Одри Карлан - February (Calendar Girl #2)

That shocked me, and I shook my head no several times, but he just grinned and pulled the drape off. It was me. Only it really was me. The real me. Just Mia. I was standing at the space needle observation deck looking into the horizon. My hair was blowing like a black flag in the open breeze. I was serene, happy, elated, and taken with the beauty before me. I looked free in that moment. Not stuck in the confines of a job I didn’t want but was getting used to. Not bailing out my dad or struggling to make it as an actress in LA. Raw beauty. And for the first time, I saw myself as beautiful. Alec made me see that in this image.

Tears formed in my eyes as I stared at what he’d captured. My body felt swathed in heat, the center of my vision being a bright spot of light, the rest a dark cave. I scanned the title below the painting. Tears slipped down my cheeks, falling onto the skin of my breasts and the concrete below my feet. I locked gazes with Alec, his eyes were glassy, wet, though he didn’t let any tears fall.

Beneath the most beautiful picture of me I’d ever seen, said it all.

“Goodbye, Love.”

Chapter 10

Last evening was amazing. I had felt like Cinderella at the King’s ball. Once the last picture was revealed, spectators starting connecting the dots. Newspapers, and other media professionals interviewed me, took pictures of Alec and me together, overall making a big fuss. It was fun. The glasses of champagne I’d consumed didn’t hurt my mood, either. When it was all over, there were bids for all his paintings. They would spend the next six months touring galleries. Then the buyers would have their one of a kind Dubois original. First though, Alec wanted the general public to have the opportunity to view his work. I understood that. It was his life’s passion and should be shared far and wide.

The window showed the sky was still dark, midnight in color. It had to be very close to sunrise. Before I’d gotten ready yesterday I’d packed everything up and had it hidden in a corner downstairs. My flight was early and I wanted to slip away unnoticed. As with Wes, I couldn’t bear the thought of having to say goodbye to Alec face-to-face. I scanned his sculpted face and body. Stunning, and completely dead to the world. He’d had quite a bit more of the bubbly than I’d had and chased it with some fancy French drink I’d never heard of before. Then, he’d taken me to bed, fucked me to within an inch of my life and passed out while still inside me.

It was crazy, fun, emotional love-making that symbolized the entire month. I wanted to leave with that as our last memory.

So, I slipped out of bed and tucked his t-shirt into my carryon. No reason I couldn’t have it as a keepsake. Besides, it smelled wonderfully of Alec. I grabbed the entire bag and took a shower in the bathroom below. When I made my way into the kitchen it was just before five a.m. The cab would be here in twenty minutes. I had a seven a.m. flight to Vegas.

I pulled out my special stationary and a pen. It was that time.

Alec, my beloved Frenchman -

I’m sorry to leave you like this, but it’s best if your last memory is of us making love. Because that’s what it was, making love. I should have said it to you yesterday. I don’t know why I didn’t. I do, you know? Love you, Alec. In our way. The best way. As friends, as lovers, as two people who were destined to love one another for the time we had.

I’ll always remember our time together. You taught me about all kinds of love, and the way you see it is special. It will stay with me all the days of my life. Through you and your art, I was able to see how a loving relationship could be if both partners are completely honest. You never lied, never led me on, you always told the truth. And for that, I am so grateful.

This experience, being your muse, it is something I never dreamed would change me. But it did. You did. For the better.

Thank you, Alec, for showing me that it is okay to love, to give love freely and accept the love given to me, even if it’s for a short time.

Je t’aime. Au revoir.

~Mia

I kissed the page near my name and left the note by the coffee pot. Forcing myself to walk out the door and not rush up the stairs to have one last look. Instead, I pressed the button for the elevator and met my cab at the lobby door.

***

The airport was packed. Once I’d gotten through the security rigmarole I found my gate and just barely made my plane. I sat down and hefted my purse in my lap. My phone buzzed in the front pocket. I pulled it out and felt an envelope. My heart started thumping, pounding deep in my chest, thinking maybe the call was from Alec. I read the cell display.

From: Ginelle Harper

To: Mia Saunders

Can’t wait to see your ugly mug. Now Mads is yelling at me for calling you ugly. Sorry, skank. ;-)

I laughed, put the phone in airplane mode and then flipped over the envelope. Across the front was my name scrawled in an elegant slanted penmanship. Only it wasn’t my name, it was what he called me. “ Ma jolie .” My pretty, in French. I miss it already. The phrase spilling from his bowed lips in the morning, his hair a messy tumble on the pillow.

Shaking my head took the pressure off the simmering emotions threatening to explode in a deluge of tears. I opened the envelope and pulled out a card. It was a replica of a painting, one of his actually. A town in France that he’d painted at some point and had been made into greeting cards. It was as funny as it was sweet. Egomaniac.

I opened the card and out spilled a handful of pictures. Photos of the paintings along with the one of us he’d taken himself. The selfie I’d made fun of him for. I was holding his face and kissing the daylights out of him. Strands of his hair had escaped the bun and mine were flowing wildly as we kissed. The sun shined down perfectly on us. I held the picture to my chest and let the tears fall. I would miss my Frenchie. Very much.

The last photo was a copy of me, the one he’d aptly named “Goodbye, love.” It was the perfect ending to a beautiful month. He didn’t write anything in the card. His pictures said all that needed to be said.

Like Wes, I’d never forget my time with Alec. I’d cherish those memories as a part of my life wherein I truly lived and loved.

I sifted through the emails about my new client sent from Aunt Millie. I clicked on the picture icon. Holy moly. Another hottie. This was one definitely Italian. As in, Italian stallion. Where does she come up with these guys, Hotties-R-Us? Anthony “Tony” Fasano was thirty-one, an ex-boxer, which was the picture I looked at. The man’s body looked like it had been cut from tanned marble. His skin was olive-toned, hair jet black like mine, but his eyes where a steely blue. He wasn’t as tall as I usually liked my men, only around five-foot eleven, but what he lacked in height he well made up for in raw male beauty.

Based on the picture of him standing and holding a boxing belt of some kind, he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. How is that possible? He owned a giant chain of Italian restaurants. That food is not known for being low cal. Maybe it was an old picture? Like Millie said, it didn’t really matter why he needed me. He just did. And I’d pretend to be his fiancée. God only knows why. A man like that, women would drop at his feet and worship for a chance to marry a rich good looking guy. Could be the same type of issue Wes had or maybe it’s just too many hoochies, not enough girl next door types.

Oh well. A few days in Vegas and I’d be off to see Anthony Fasano of Chicago, Illinois.

Bring on the windy city.