s what I thought.”

“J.C.!” said Jax, placing the ice bucket on the coffee table. “Let me show you the painting before dinner. Mad? Pour the wine? We’ll be back in a sec to toast our new niece!”

Grateful to be able to leave the room for a moment, J.C. followed Jax up the twisting staircase of Le Chateau, mostly ignoring her chattering about what she’d found in the attic since the ownership of the mansion had been turned over to her and Gard.

What would Libitz think of the fact that they’d be sharing such important roles in Noelle’s life? Would she co-godparent with class, or would he need to be on his guard, waiting for her to poison his little niece’s head with whisperings of her evil
Parrain Jean-Christian
? Well, screw that. No one was getting between him and his goddaughter. He’d make damn sure of that.

“…I thought about taking it to an appraiser, but I know nothing about where to go or who to ask. Plus I’m not really sure it’s my style anyway. I guess it’s been up here for ages. It’s signed by Pierre Montferrat, who must be one of
Maman
’s cousins? I don’t know. Anyway…”

J.C. plodded up the attic stairs behind Jax, thinking about the kind of godparents his niece deserved—the kind of godparents he wanted her to have. He couldn’t be in an active fight with Noelle’s godmother. No. That wasn’t okay. It wouldn’t be okay for
her
. Noelle deserved the best of everything. She needed a safe and secure circle of adults who loved her, not two lunatics who fought every time they were in the same room.

So, fine. The next time he saw Libitz, he’d apologize to for calling her a “bitch.” He’d explain that he was a little drunk and she’d wounded his pride, but he’d had no right to say such a thing to her. An hour earlier, he would have as soon rotted in hell than apologize to that shrew, but this wasn’t just about him and Libitz now. It was about Noelle. And just as he’d loved her father enough to protect him from ugliness, he’d do the same for his niece.

“…seriously, I can’t figure it out because she’s
so
familiar, it’s driving me crazy. It’s like I’ve seen her before, but…Well, you’ll see. Anyway, it’s probably not worth much, but here it is.”

J.C. finally focused on what Jax was saying, looking up as she flicked on a light and pulled a large canvas into the center of the dusty attic. He looked up at the back of the old canvas.

“See here? It says,
Les Bijoux Jolis
. I’m guessing that’s the title?”

He nodded distractedly. “Probably.”

So it was settled. The next time he came face-to-face with Libitz Feingold, he’d apologize.

Jax reached for the top corners of the large canvas to turn the portrait around, and J.C.’s jaw dropped as he stared at the painting. His breath caught. His blood raced cold. He blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating, then stepped forward to take a closer look at the woman in the portrait. She wasn’t stunning, but she was memorable, her body naked but for an emerald necklace she wore around her neck, her jet-black hair and wide eyes achingly familiar.

The murmured words “I’m sorry” left his lips on the very tail of a released breath.

The thing is, he hadn’t expected to come face-to-face with her again quite so soon.

“I can juggle things, Lib,” said Neil from the easy chair in her bedroom, watching as she packed her suitcase. “If you want me there, I can make it. I really want to meet Kate.”

Libitz looked up from folding a pair of jeans and shook her head. “Rosh Hashanah’s in two weeks. I know how busy you are.”

“So what? Aaron can handle it.”

Libitz stopped what she was doing and put her hands on her hips. “No. I can’t let you do that.”

Neil gave her a pointed look. “Or maybe you’re not ready to introduce us yet?”

“No!” Libitz dropped his eyes, turning her back to him as she pulled a crisp white button-down blouse from her closet and removed the hanger. “You know that’s not the reason.”

“Do I?”

She glanced up at him, wishing her cheeks weren’t flushing, though she could feel the heat rising in them. “Yes. You do.”

“Lib…we’ve been dating for over two months now and…”

His voice trailed off as Libitz continued arranging her clothes in the suitcase. She knew what he was getting at, and she’d been dreading this conversation. They’d been dating for two months, but they really weren’t moving forward. Though they saw each other twice a week and Neil was a regular at her parents’ house for dinner, he’d never met any of her friends. Nor had he ever spent the night at her place or had her overnight at his. He’d invited her to stay over, his eyes suggesting how much he’d like to be more intimate with her, but Libitz had explained to Neil that she wanted to take things slowly between them. Except by now, eight weeks after their first date, “slowly” had turned into “glacial” somewhere along the way. Aside from some kissing, they hadn’t done much of anything else, and Neil’s patience was waning.

It wasn’t that Neil wasn’t attractive—he was. At five foot five, he was wiry but fit from morning jogs around his Brooklyn neighborhood. He had a thick head of reddish-blond hair, a sprinkling of charming freckles across his nose, and eyes so big and blue, they made his whole face appear angelic behind stylish glasses.

Libitz sighed. Tall, dark, and stunning had always been more her taste, but that wasn’t Neil’s problem. She
wanted
to be attracted to him. She hoped that a little more time together would do the trick.

“And what?” she asked, hoping to truncate the conversation by appearing annoyed.

Sure enough, Neil dropped her eyes, shrugging apologetically. “I just wish…”

“Neil,” she started—

His voice returned with more confidence and resolution when he interrupted her. “I just wish I felt like you liked me as much as I like you.”

“I
do
like you,” she said, the words coming naturally.

“I don’t just
like
you. I
want
you, Lib.” He searched her eyes with frustration, his voice dropping when he continued. “I want you to want me too.”

Her eyes widened at his unexpected boldness.

“Be patient,” she whispered, guilt making her breath catch and hold, because honestly, she wasn’t sure that patience would help.

“I am,” he said simply, sitting back in the chair and sighing. “I don’t mean to put pressure on you, but I’m thirty-four and I want a family, Libitz. I want a wife and a couple of kids. I can’t afford to waste time in a relationship that’s not going anywhere.”

Terribly uncomfortable with his words, Libitz opened her mouth to say something but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She couldn’t reassure him because she didn’t know where their relationship was headed. She couldn’t promise him anything because, as yet, she didn’t feel the sort of attraction for him that would move them forward. And yet she cared for Neil. She really and truly liked him, saw the goodness in him, recognized how good he could be for her.

“Say something,” he begged her. “Say anything.”

She released the breath she’d been holding and tried smiling at him.

“Don’t cut me lose yet,” she said, repeating words he’d said to her a few weeks ago. “Give me a little more time?”

Recognizing her plea, he laughed softly, nodding his head, a sweet smile slowly spreading across his face. “Fair enough.” Taking a deep breath, he sighed as he stood up, crossing the room to stand beside her. “I think I’ll head out.”

She turned to him. “You’re a good man, Neil Leibowitz.”

“So you tell me.”

Putting her arms around his neck, she pulled him close, closing her eyes as she pressed her lips to the warm skin of his neck, leaning into him as he gathered her close.

“You are,” she whispered, wishing that the ridge of his erection pushing against her didn’t make her feel like backing away.

He leaned back to look at her, then drew forward, pressing his lips to hers. But just as his tongue swiped along the seam of their mouths, Libitz pulled away.

“Got to finish packing. See you soon?”

Disappointment clouded his eyes, but he nodded at her. “Sure. Call me when you get home.”

“I will,” she said, stepping out of his embrace and smiling. “Have a good weekend, okay?”

He nodded, backing out of her bedroom. “You too, Lib.”

***

J.C.’s car idled at the Haverford train station.

He was fifteen minutes early, but it was a beautiful evening, and with the top down on his vintage red Citroen DS convertible, he figured he’d soak up some rays while he waited.

When he’d arrived at Kate and Étienne’s new place, an estate they’d named Toujours, Kate had opened the front door and looked at him in surprise before leaning forward to kiss his cheeks.

“J.C.! You weren’t supposed to be here until five.”

He had glanced at his watch. “It’s five fifteen.”

“What? No! It can’t be!”

“I promise it is.”

“The whole day got away from me! Lib gets here in twenty minutes! I have to go ask Étienne to pick her up…”

He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Étienne’s in the backyard having a lively argument with the garden hose.”

Kate giggled. “He wants to set up a sprinkler for Caroline for tomorrow.”

“Fitz and Daisy’s daughter? Is she old enough to enjoy a sprinkler yet?”

Kate nodded vigorously. “She turned one in June and she’s toddling all over the place. She’ll love it!” Then she sighed, looking tired. “I guess
I’ll
go get Lib.”

“Let me go,” he said.

“You?” Kate, whose belly had just started showing in earnest, looked up at her brother-in-law suspiciously. “Why?”

“Well,” he said, grabbing his keys from his pocket, “I figure it’ll give us a chance to bury the hatchet now that we’re godparents-to-be. We need to figure out how to get along, right? For Noelle’s sake?”

Kate covered her bump lovingly, nodding at him with a cautious smile. “I guess that’s true…”

“So there it is,” he said, his body humming at the thought of seeing Libitz again so soon. He knew there was a good chance she’d be spending Labor Day at Toujours, but he wasn’t positive until now. “I’ll go.”

Kate had leaned forward, kissing J.C.’s cheek again. “Be nice?”

“Of course,” he’d promised, turning back to his car.

And now here he was, with fifteen minutes to kill, waiting for a woman he hadn’t seen in two months—a woman he hadn’t stopped thinking about since they’d kissed at his younger brother’s wedding, a woman about whom he’d become quietly obsessed since the night Jax had shown him
Les Bijoux Jolis
.

The chance of it happening in his life—an intersection between art and reality—was so unlikely, J.C. had never actually prepared himself for it. Art was his love, his most extreme passion. For the face of Libitz, a woman with whom he’d shared unparalleled physical chemistry in the form of one stupendous kiss, to suddenly appear in a portrait almost eighty years old wasn’t just unnerving; it felt strangely like…fate. Like something bigger and wider and more profoundly unexplainable than mere coincidence. And J.C. wasn’t about to leave it unexamined. He
couldn’t
, even if he’d wanted to.

He’d asked Jax for the portrait that evening, and she’d happily given it to him, asking if he recognized the model. He did, of course, but told her he didn’t, because he wasn’t interested in sharing his connection to the art, even with Jax, whom he loved and trusted. It felt too visceral to offhandedly comment that the model looked exactly like Kate’s best friend, like it would somehow minimize the devastating effect the portrait had on him.

Returning to Jax’s house the following Saturday, J.C. had stared at the likeness for well over an hour in the dusty quiet of Le Chateau’s attic, tracing the contours of the woman’s face with his eyes, touching the curve of her shoulder with the pad of his forefinger, resting the back of his hand lightly over her exposed breast, the pert nipple reminding him of the one he’d rolled between his fingers so many weeks ago.

He’d packaged up the portrait carefully and removed it to his gallery where he’d carefully examined it before asking Jessica English’s favorite and most trusted art restorer from New York to inspect it. Graves Fairleigh had commented on the flaking and scratching, tsking over a rip in the upper left quadrant and discolored varnish, but promised he could have the portrait restored to its former glory.

When Graves suggested that they package the canvas, however, J.C. found himself unable to let the artwork out of his sight. Instead, he paid the acclaimed restorer thrice his normal wages to work on
Les Bijoux Jolis
in a small workspace in the back of J.C.’s gallery.

Once it was fully restored, J.C. had considered placing it in the alcove where Atroshenko’s ballerina bid farewell to him every evening, but reluctant to share her, he’d decided on
une place de choix
across from his desk, over his guest sofa instead, where he could glance up at her a thousand times a day.

Undoubtedly the focal point of the portrait was supposed to be the emerald necklace, which sparkled against the girl’s skin like an unlikely trophy. But, J.C. barely noted it. All he saw was the model as though blinded by her.

He had become intimately familiar with model’s body—the graceful way her feet crossed each other, the olive-ivory color of her shapely legs and soft belly against the dark velvet of the setee. Following the very slight flare of her trim hips and tight waist, he wondered what the artist, whom J.C. had figured out was his great-uncle, had felt as he painted the pinkish-brown areolas of her breasts and the distended pink nipples that glistened with the summer heat. Her neck was delicate, her shoulders angular, and her hands, like her feet, crossed, one over the other on the seat of the divan. But it was her elfin face that most arrested him—the berry pink bow of her lips, the flushed peaches of her cheeks, the jet black of her eyebrows and lashes, and the enormous brown eyes which seemed to see the entire world with an innocence he feared and coveted.

To anyone looking in from the outside, J.C. was a man quietly obsessed, or he would be, if anyone knew about the painting and his intense feelings for it.

An announcement from the train platform alerted him that the local train from Philadelphia would be arriving in three minutes, and J.C. cut the engine of his car, swinging his body from the low seat of his convertible and pushing the door shut behind him. Stepping up to the platform, he leaned against a metal bar by the stairs, peeking down the tracks. Per usual, he felt eyes on him—women waiting for the train, wives waiting for their husbands, college girls heading into the city for the weekend. But instead of making eye contact with any of them, he let their hungry eyes roam over his body and tried to quiet the fierce thumping of his heart.

Rationally he knew that there was no connection between the Libitz Feingold from present-day and the model with whom J.C. had become infatuated over the past several weeks, yet his anticipation grew as the tracks began to vibrate and shudder. Suddenly the train whooshed past him with a fiery blast of wind, the brakes shrieking as it slowed down, the silver bullet coming to stop in the station. His body tensed, straightening away from the bar behind him as he scanned the doors that suddenly jerked open and the waves of people that emptied onto the platform.

Wives embraced their husbands, mothers opened their arms to returning children, and businessmen walked hurriedly to their cars, eager to begin the last long weekend of the summer. And for a moment, J.C. despaired that she wasn’t on the train platform as the swell of humanity thinned to a conductor talking to a station agent. Still scanning the open doors of the train, he was pulling his phone from his back pocket to call Kate when the pointy toe of an ultrasexy black sling-back heel stepped out onto the platform.

His eyes widened as they trailed up denim-clad legs, artfully frayed at the knees and near the pussy, and sailed past a tiny waist to a loose black scoop-neck tank top embellished with a collection of gold chains around her neck. Her lips were a fierce fire-engine red, and oversized Jackie O. sunglasses completed her ensemble. From one bent elbow, she carried a large black leather purse, and several gold bangles on her wrist clanked together as she pulled her black rolling suitcase behind her.