Blind Obsession

Chapter Twenty-Eight ~ Conclusion

I don’t remember how long I sit there on the riverbank, but as the sun begins to set, I feel as though the darkness is engulfing my very soul. This is it. I knew that at some stage, this would all be over. I just didn’t expect to feel as desolate as I now do, sitting here on the lonely mossy bank.

The river, fluid and seamless as ever, continues to flow silent and strong, breathing life into its inhabitants, yet it remains as a cruel reminder of the life it took away.

Running my hands over my face and through my hair, I make myself stand. I know I can’t prolong this for much longer. I need to go back. I have to say good-bye.

Staring out into the night, the inky water swirls and shifts around the rocks. As I look up into the stars, I wonder how Chantel really felt that night.

How does one feel, knowing that her time is running out? Terrified? Angry? Or am I projecting my own feelings? Was she peaceful? That’s what I like to believe. I wonder if she felt scared. Did his arms bring her some semblance of comfort? A moment of solace?

Blinking away the brightness of the stars, I look out once more to where the moon now shines over the trees lining the bank opposite me. As I stand there, I feel her come from out of the shadows. However, this time, I’m not scared. This time, as I stand here looking across the wide body of running water, I feel my heart splinter and crack, wishing I could reach out to her. I wish I could be the one to comfort her. Am I insane? Ghosts don’t exist. I know that, but my eyes and the feeling I have deep inside my chest won’t let it go. Although I might be hallucinating, as I stand here on the bank of the Fleuve Sauvage de Fleurs, I can see her.

She is standing by the water, toes touching the cool liquid, as a long white dress flows around her with hair dark as night surrounding her pale beautiful face. As she stares back at me with eyes unseeing, I feel my own heart break for a woman I now love.

As Phillipe stands in his room, looking out at the old arbor, he tries to remind himself that what he did earlier was necessary. Reliving old wounds frees one’s soul, right?

Then, why don’t I feel free? Instead, he feels trapped.

Standing down by the river tonight, he felt her there, holding his hand, as he relived the most horrible night of his existence. Once again, she was there comforting him, letting him know that everything would be okay. When Gemma finally let him walk away, he knew that he was leaving them both by the river as broken as he was.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath in and runs a hand up through his hair. This is it. The story has been told, and the tale has now ended. He knows Gemma will be leaving soon. Although he has done everything he can to push her away, he still feels her inside of him almost as strongly as he felt her.

When did this story morph? When did it change from a tale of two to a tragedy of three?

Shaking his head at his own selfishness and need to touch another, he berates himself for ever involving Gemma in the first place. When he first decided to grant this glimpse into his private life, he thought he would be smart. He planned to bring in a woman that did not resemble Chantel at all, someone who was the complete opposite of her, so he could look at her and feel nothing. That was not the case.

This independent, curious, and brave woman pushed her way in. She took everything he threw at her and stored it away behind a fierce wall of strength. She listened and shared in his love—his love of art, his love of music, and his love of a woman who was no longer here.

Gemma gave her back to him in ways he couldn’t understand and would never have suspected possible. As a result, she also witnessed and shared in his agonizing heartache.

Turning away from the window, he moves to the locked closet. Opening it, he stares at the clothes still hanging untouched and cold. At the very end, still in the plastic garment bag, he finds what he was looking for. Avoiding all the other clothing, he reaches in and pulls it out.

Maybe if I do this? Maybe if he gave Gemma this, he can send her away, knowing she would be leaving with all of them, and she wouldn’t be alone, like him and, ultimately, her.

When I arrive back at the chateau, I go straight up to my room. I am under no illusions that my time here will continue. There are no more journal entries to be read. There are no more tales to be told. The story is over. The problem I’m having is what to do with everything I now knew.

I open the door to the room that has been my sanctuary for the past few weeks. I’m surprised to see that the small bedside lamp is turned on, and my bed is turned back. As I move across the small space, I notice a dress laying out across the bed. Stepping even closer, I spot a small note nestled in the V-neck of the soft material.

Gemma,

I’ll be waiting in the showroom.

Phillipe

Reaching out, I trace my finger over the rose trim of the bodice. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment.

I hadn’t known what to expect when I arrived here all those days ago. As I scoop up the beautiful ivory gown from the bed, I find I still have no expectations of what I will find down in the showroom where Phillipe is waiting. One thing I do know for certain is that nothing will stop me from finding out.

Showering quickly, I style my hair in a regal notch at the nape of my neck, sweeping my blonde bangs across my forehead. Believing this gown calls for elegance, I am determined to do it justice.

Making my way out into the bathroom, I spot heels that were covered by the gown. Beautiful taupe tips adorned with rose-colored jewels peek out from under the bed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed where I slept, dreamed, and fantasized, I slip my feet into the leather-lined shoes and stretched my legs out in front of me, admiring the sparkling jewels as the light hits them. Taking a deep breath, I stand and look myself over in the mirror by the dresser. I’m struck by the woman who is looking back at me.

She is a stranger, she is a woman who has given her heart away, and she is a woman who will never be the same.

She is now me.

Phillipe feels her the minute she enters the room.

He’s waiting by the corner in the shadows, wanting to give her the time and space to feel whatever it is she needs to feel.

Once again, the room is dimly lit, except for the spotlights on each of the paintings. As Gemma moves into the space, Phillipe is surprised when he feels that the room is now complete with her presence.

Breathtaking. That’s how she looks as she steps carefully into the low-lit space. The dress he chose for her cloaks her body like candlelight, and with every step she takes, the satin parts and her long, sensuous leg appears through the clouds of fabric. He is mesmerized.

He notices that she has pulled her hair back to the nape of her neck. Smooth and graceful, her elegance calls to him as she moves farther into the room. She stops before the painting, Armor. Watching silently, he is spellbound as she reaches out, and this time, shows no hesitation as she strokes her fingers down Chantel’s arm.

Phillipe steps out from the shadows and takes a step toward her, but he finds himself paralyzed as she moves even closer to the painting. Resting her right palm on Chantel’s shoulder, she inches in as close as possible and turns her head, laying her cheek against Chantel’s breast. Whispering, she asks, “How do I leave him?”

Phillipe holds his breath as she raises her left hand and traces her fingers along Chantel’s naked thigh.

“And how do I leave you?” she pleads, sounding confused and desperate.

Stepping back into the shadows, he gives her a moment to say her good-byes. After all, he knows how hard it is to let go of her.

As I stand there, brushing my fingers over her flawless figure, I close my eyes, remembering her words to him. Don’t let them make a villain out of you. Don’t let them break you. It shocks me to my core to know that I am now the them in the equation.

Letting my fingers come to a stop against the curvature of her hip, I make a vow to her. “I will not villainize him. I’ll make sure the whole world knows what happened that night. They will all know that he didn’t leave for help because there was no time to go.” Stepping back from her, I reach out and stroke my fingers down the silent violin that stands stark and strong against her. “That I promise you.”

I turn to look at the door, expecting Phillipe to come through at any moment, but as I stand and wait, he doesn’t appear. So, I turn back and take solace in the knowledge that I am not alone.

As I stand here in a room that once frightened and confused me, I feel calm and comforted. Finally, I understand his need to have her here. She is his peace. She is his sanity. As I gaze upon the six images that torture and sadden the rest of the world, I feel an overwhelming sense of love and acceptance from both the man who painted the images and the woman who posed for them.

Finally, I feel more complete than I ever have before.

Phillipe doesn’t know why he chose to put this particular piece on. As soon as he hits play on the system, the sounds filter through to the room Gemma is standing in. He feels his heart tighten and then release, like he is giving himself permission to continue.

Setting it to play repeatedly, he makes his way into the room to face Gemma who is now turned and looking right at him.

Without a word, he crosses the wide space to stand before her. Finally, he allows his eyes to really take in the woman before him, without comparing her to the woman who hangs in silent repose on the walls beyond them. Tracing his eyes over her, he marvels at the creamy texture of skin that is displayed so magnificently by the deep V-cut of the bodice. It is edged in a dusky rose that reminds him of her sensitive nipples after he’s sucked them to a full, pouty point.

Caressing her shoulders are thin straps of satin holding the dress in place. Molding down her sides to tuck in at an extraordinarily narrow waist, the dress bunches on her lower back and falls out into a long flowing train that brushes the ground with each step she takes. His eyes gaze over to the sensuous slit in the gown that runs up the left side of her leg, ending high on her smooth thigh in a peek-a-boo ruffle. It makes him want to reach out and touch her.

In the heels he has given her, she is now almost eye to eye with him, and as she stares wordlessly, he allows himself to care.

Reaching forward, he touches her high cheekbone and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he isn’t sure what he expects to see, but he’s surprised enough to confess that his vision has finally cleared, allowing him to see her.

“Gemma,” he whispers, almost affectionately.

Standing before him, I’m dressed in the clothes he laid out for me. I feel an overwhelming need for him to see me. As soon as my name leaves his sensual lips, I take a step closer to him, raising my hand to where his is touching my face.

“Phillipe.” I breathe softly, my heart fluttering inside my chest.

He flattens his large palm against my cheek as his eyes run over me as though he is seeing me for the first time. I can hear music floating around us. It’s a tune that I haven’t heard before, and I want to know what is playing, so I can find it later when I mourn the loss of him. I know that is what he is doing. He is telling me good-bye.

When he appeared in the door, I felt my breath catch in the back of my throat at the sight of him. After the intense and emotional morning we both shared, I didn’t know what to expect tonight.

Now, as the beautiful melody begins to fill the air while his eyes move over me, I know he has come here to let me go.

He is no less beautiful today than he was the first time I saw him. In fact, he is almost more so because now I can see and understand the pain that is etched into every line and crease on his face. His stunning green eyes framed by those long brown lashes hold mine as he moves closer. All I can see is the way they looked at me this morning. He was filled with so much pain and sorrow that I wanted to reach out to soothe him, to calm him, and to love him.

“You’re devastating,” he confesses.

Searching his face, I finally let my eyes connect with his, and I can see the longing there, revealing the emotion he wants to give to me, but I can also see that it is forever trapped behind those haunted eyes.

“Thank you. The dress is beautiful.”

I take a swift breath in and hold it as he reaches out to place his free hand on my chest over my heart.

“It’s not the dress, Gemma.” He tilts his head once again, letting his eyes trace down my body.

I can feel my nipples tightening in response to his silent, hungry perusal. As his eyes make their way back up my figure, they finally stop, focusing where his hand is resting against my chest. I place my palm over his fingers where his touch weighs heavy against my beating heart.

“The story is over,” he mutters, focused on our joined hands.

He lowers his fingers from my cheek. Gripping his wrist, I pull his hand from my heart and bring it to my lips. His eyes now move to mine, and as I kiss his knuckles, I don’t waver. I let every emotion I am feeling surface until he can see just how much I love him. I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes as he pulls his hand away from me.

His voice, soft and firm, he commands, “Turn around, Gemma.”

Licking my lips, I wonder about what he’s going to do. Undress me? Take me on the floor in this very room, like he did that day weeks ago? I can feel the heat from his body as he steps up close behind me. He wraps a large arm around my waist, smoothing his warm palm against my abdomen in a slow stroke.

Pulling me back against him until my shoulders connect with his chest, I sigh as his mouth moves to my ear.

In that deep smooth voice of his, he explains, “Méditation from Thaïs.”

I try to decipher what he’s saying as his warmth radiates through me. I lean my head back, now resting on his shoulder, as I turn to see him looking at me intently.

“This song use to haunt me every time I heard it. It reminded me of her.”

His eyes move to the paintings in front of us, and I follow his gaze to the images on display.

“The song seems very sad,” I acknowledge softly.

“It used to be…” He confirms and pauses. “Until you. Everything is changing, yet it’s still the same…because of you.”

His arm loosens from around my waist, and his warmth leaves me. I look over my shoulder to see him standing a step away from me. Turning, I move to him, but he takes another step back.

Stopping, I tilt my head. “Phillipe?”

His jaw clenches as his eyes glance behind me to the wall. He is staring at her. This time, I’m not upset by it. This time, I know what he’s doing. He’s seeking permission. He’s trying to decide if being with me will somehow betray her, and he’s doing that because he cares. My heart swells right along with the melody as I reach out. This time, he takes my hand in his.

“Phillipe?” I plead, trying to get through to him. I try to make him understand.

His eyes come back to me as I pull him forward. Slowly, he moves, eyes locked with mine.

I place my palm to his cheek. “It’s okay,” I tell him. Moving forward, I kiss his lips. “I love her, too.”

With that whispered confession, his binds seem to break. His large hands grip my waist as he tugs me that final inch closer. I mold my body to his as his hands run up my back. The eyes that now look down at me are full of anguish and agony as I run my hand across his cheek to his hair. Threading my fingers through the silky strands, I feel a shiver rack his body as his eyes slide close.

“Phillipe,” I call to him again, keeping him in the moment. “Stay with me. Look at me.”

Something in my words break through because those eyes I love open. They focus, and I can’t help myself from saying exactly what I’m feeling.

“I love you.”

Shaking his head, he clenches his jaw. Those full lips pull into a tight scowl, and for the first time since I met him, he looks unsure and defeated. Bringing up the hand resting on his shoulder, I touch my index finger to the lips he’s pulled tight.

“Does that scare you?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares down at me, his hands tight on my waist. I tighten my hand in his hair and pull. Those wicked eyes of his finally appear and narrow as his lips part on a ragged breath of air. Suddenly, I know. I’ve hit it. I’ve been tiptoeing around the issue, and now, I know that as soon as my foot falls on the landmine, he is going to explode.

“Are you afraid because I love you?”

His eyes run over my hair, my eyes, and finally my mouth.

Licking my lips, I take the final leap. “Or because you love me, too?”

That’s when his fingers dig into my waist, and his mouth crashes down onto mine. Strong lips collide with mine. He kisses me in a way designed to punish, but I know it isn’t me he’s punishing. Grasping his hair, I pull his head forward and rise up on my toes to get as close to him as I can. I hear an anguished groan rumble up through his chest, and I take the painful cry into my mouth.

Closing my eyes, I feel him shaking against me as I grip his shoulder tight. I rub my body up against him, begging him to take what he needs from me.

Hands firm and strong move up the curve of my back to the zipper resting between my shoulder blades. I tremble as he slowly lowers it down my spine. Lifting his mouth from my swollen lips, he keeps his gaze locked with mine. His warm palm slips inside the dress and parts the fabric away from my skin. Without a word, he nudges it gently, so the straps fall from my shoulders. Releasing my hold from him, I take a step back, lowering my arms. Turning around, I present him with my back, waiting for him to pull the dress off of me.

Closing my eyes, I feel the moisture pooling between my thighs. My body shakes in anticipation of his hands on me, but as I stand there staring up at Chantel, I hear footsteps and then the loud crash of a door slamming shut.

That’s when the full weight of truth falls over me. As I wrap my arms around my waist in an effort not to shatter into a million pieces, I am left standing in the showroom with the only other woman in the world who lost her heart to Phillipe Tibideau.