Standing at the window, phone in hand, Zoya watched the gardener trim shrubs. Garrett came each Thursday, quickly removed his shirt, and tied a bandanna around his head like a warrior. More than once, Delphine had tried to get her tenant interested in the guy, and he was nice to look at. Lean planes, hard muscles, and a light dusting of hair on his tanned chest. From an artist's standpoint, Zoya wanted to capture his image on canvas but figured she'd come across creepy if she asked him to pose.
A photo would be enough. She waited until he fired up the hedge trimmer again, then framed his body within the screen, and clicked several times. Zoya chuckled. Across the way, Delphine had binoculars. The artist in her couldn't resist a beautiful body.
There was something about the male form that fascinated Zoya. Powerful hips. Bulging biceps. Defined abs—and his manhood. She found it most beautiful. Sculptors and artists had admired the human physique since time began. It just so happened she concentrated on the male species. Not that she couldn't appreciate females, she did, but right now they didn't captivate her in the same way.
She strolled back inside and finished the bowl of grapes and strawberries she'd brought home from breakfast with Delphine. Funny. Breakfast with Delphine, sounded like a movie title. She popped a grape into her mouth.
She'd needed a distraction and Garrett was that. She smiled. He was just the sort of guy Roman thought she belonged with.
She'd called Mariana to let her know everything was fine, but that had been months ago. Mariana had caught her up on all the Arcadia news. She and Flynn's wedding was set early next year. He was working during the week but came back to the country on weekends. Ophelia had gone home, so Roman was alone.
Zoya had wanted to ask questions. A million of them. Was Roman drinking and smoking again? Bringing women home? Taking care of Homer? Missing her at all? But she was afraid of the answers.
Hard to believe it was almost the end of July. She painted every day, most times into the night, and other than two portraits of Homer and one of Mariana, Tommy, and Flynn, she'd been obsessed with Roman.
Canvas after canvas leaned against the walls of her bedroom, all in different phases, but none completed. Hands. Torso. Chest. Backside. Frontal view. Half-naked. Totally nude. She drew a deep breath. She should toss them out. Build a bonfire. See if she could burn out her burning desire.
Funny.
Not funny.
Looking at his image and thinking about him was torture. She didn't understand why she did it. Maybe that's why she'd skipped adding his face to any of the paintings. Just couldn't bring herself to look him eye to eye. She'd tried, but each time, pain squeezed the air from her lungs.
She waited for the day that stopped. Then she'd know she was over him. But today wasn't that day.
The motor on the hedge trimmer died and Zoya stepped back to the porch. Delphine came across the courtyard. Dressed in white slacks with a hot pink silk blouse, two turquoise cuff bracelets adorned each wrist, and a matching oversized dragonfly pin rested at her throat. Her shoes were orange with sequin owls on the toes. The woman was a palette of color and design. Zoya wished she could get away with that style, but she'd feel like a clown. Probably look like one, too.
Within a minute, Delphine tapped on the door, then pushed it open and fluttered into the room like a butterfly searching for a flower. "I saw you looking at Garrett. Have you changed your mind? An orgasm would help your creativity. The furrows between your brows, Chere, well, they tell me you need someone under and over you." She swept her hands through the air. "Look at my face. Do you see any lines? No. Because I am not sexually frustrated." As she talked, she moved to the porch to stare at him. "Oh, if I was only ten years younger. I would take him for myself."
Zoya wanted to have that much self-esteem. She shook the notion from her head. "No. I don't want a date but I'd like to paint him, that's why I was watching him."
"Are you sure? Come here."
Zoya went to stand next to her.
Slipping her hand around Zoya's waist, Delphine nudged her forward. "Now, focus on his chest. How it glistens in the sun. Concentrate on that pale ring of skin where his jeans ride low. The muscles in his back. How they flex as he works that clipper thing." She turned to face Zoya. "Anything? A tickle? An ache?"
Zoya shook her head. "Nothing."
Delphine threw her hands in the air. "You are hopeless! Bring those unfinished canvases."
Zoya left then returned and set them against the wall.
"Spread them out, so I may see your progress."
As Zoya placed the art, Delphine clicked her tongue and paced in front of the lineup. "This will not do. I demand you finish each of these. I am giving you two weeks."
"I've tried. Really, I have. I just can't."
"Chere, you are thinking of things the wrong way. You must not dwell on what you've lost, but of what you've gotten." She grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her to stand at the canvas with Roman's naked torso. "Do not desire him. Instead, channel that into your creativity. Let your talent catch fire the same way your body did when his breath floated across your skin. Or when he was deep inside you. Allow that passion to come out in your work. I know it is difficult to lose a good lover, but think of the memories you have from the experience."
That was the problem. Zoya couldn't stop thinking about him and the way he'd made her feel. Delphine was the one who didn't understand because she didn't fall in love. She took pleasure when she wanted and left it at that. Two nights a week, Zoya saw a guy leave her home. A man in a business suit. "You don't love the gentleman that visits you?"
Delphine fluttered her lashes. "No. But I love our time together."
"Is he married?"
"Yes. And with his wife he must be proper and polite. With me, he can be dirty and take my word, Chere, men want that in the bedroom. They like for a woman to tell them what they desire, and when they deliver, they want praise for a job well done. His wife does not know what she is missing."
"You don't feel guilty?"
"Why should I? She doesn't want to be bothered with him. Besides, I'm not trying to take him from her."
"You only have his side of the story and it may not be true."
Delphine smiled. "I know it to be true, because I know her. She has her own steady stream of lovers. Monogamy isn't the have all, end all with everyone." Delphine waved her hand through the air, dismissing the subject. "Enough about me." She pointed her finger. "Two weeks, Chere. Then I want to see some of these sensual paintings finished."
She didn't wait for Zoya to say anything else, she just spun around and disappeared out the door. Zoya swallowed hard and glared at the paintings. Delphine was right. Zoya would finish the damn things and be done with Roman.
Roman stood on the front porch and knocked back another whiskey. Didn't know how many he'd had. He'd lost count.
Even in the dark, the garden mocked him. Tomatoes dried on the vines. Beans shriveled in the hot sun. Okra plants void of leaves stood as tall as Roman. The only things he'd watered were the zinnias and hollyhocks, and that was only because they'd meant so much to Charamel.
Didn't have a damn thing to do with Zoya.
He looked down at the almost empty bottle, then turned it up and finished it off. Damn her. Damn the vegetables. He staggered off the porch and headed to the shed. After two tries, he pulled himself into the driver's seat of the tractor, and fired it up. It still had the disc harrow attached which was a good thing because he didn't think he was sober enough to connect farm tools.
He backed out and wheeled around to face the patch, revved the engine, put it in gear, and lowered the blades. After one pass, he swung wide, realigned, and repeated. When he got to the end of the row, light beams flashed toward him. Flynn and Ophelia stood nearby, in their pajamas and bare feet, both holding flashlights.
He waved to them and made another round.
Yelling, they ran toward him.
He killed the engine.
"What the hell are you doing?" Flynn screamed.
Tongue thick, he pushed the words out. "Getting rid of the garden."
"At four o'clock in the damn morning? Have you lost your mind?"
Ophelia chimed in, drawing her fluffy bathrobe around her and knotting the sash at the waist. "Yeah, he's lost it, all right. Get off, Roman. Come in the house."
He weaved in the seat and swung his hand in the air. "No, I've got to plow all this under. She's not coming back, and it's her fucking garden. It needs to go. Just like her."
"And what will that prove?" Flynn asked. "That you're a jackass? Leave it alone. Come to bed. You haven't slept in days."
Roman leaned forward and almost fell from the seat, but grabbed onto the steering wheel. "Where is she, Flynn? Mariana knows. She's got to."
Ophelia and Flynn dragged him off the tractor, bracing him to keep from falling.
"She doesn't know. I swear. If she did, I'd tell you."
Roman tried to take a step, but his feet were too heavy. "Zoya wanted too much from me."
"Well, you don't have to worry about that now, do you? Got him, Lia?"
"Yeah."
Flynn looped Roman's other arm around his shoulder as Ophelia had done and they maneuvered him inside. "You've got to stop drinking, Roman. It's getting out of hand."
"It's my fault, you know. I went to that reward site trying to find out who she was, and that brought the PI here. I fucked up. I fucked up and I can't undo it. She hates me now. Didn't even say goodbye. Nothing." Tears streamed down his face.
"She doesn't hate you."
"Yeah, she does and I deserve it."
"Let's get him onto the couch," Flynn said.
They eased him into position and he fell over. "I've got to find her. I don't know how, but I've got to." Flynn removed Roman's shoes while Ophelia propped a pillow behind him and ran a cold hand across Roman's forehead, her eyebrows knitted together in a frown.
She hadn't ever seen him this bad, not when their mom died, or when she visited him in prison and told him Charamel died. He had always tried to be strong to save face for her, that much she knew, and it was as if it had all boiled over into this moment, all that loss and heartache finally reaching a boiling point. Losing someone else, only this time, they left willingly.
"We'll help you." She looked over at Flynn. "We will, right?"
Flynn knelt next to his big brother and patted his cheek. "Ophelia's right. We'll help find her, but only if you promise to take care of yourself. Okay?"
Roman patted his brother's cheek and tried to look at him, but couldn't. "I love you, Flynn. You, too, O. I knew I could count on you. I promise, I'll do better." He closed his eyes.
Flynn slapped his face to startle him. "Look at me, Roman. Doing better won't cut it. You've got to swear you'll stop this. If you don't, then you're on your own. Understand?"
"Yeah," he said, and wished for another drink.
Short chapter again, sorry. I'm getting more antsy as we get closer and closer to the end, because I don't want this book to end.
I love Delphine so much. She's so thirsty with her binoculars.
Roman really isn't doing very well. He needs to get his shit together and go over his game plan.
TEASER: "Well, I don't accept your apology."