Work of Art ~ the Collection (97 page)

“And look at this.” I hold up my phone’s screen. “Svengali Travis has called me three times this morning.”

“What does he want?”

“Who knows? And frankly I don’t care.”

“Woo-hoo! Okay, then!”

My phone vibrates. “Oh look at that. He’s texting me now.” My tone is sarcastic. I need Travis harassing me right now like a hole in my head.

“He must really have his panties in a bunch about something. Come on! Read it to me.”

Ava, you need to contact me. There’s been a schedule change and we need you back in New York immediately.

Jess’s swerves the car and pulls over. “What! Is he serious?”

“I’m sure he is.”

“What are you going to do?”

I lift up my phone and with a dramatic flourish I work the screen, forwarding the message to Jackson. I attached a note:
FYI Jackson. I’m not replying to this and I’m going to Paris no matter what
.

I hit
send
.

“That’s my girl. Forget that ass, this is your big trip.” Jess says with a grin.

A few seconds later my phone prompts with an incoming text from Jackson.

I’ll take care of this-no worries and have a great trip.

I show it to Jess and she high-fives me before I drop my phone back into my purse.

The traffic cop gives us dirty looks, so we get out of the car and get my luggage out of the trunk. Before I go inside, I pull Jess into a big hug.

“I love you. Never forget that.”

“Love you too. Just promise me one thing, okay? Don’t pull a Juliet and stick a virtual dagger in your gut or anything until you talk to Max. I have a very strong feeling that this is just the beginning for you two, and I want to make sure you’re ready to experience it.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“And you guys have fun. Go to the Picasso Museum and think of me. Sit in a café, drink wine, and debate existentialism. Damn, I wish I were going. Paris is one of the best cities in the world!”

We hug one more time, but the traffic cop blows her whistle, so we separate. I smile and wave as she climbs into her car.

It’s a bit surreal dragging my luggage to the check-in counter and going through security, considering I did this just yesterday. Luckily, I don’t have to wait long until we board, and since I’m first class, I get on before the frenzied crowd.

I settle into my seat and sip my champagne when the flight attendant reminds us to turn off our cell phones and electronic devices. I take my cell phone out of my bag and notice a text from Max.

Believe in me.

My tears come fast and furious as I press the phone right over my heart where it beats just for him.

Oh, Max.
Does he sense my struggles? Does he understand all the insecurities plaguing me since this drama began?

The flight attendant comes by and tips her head toward my phone, and I assure her I am about to turn it off. But before I do, I quickly type in two words.

I do.

As I press s
end
, I know that part of my heart has gone with those two words, bouncing across satellites and shooting through the vast galaxy until my man is holding them in his hands.

“Hold on, Max,” I whisper so quietly no one but me can hear. “I’m on my way.”

Chapter Seventeen / Le Baiser

If you obey all the rules you miss all the fun.

~Katherine Hepburn

I
like first class. The flight attendant in the smart navy suit has brought the Godiva chocolate box around twice, and didn’t even raise an eyebrow when I took two pieces at once.

Now, this is living
, I think as I stretch my legs out in front of me. I have the cashmere throw wrapped around my legs and the headrest nestled against my neck. I am so relieved that I heard from Max, but what would make this perfect is if he were here, our fingers laced together and his smoldering gaze meeting mine. That was how it was supposed to be until his ex knocked us off course and I got his father,
The Kidnapper
, involved.

But I try to push that aside and remember what’s important in all this. So, I pull out my phone again and reread Max’s message:
Believe in me.

A flush of anticipation flows through me. If he only understood how much I do believe in him. Through all the drama over the new job and move, I’ve learned that my new career won’t mean as much to me if we can’t still share the love that burns between us.

The flight attendant interrupts my daydreaming to take my dinner order. After the meal and a glass of wine, I turn on my iPod and drift off to sleep for the remainder of the flight.

It’s midmorning when the cabin lights turn on, and after breakfast, we arrive in Paris. Feeling like a traveling pro, I charm the customs agent and find my driver, who retrieves my suitcase from baggage claim. Avoiding my inferior grasp of the French language, I hand the driver my hotel printout, but he hands it back. I guess he already knows the destination, and soon I’m headed into the city.

It’s a sunny day, but there’s a lovely breeze and big puffy clouds against the cerulean sky. As we get closer to our destination, I’m rewarded with the sights of Paris—the beautiful architecture and grand boulevards are stunning. The Seine River seems to cut right through the city as we cruise alongside.

When we pull up to the Hotel Plaza Athenee, I’m delighted. This grand hotel is an example of the elegant Parisian style. Before I’m even done paying the driver, my suitcase is whisked inside.

The desk manager smiles as I approach the reception desk. “Bonjour,
mademoiselle
. Welcome to the Plaza Athenee.”

Do I have American tourist stamped across my forehead? Well, no matter, I’m just relieved he speaks English. He couldn’t be more gracious, explaining that I’m the first to check in and that our beautiful suite is ready. As he gives me my room key and waves over the valet, he also hands me an envelope with the hotel logo foil-stamped on the face in gold.

“I hope you enjoy your stay,
mademoiselle
.”

I smile warmly, thinking,
I hope so too.

The bellman pushes open the door to our suite, and I blink in disbelief. I’ve stayed in some fancy hotels this year, but this is old world elegance defined. The French provincial furniture is upholstered in the richest silks and velvets. Heavy drapes with swags and tassels frame the windows and French doors. Elaborate arrangements of fresh flowers are carefully placed at focal points in the room.

My heart aches, wishing Max were here. Despite the beauty, this room feels empty without him. I push my lingering fear that he won’t show up aside and focus on the tasks at hand.

The bellman sets up my suitcase and glides through the suite while explaining where everything is, opening the doors to the balcony and pointing out the view of the Eiffel Tower. I grin excitedly from ear to ear. As soon as I’ve tipped him and he departs, I rip open the envelope I was given at the front desk. I slowly lower myself onto the damask sofa in the sitting room and read.

Welcome to Paris, Ava,

I hope you find your suite to your liking. Plaza Athenee is my favorite place to stay in Paris.

Several miles from your hotel, you will find the Tuileries Gardens. On the west end is the Musée l’Orangerie which displays Monet’s
Water Lilies
and other great works. After viewing the paintings, go to the terrace and sit on the bench facing Auguste Rodin’s famous bronze sculpture,
Le Baiser
.

Max will meet you there at 4
P.M.
, Paris time.

My mission is complete—it’s all up to you two now.

Wishing you a magical time in the city of light and love.

Cas

His mission is complete?
Will the letter suddenly smoke and dissolve with that iconic
Mission Impossible
music pounding in the background? I can’t believe how crazy life has become. I’ve got to hand it to Cas—he’s got my curiosity spiked. Between the buildup and intrigue, I hardly know what to think. I look at my watch. What really matters is that in four hours and thirty-seven minutes, I’ll hopefully be with Max. I take a deep breath and wonder how I’ll ever wait that long.

I pace through the suite and then nervously unpack my bags.

After a long bath, I open the closet doors wide to select an outfit. The retro Audrey Hepburn sundress and flats I choose belie the seductive lingerie I plan to wear underneath. I dress slowly, hoping Max will be the one to take off everything I slip on.

As I fasten my charm necklace around my neck and watch on my wrist, I double-check the time to make sure my watch is accurate.

My attempt to eat lunch in the hotel’s most casual café is futile. I can only get down a few bites I’m so nervous. By the time I speak to the concierge about the best way to get to
l’Orangerie
, my watch shows I have two hours and eleven minutes left in the Max countdown. With my letter, Paris guidebook, and a light sweater, I head off on my adventure.

Happily, the museum is a great place to spend a couple of hours and keep myself distracted. In their permanent collection, I’m absolutely enchanted with the Renoir painting of two young girls at a piano and the Gauguin landscape. There’s a particularly striking Picasso nude. But as I enter the round foyer leading to an oval shaped gallery, I buzz with anticipation to experience
Les Nympheas,
the exhibit housing Monet’s series of water lily paintings.

The paintings circle the room and create one connected image, and I’m stunned as I slowly turn in a circle to take it all in. It’s a religious experience. I walk around several times to study each separate panel before finally sitting on the bench in the middle of the room to meditate on the experience as a whole.

This is considered one of Monet’s greatest masterpieces. The softness of the palette and the subtle movement of color and light are exquisite. It’s amazing that he painted it at the end of his life while going blind.

I brush a tear away that trails down my cheek. I take a sharp breath. In my wildest dreams I couldn’t imagine sitting in front of such an iconic collection of art in Paris. I am living my dreams.

By the time I finish with my museum visit, it’s a quarter to four. It’s difficult to part from the Monet paintings, but I exit in an ethereal haze. I imagine tonight I will dream of floating in cobalt-blue ponds with lavender reflections and water lilies woven in my hair.

Moving to the terrace, I look for the Rodin. When I find it, I laugh out loud.

Le Baiser translates to the kiss?
I gaze at a bronze casting of Rodin’s famous couple whose lips are about to meet.
Cas, you really know how to set up a scene.

Of course this is where Max and I should meet. It’s absolutely perfect.

I settle down on the bench facing the work of art and study the bronze as I begin my wait. Each passing minute is a lifetime and reminds me of how long I waited for Max and me to come together as lovers, and all the insecurity and uncertainty we suffered through until our moment in Santa Fe when all of our heartfelt desire tumbled together in a victorious surrender.

The sun has fallen, lengthening the long shadows around me. But I bathe in a patch of sun, surrounded by warmth and golden light. My gaze falls past the Rodin and across the green sweep of the Tuileries. The gardens are formal, yet have the worn elegance of a grand place that has been well loved. Generations of children have run through it, countless lovers have strolled arm in arm, and old people have rested on its benches. This park belongs to everyone who has left footprints in its fine gravel.

I tap my foot nervously—nine minutes to four. The minutes that pass are an eternity: planets could have collided or black holes could have formed and sucked us all inside. Instead, the tiny hand inside my watch stubbornly taunts me about moving forward. Refusing to be patient, I look up again, searching as far and wide as my vision allows.

This time, my tenacity is rewarded. In the farthest distance, I see my future wearing a navy jacket and walking my way. My heart flip-flops. Is it him? It may not even be him. He’s so far away it’s more like a mirage, shimmering under my watchful gaze. I blink several times, still holding my guidebook open, so I can pretend I’ve been reading and not about to pass out from nerves.

The man in the navy jacket moves with purpose through a blanket of shadows from a row of trees. I don’t recognize the clothes—white button-down shirt, loafers, pressed jeans—very French. When he’s finally closer and the sun falls over him again, I gasp. It’s Max, all right, and he’s even more beautiful than I remember. Our eyes haven’t met yet as he’s looking down, deep in thought.

Even though I want to run to meet him, I can tell he needs these last few moments. So I remain still as each step brings him closer. His jacket falls open from his long strides and floats behind him like a modern day cape.

When he’s about fifty feet away, he finally looks up and our eyes meet. There’s a spark in his expression, and the corners of his mouth turn up. I slowly stand and wait, wondering. Will he scoop me up in his arms? Will we reenact
The Kiss
?

I coach myself to keep breathing. Finally, he’s before me and it’s quiet and gentle, not at all what I expected or imagined.

“Hi,” he says softly, taking my hands.

I tip my head to the side and look at him intently. His tentative expression is hard to understand, yet I’m fairly certain I see love reflected in his brilliant blue gray eyes.

“You found me.” I smile softly.

“I’d been searching for you my whole life, so now that I’ve found you, you can bet I’m not going to lose you in Paris.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I squeeze his hands.

His gaze moves lower as he reaches out and traces his fingertips down my neck.

“You’re wearing the necklace I gave you for your birthday.”

“Of course—look, I added the Eiffel Tower.” I lift the tiny silver charm and grin. “Can you believe we’re here, Max? We’re really here!”

Something about the necklace and my excitement is the affirmation that he needs, and he pulls me into his arms and hugs me tightly.