“Um… are there any public bathrooms around here?” I scan the horizon.
“Sorry, you’re going to have to find a bush.”
I look at him in horror.
A bush!
“There aren’t any snakes or anything, is there?”
Louis chuckles. “No. You’ll be fine. I’ll set up.”
I frown as I scan my surroundings again. I don’t really see anywhere private to relieve myself, but I’m busting from drinking so much water on our ride. I make my way over to where I see a grouping of bushes and squat.
Ah, that feels good even if my legs are shaking like I’ve done a million squats all in a row! I make my way back to where Louis has set up the picnic for us.
“Your ass is so white it’s like a spotlight helping sailors come ashore.”
I pick up a bread roll and throw it at him, and he bursts out laughing.
“Screw you.” I pout, plonking myself down on the tartan picnic rug. “You shouldn’t have been looking,” I huff, popping a grape into my mouth.
“Believe me, I didn’t mean to, but I thought there was a Lunar eclipse, and the moon had come out.”
I shove him hard, and he falls into the grass, laughing. I’ve never seen this side of Louis before—the jovial, fun side—and it’s nice. He picks himself up and brushes off the grass. I grab one of the sandwiches that Gabriel made for us, my stomach’s almost ready to eat itself. We both eat in silence taking in the serenity, listening to the bird calls as they fly past.
“So why did you take this job?” Louis asks, breaking the silence.
I dust the few crumbs off my legs and fiddle with the non-existent lint on my leggings. “My boyfriend moved to New York to be with another woman.”
Louis looks at me, his long black lashes blink slowly. “How long were you together?”
“Five years. When he broke it off, I thought he was proposing. He took me to a fancy restaurant, told me he got a promotion, but that he didn’t want me to go to New York with him. He broke up with me because I lacked ambition. Those were the exact words he used, and that he needed a woman on his arm who he could be proud of.” That stabbing pain in my heart is still there when I think about how much Toby hurt me that night.
“He sounds like a jerk.”
“He was. Although I guess in some ways, he was right. I kind of just plodded along from one crappy job to the next, not caring too much about anything.”
“Well, this one is pretty crappy, too.”
I look up and see the genuine smile on his face. “It’s not all bad. I’m in the South of France, eating delicious French food, looking at a magnificent view of the countryside with one of my favorite artists. I think it’s not too crappy at all.”
Louis’ mouth slackens, and I see a small shake of his head in disbelief. “I’m one of your favorite artists?”
“Is that all you heard? Did you need your ego stroked?” I laugh, which makes him smile.
“Yes, please. It’s been a while.”
“Fine. This is a one-time thing, though. Yes, I love your colorful art.” I feel him stiffen beside me, so I turn and see he’s picking a baguette apart. “But I like your newer stuff, too.” This catches his attention, and he looks up. “I like that you’re capturing love from a different point of view. That it’s not always sunshine and rainbows, that it’s raw, dark, and intense.” I have his attention now, his full attention, and if I’m honest, it’s a little breathtaking.
“You like the dark side of love?”
“At the moment, yes.” I shrug. “But if I’m honest, I am not sure if I was ever truly in love with Toby.”
“Why do you say that?”
I fidget a little more rolling a napkin around in my hands. “Because I’m not having an alcoholic bender because my heart is broken.” I look up into his blue eyes, but he looks away quickly.
“I don’t think that the way I have been acting is a good indicator of love. I think it’s probably more… an obsession.” His honesty surprises me, so I turn a little to look at him.
“You’re obsessed with her?”
Those words have me concerned, and the look on my face must say it all.
“I’m not crazy,” he states while he continues to pick at the piece of bread he’s holding. “She’s always been there for me, especially with my painting encouraging me, inspiring me. It’s like she was my anchor, and now that she has set me free, I’m drifting in a sea of paint. I feel like the only thing that could save me is my anchor, but…” Louis’ shoulders slump, “… she’s not there anymore.”
I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder, to which he tenses under my touch. “It wasn’t her that made you a great artist, Louis.” He turns and looks at me, a frown marring his perfect face. “It’s you.” I take my hand away and fold it back into my lap. “I think you’re giving her way too much credit. She may have supported you, encouraged you, but she didn’t paint for you. She wasn’t the one envisioning your work. Each brush stroke along the canvas, that was all you. Just like a great novelist, someone else may have given them an idea, but they didn’t write the book.”
Louis’ eyes widen at my words as if they are sinking in. He lays back and stretches his arms above his head, his white polo rising showing off his tanned, toned skin. I put a piece of fruit in my mouth, and we fall into a pleasant silence as we watch the world travel by.
We both must doze off for a long while after filling our bellies with food and getting
