Bayside Escape (Bayside Summers Book 4), page 16
“Does this involve you being naked?”
She smirked. “Possibly. But you’ll never find out if you don’t get your fine ass on my bike.”
A little while later they were cruising down a narrow road, and a house came into view that reminded Andre of work by Frank Lloyd Wright. He didn’t have long to admire the cantilevered rooms and decks before they turned down another driveway and parked in front of a cool old stone and glass building.
He pulled off his helmet and said, “Who lives here?”
As she unlocked the doors she said, “Justin lives in the house we passed. This is his studio. I realized that I told you where I sculpt, but I never told you what I sculpt. I wanted to show you before you see them around.”
She pushed open the door and stepped to the side. His gaze swept over large slabs of stone, power tools, sculpting tools, mallets, and other paraphernalia littering the concrete floors and metal tables and shelves. Against the far wall were two large stainless-steel sinks, more work areas, and an enormous kiln. A canvas tarp covered something at least five feet tall a few feet from where they stood.
“That’s mostly Justin’s stuff and the sculpture he’s working on,” Violet said.
He turned, bringing more tables and sculpting supplies into view, along with art magazines, glazes, and paints. Plastic covered what he knew had to be one of Violet’s sculptures, but his eyes caught on several drawings hanging on a wall behind the table. They were sketches of him sculpting, drawing, sitting cross-legged, lying down, and in various other positions. He recognized two pictures she’d drawn when he was first teaching her to draw the human form.
He glanced at Violet. She had a pensive look in her eyes. His gaze drifted over her shoulder to a life-size sculpture of a male torso. The shoulders were angled and the clavicle protruded, as if the model had been preparing to throw a ball. The arms stopped just above the biceps. The stomach was neither muscular nor overly soft, though clearly defined with a hint of ribs on the sides and a fold of skin just above the belly button, accentuating the slight twist of the body. The sculpture ended just above the knees. Nestled between thick thighs and a nest of pubic hair was a nominal penis. The definition was incredible.
He walked around the table and found the backside to be just as beautifully done. The shoulder blades and lats were flexed, as if caught in motion. The spine carved a slim river down the body to the curve of fleshy buttocks. But it was the rough patch on the left flank that had him breathing harder.
Violet came to his side and put her hand on the same spot on his back.
“You put my scar on another man’s body?”
She shrugged one shoulder and said, “Lots of other men’s bodies, actually. Every torso I make has your mark.”
He was so deeply touched, he didn’t know what to say. He looked around the studio and said, “Where are the others?”
“I don’t know. Remember when I told you that no one but Justin knows that I sculpt? He delivers them to galleries and lists them for sale by an anonymous artist. They pay him, and we donate the money.” She smiled and said, “I had no idea SHINE was yours. A lot of the money goes there. I’m donating this one, along with some pottery, to the suicide-awareness rally. Justin will drop it off so they won’t know it’s mine. They’ll auction off all the donations, and the money will be used to help local schools with their suicide-awareness programs.”
He put his arms around her and kissed her. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Since I came back. I hope you don’t think it’s creepy. It started as a way to feel closer to you. Eventually my skills got better, and I was no longer creating you with every piece, but putting us into them.”
“Violet, this is a remarkable piece of art. Why are you keeping it a secret?”
“It feels private.” She ran her fingers over the scar on the back of the statue. “You taught me how to do this, and I treasure those memories.”
It was another hidden part of herself, but he couldn’t say he blamed her. What they had then—and now—was definitely worth treasuring.
“So do I, babe.” He lowered his lips to hers in a deep, loving kiss. “Is this Justin?” He cringed inwardly and said, “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“It’s not Justin, but I have sculpted him. It’s just a guy I met when I was out one night. Anonymous, remember? I can’t sculpt the people I’m closest to.”
“But you did. You sculpted Justin, and that’s okay, Vi. I’m glad he was there for you so you didn’t have to deal with everything on your own all the time.”
“Is that what Brindle did for you? Helped you deal with it?” She lowered her gaze.
He lifted her chin and said, “Have you been worrying about her?”
“No. You said she was only a friend. I just wondered if she helped you in the same way Justin helped me.”
“I never drew her naked or slept with her, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said with a smile. “She’s pregnant and wasn’t sure how to handle it. I showed her around Paris, and we commiserated about our complicated love lives. You’d like her. She’s impetuous, pushy, and stubborn as a mule, but she’s also kind, funny, and honest.”
“I’d like to meet her one day, to thank her for telling you to accept Lizza’s offer.”
She took his hand and led him to the other table. She began unwrapping the plastic from the other large piece he’d noticed and said, “I have something else I want to show you. This is the first piece I’ve made that isn’t a male torso.”
She gathered the plastic and set it aside, revealing a sculpture of a child sitting, leaning back on one hand, holding the other up. Though her hands and fingers weren’t yet defined, her arms, legs, and feet were. Her hair was beautifully sculpted with adorable waves and ringlets that hung just past her shoulder. Her face was shaped, but there were no features.
“I’m afraid to do her face, and that bulk of clay by her leg will be her cat,” Violet said. “She loved that cat so much. She’s going to be holding a blue butterfly. I’m going to soak fabric in slip to create her dress.” Slip was like liquid clay, and though the fabric would burn off in the kiln, the slip would retain the form.
He put his hand on her back and said, “Who is this?”
“Erin Wilk.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I spent a lot of time with her at the hospital and at her house. She was Joni’s age when she died last year from a brain tumor.”
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry.” He kissed her temple, holding her tight against his side.
“She was the sweetest little girl. She loved butterflies and her cat, Igor. She knew she was dying, and she had the most amazing outlook. She said after she went up to heaven she’d come back as a blue butterfly and visit me. It’s so fucking unfair that kids suffer like that when there are assholes in the world who literally deserve to suffer and they get off scot-free.”
He gathered her in his arms and held her as tears slipped from her eyes. She held on tight, eventually giving in to her grief. Her body shook, her tears soaking his shirt, as if she’d been holding them in since she’d lost her little friend.
“It’s okay, babe. Let it out. I’ve got you.”
He had no idea how long he held her, but it was long enough for the sun to disappear and the evening to spill in through the glass ceiling. He wanted to take away all her sadness and all her pain, and he needed to figure out a way that being together wouldn’t cause her more. But soon he’d go away, and he could never ask her to leave her sister or the family they’d created with their friends. That worry was too big for tonight, and he pushed it down deep.
When her breathing finally calmed, he cradled her face between his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs. “You loved Erin,” he said softly, wanting her to know he understood.
She nodded. “Very much.” She inhaled a shaky breath and blew it out slowly. Embarrassment washed over her, and she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Baby, don’t be sorry for being sad over losing someone you love. With me you can always honor your feelings, whether they’re sad, happy, pissed off…” He went for levity and added, “Playful, seductive…”
She smiled and blinked her eyes dry. “God, I love you, but if you tell anyone I cried I’ll have to kill you.”
“Gotcha, boss.” He pressed his lips to hers and said, “Your secrets are always safe with me.”
“Her parents are having a memorial for her in the spring, and I wanted to give them something special. I figured it’ll take weeks to fully dry.”
“They’ll love it,” he said, and then he remembered that no one knew she sculpted. “You’re giving them the sculpture? Anonymously?”
She shook her head. “I’m giving it to them from me, as a gift.”
His heart filled to near bursting. “That’s wonderful.”
“I know you brought your own art supplies to work with while you’re here,” she said. “But I was thinking that maybe you could help me and we could finish this together. I’ve never sculpted a face, and you’re so talented…”
“I’d be honored to work with you.” He kissed her again, tasting the remnants of her salty tears, and then he said, “I ship my art supplies everywhere I go. I thought I’d have a month of lonely nights to fill. I never imagined I’d have the chance to fill them with you.”
Chapter Thirteen
SATURDAY MORNING, ANDRE went with Dean and Drake to pick up supplies for something Dean and Drake were doing at the resort, which was just as well. Violet was so nervous to meet Andre’s parents, it would have been worse if he were there. She decided to get ready in her cottage, thinking it might ease her nerves.
But it didn’t help.
She felt like she was in the wrong house. They’d been staying at Andre’s cottage for almost two weeks. She hadn’t made a concerted effort to bring her things to his place, but her own closet was looking sparse. That was how it had happened in Ghana, too. One day she’d woken up in Andre’s tent surrounded by her own belongings. It had been a wonderful feeling then, and it was even better now, despite making her cottage feel strange.
But her stomach was still in knots.
She felt like an imposter in her black skinny jeans, black-and-white long-sleeve sweater, and fringed boots. Emery had said she looked polished and beautiful, but she felt overdressed and fake. The sweater covered the tattoos on her arm and chest and there were no tears in her jeans to expose the ink on her thighs, but still she felt more exposed than she did when she wore miniskirts and tank tops.
She turned away from the mirror, telling herself she would be fine. They’re only clothes, for shit’s sake. She’d worn a dress for Desiree; she could cover up for Andre. Besides, she’d have a big enough strike against her once his parents found out how she’d left the last time they were together. She didn’t need to add fuel to the fire.
Oh God. Had he told them how she’d left in middle of the night?
She sank down to the edge of her bed, feeling dizzy.
She heard the front door open, and a second later Andre called out, “Babe?”
“In the bedroom.” She stood up, breathing deeply.
He was smiling when he walked in, looking casually sexy in an army-green bomber jacket over a white T-shirt, jeans, and brown boots. The loving look in his eyes took her anxiety down a notch.
“Hey, beautiful.” He leaned in for a kiss, smelling deliciously familiar. “Great sweater.”
She looked down at her clothes. “Do I look okay?”
“You look gorgeous, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you all covered up.”
“I thought it would be better not to let your parents see all my tats the first time they meet me.”
His brow wrinkled. “That’s why you’re covered up?”
She nodded.
“Off with the sweater, babe.” He started pulling it up, but she pushed it back down.
“I don’t want my tats to be a thing, a stumbling block I have to overcome with your parents from day one. Let’s first see if they like me.”
His jaw clenched, and his eyes turned deadly serious. “First of all, I love who you are, and your tats are part of you, just like your green eyes and that smirk that tells people to fuck off. I love all of you, babe, and my parents will, too. Please give them a chance to get to know the real you. Don’t hide anything about your beautiful self, and I know they will adore you as much as I do.”
Her eyes teared up. “Damn it. I’ve been so nervous I felt like an imposter, and then you come in here and say really sweet, sappy shit, and I get all teary-eyed. I haven’t cried so much in my entire life.” She pulled her sweater off and threw it on the bed. “You make me feel real, and seen, and appreciated, and stupidly emotional. It’s got to be nerves.”
He gathered her in his arms and said, “It’s got to be love, babe. Embrace it.”
She groaned. “What if they hate who I am? Sometimes I curse and I don’t mean to.”
“Don’t you think I know that about you? They curse, too.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Now, put on that slinky black halter top I love, grab your leather jacket because it’ll be cold on the ferry, and let’s get the hell out of here before I tear off that black lace bra and we miss lunch altogether.”
An hour later they were on the ferry that ran from Provincetown to Boston, something neither of them had done before. They stood on the deck despite the cold air, wanting to experience every second of their romantic adventure to the fullest. Andre wrapped his arms around her from behind, his body heat keeping her warm even as the brisk air burned her cheeks.
As Provincetown fell away, all she could see was water, reminding her of how adrift and lonely she’d felt without Andre. She had no idea how it was possible to feel those things while at the same time finding stability for the first time in her life with Desiree, but she’d felt it just the same.
When the Boston skyline came into view, another sensation came over her—one she’d been tamping down for a very long time. She missed experiencing even this little sense of adventure, of walking into the unknown. After a lifetime of not knowing what the next day would hold, how had she pushed her adventurous soul aside for so long? She tried to figure out what she was feeling. It wasn’t regret. She was glad for all she’d found on the Cape with Desiree and her friends, but a deep sense of longing was forming inside her.
They took a cab to the Union Oyster House, and when they stepped onto the busy sidewalk, Violet’s nerves went crazy again.
Andre put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “Breathe, sweet Daisy, it’s going to be fun. I promise.”
“Fun? I don’t exactly have a good track record with my own parents. I’m not sure why yours would be any different.”
“That’s hardly fair to you. Your real father was clearly a selfish ass for not sticking around, and that sucks, but it’s not in any way a reflection of you. And Ted may not be your biological father, but he and Lizza do love you, even if Lizza has a strange way of showing it. In fact,” he said as they stepped inside the restaurant. “I think we should try to get reacquainted with Ted. Remember, babe, it was Lizza’s decision to take you overseas. He could have fought like hell to keep you, but how can you ever know without asking?”
“Oh God, you’re going to be the death of me,” she mumbled.
“Bug!” A tall woman ran toward them with her arms outstretched, eyes dancing with excitement. She threw her arms around Andre and proceeded to smother his cheeks in kisses. She had the same wavy desert-sand hair as he did, only hers hung to the shoulders of her silk blouse, which she’d paired with jeans, giving her a youthful appearance. “I’ve missed you so much! Oh, Bug, you’re as handsome as ever. It’s been too long.”
Bug?
“Mom…” Andre said a little sheepishly as his mother looked him over with a smile that relayed her deep adoration for her son.
“Don’t you Mom me. I’ve missed you, and if I had to sit at that table any longer I might have burst.” She turned to Violet and said, “You’re Violet, right? I can tell. You’ve got that spark of gumption in your eyes.” She hugged Violet tight, then kissed both of her cheeks. “It’s so nice to finally meet the woman who opened my son’s eyes.”
Before Violet could say a word, his mother took hers and Andre’s arms and guided them through the restaurant as she said, “I’m sure Bug told you he takes after his father. My husband, Chuck, has always been the same way, too impetuous to hold back. He asked me to marry him on our first date! I didn’t take off like you did, but I sure made him work for it.”
Violet looked at Andre and mouthed, You told them?
Andre mouthed, Sorry, with an apologetic expression.
“I dated every man I could for the next six months, trying to get him out of my head,” his mother said. “But Chuck was determined. He showed up at my house every single night, whether I’d gone out or not. He said he just wanted to make sure I got home safely. The little weasel didn’t give me time or space to figure things out. He wasn’t taking any chances.”
“I…um…” Violet stammered as they neared a table in the back of the restaurant, where a man who looked like a younger, shaggier version of Harrison Ford was watching them with an amused expression.
“There were other things going on when I left,” Violet tried to explain. “I thought my sister needed me.”
His mother said, “Whatever the reason, you changed my boy’s life for the better. Every woman should be so strong, so men can become even stronger.”
Violet felt an unexpected rush of relief that almost knocked her off her feet. The worst thing she’d ever done in her life was out, and his mother didn’t hate her for it or think she was out of her mind.
His mother released them, and Andre immediately came to Violet’s side and said, “I’m sorry. I missed you so much, there was no hiding it.”
“It’s fine,” she said softly. “I like her. She says what she thinks, like me.”
