Zoya spent the morning watching Garrett, the yard hunk, move pumpkins from one place to the next as Delphine decided on the perfect placement. Zoya wasn't sure if the woman had really been undecided or just wanted to see Garrett's muscles flex and his jeans dip low as he bent to arrange them.
Whatever the reason, it had paid off because the courtyard looked like an autumn magazine cover for Southern Living.
Zoya refocused on the canvas she'd finished. Garrett was a fine specimen of manhood. She'd gotten to know him over the past few months and it turned out he wasn't the least bit offended to learn she'd been painting his portrait.
Delphine clearly hoped Zoya would develop more than just artistic interest in him, but that hadn't happened. He was nice, but still nothing tingled or tightened when she was near him. Guess it was a good thing since she'd learned he had a steady girlfriend. Information that had burst Delphine's match-making bubble.
She glanced at the lace blouse, leather skirt, and wedge heels Delphine had bought her from their one shopping trip. Tonight, Zoya would wear them. Her landlady had some kind of special dinner planned for just the two of them. Zoya had found a beautiful pair of chandelier earrings at the local resale shop that looked great with the outfit.
Closing her eyes, she thought about her birthday. She'd concentrated on hiding out for so long, the soon-to-be freedom frightened her. She'd be able to do anything she wanted without looking over her shoulder. As crazy as it sounded, it would be an adjustment. But she'd have Mariana. By then, her friend would live in Baton Rouge. The downside—no doubt Zoya would cross paths with Roman at some point. Wasn't sure how she'd handle that. Being in the same room with the love of her life and not being able to touch him would be agony.
She went back outside and eased onto the lounge chair, pulling a blanket around her. Only the middle of September, but colder weather had blown in. The crisp breeze cut at her face and the odor of burning wood tickled her nose. There was something peaceful about a crackling fire. Over the years, she'd enjoyed plenty of evenings in front of Charamel's. She shook the memory away and went back inside. No need to dwell on Arcadia because every time she did, her heart cracked a little more.
Roman had been in Austin for two weeks checking all the ads Zoya had searched on Mariana's computer, but so far no luck. Each rental company had pages of properties and no way to know which ones she had considered.
He'd compared what had been available during that time to what had leased since then. Once he made that list, he drove by each location and staked it out until he saw the new tenant. Knowing Zoya, she'd avoid apartment buildings, so he'd concentrated on individual dwellings and duplexes. That narrowed the possibilities but there were still hundreds.
He parked his Harley and went inside the Phoenix's breakfast bar. Staying at a nearby motel with clean rooms but lousy food, he'd found plenty of places to eat. If his search kept up, he'd be a food critic. This place had been a godsend. Locally owned, they offered a buffet with fifteen different bacon flavors. Scratch the critic, he'd be a heart patient.
This morning, vendors were already setting up on the main drag as they did most days in this area. Lots of handmade jewelry, woven bags for both men and women, and plenty of tie-dyed shirts.
Roman grabbed a complimentary newspaper from the end of the counter and slid into a booth. Within a few seconds, the waitress came and took his order. While he waited, he scanned the headlines. Texas Book Festival Expecting Record Turnout. Texas Mom Convicted of Manslaughter. Austin Police Body Cameras on Hold.
The server brought his coffee and sashayed away. He folded the paper, laid it aside, and texted Flynn. He was working long hours, but loved his job. Zoya had done a good thing because she was a good person. Better than Roman deserved. If he'd been honest with her from the beginning, maybe she would have left before—what? She'd fallen in love with him?
Thirty minutes later, he finished his pancakes and fought the urge to smoke a cigarette. Following a meal was when he wanted one the most. Would the craving ever go away?
He wondered that about Zoya, too.
Would he ever stop wanting her? He didn't think so.
He slid across the plastic seat, his arm knocking the newspaper to the floor. As he gathered the sections, something caught his eye. He sat again and held up the full page of artwork. Park Gallery Host Anonymous Artist. There in the center of the page in all his glory, Roman's nude body. His face was in shadow, along with his cock, but the scar on his belly proved it was him.
Holy Shit.
He read. Board chairman, Delphine Angier, discovered the local talent. Blah, blah, blah. The artist who wishes to remain a mystery has caused quite a stir among our critics. Blah, blah, blah. Located on Congress Avenue. His heart hammered.
It didn't take long to find the address, and he angled into a spot in front. A park next door looked like a good place to wait until the gallery opened. His insides jumped. He'd found her. Really found her. He couldn't believe it. But something wasn't right. She'd never agree to go public with her paintings. Not while she was still hiding. Why didn't he bring the paper? What was the woman's name?
God, he wasn't thinking straight. He palmed his phone and pulled up today's edition. Delphine Angier. With a few more clicks, there was her address.
The lights came on in the building. Once inside, he wandered from painting to painting. It was if he'd fallen into a dream. Canvases of his hands, shoulders, backside, which he admitted looked good with how she'd shaded it, hung on every wall.
"It's beautiful work, isn't it?"
Roman turned to face a young bright-eyed brunette. "Yeah."
The woman placed her palm against her windpipe and got all dreamy-eyed. "Every stroke is so intimate. Almost erotic. Clearly the artist is in love with the model." The girl trailed the line of his scar in the air. Then snapped out of her trance. "Look at his hands. So detailed. Every vein. The way the cuticles hug the nails."
Without thinking, Roman held his out and stared at them.
The girl gasped. "Oh. My. God. It's you! You're the model."
He shook his head. "No. No. I'm not. I imagine most men have similar hands."
Now she narrowed her eyes and clasped his fingers. "It's you all right. The same constellation of freckles. Wait here. Mr. Park will want to meet you."
As soon as the girl disappeared, so did Roman. Didn't want to risk her ripping his shirt open to prove her point.
As he drove away, he thought about his next move. He wanted to rush over to the Angier address and see if Zoya was there, but that wasn't the best strategy. He was on his bike and she could spot him. No, he needed to rent a car. That way he'd blend in.
Modern term for his plan—stalking.
His motivation was different. For all he knew, this Delphine person had stolen Zoya's work and put it in a gallery. There was something going on that made no sense. He needed to find out what that was before he charged in like the Calvary.
By five o'clock, everything was in place. He'd rented a car, returned to the motel, showered and dressed in new clothes he'd bought. God, he was like a teenager going on a first date. But showing up road-weary wouldn't help his cause. Not if he wanted to make things right between them. Apologize and confess. That's what he had to do. But once he did, she might never want to see him again. Couldn't blame her. He'd pushed her away. Refused to admit his feelings for her.
The thought stopped him. He'd denied it too long.
He loved her.
The realization both knocked the air out of his lungs and felt like an anchor lifting from his chest. He spent so much time trying to convince Zoya, and hindsight, himself, that he didn't have feelings for her beyond feeling responsible for her.
It took her leaving Arcadia to make him realize just how wrong he was.
He found a spot with a clear view but far enough down the street not to be noticed. The tinted back windows of the Camry rental provided good cover. A courtyard separated the main house from a garage apartment. This was the kind of place Zoya would choose. She was here. He could feel it.
It was almost six when a blond came out onto the balcony of the apartment. The girl was dressed all in black. Typical, but too modern for Zoya. Roman's heart sank. He was too far away to get a good view. She dropped into a chair and pulled a blanket around her. After a few minutes, she went back inside.
He wished he'd bought binoculars.
A half-hour later, she came down the steps and walked through the courtyard to the main house. Definitely Zoya. His mouth went dry. All he had to do was wait.
The suspense was killing Zoya, but she suffered through the meal until Delphine was ready to make whatever dramatic announcement she had planned. It must be something big because she'd gone all out. Caterers served each course as if she and Delphine were dining in a Paris restaurant. For dessert, she'd had her choice of Raspberry Macarons, Apple Galette, or Crêpes Suzette. Unable to decide, Zoya took one of each. If she ate like this all the time, she'd weigh a ton.
The server popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.
Delphine smiled at Zoya. "I know you don't drink much, but this is a special occasion."
The waiter poured and Delphine raised her glass in a toast. "Chere, you have been invited to exhibit two of your paintings to Hauser & Wirth Gallery in New York City. Congratulations! This is quite an accomplishment, and I could not be prouder." She clinked her glass against Zoya's.
She'd intended to sip as not to be rude, but now she gulped it down and offered her glass to be refilled. Once it was, she drained the glass in one long swig. "I don't know what to say."
"Merci, will suffice. This is the beginning of a wonderful career for you, Chere, and I am just so happy to be a small part of it."
Zoya didn't want to be ungrateful, but she'd never wanted this. "Yes, Merci. Which paintings and when will they show?"
"Not until January. A new career in the New Year. So wonderful!" Delphine rose and twirled, her chiffon caftan fluttering like a butterfly emerging its chrysalis. "They want the full frontal and back nudes. I think you should send the one from your bedroom."
Zoya choked on her third drink. "No! It's for my eyes only. I hate that you have seen it." It was the one of Roman lying in the hay the morning after.
"I understand. It was merely a suggestion. Do you feel okay? You look a little pale."
"It's the champagne. I'm not used to drinking. I should go home."
Delphine cupped Zoya's elbow. "Yes. You will feel better tomorrow."
As Zoya walked across the courtyard, she wanted to scream. At least the exhibit didn't start until January. By then, she'd be in Baton Rouge running St. Clair Steel and it would be fine for the world to know her as an artist. Even so, the attention would be too much. People not only judging her work but also assessing her, too.
Dizzy from the alcohol and the news, she passed the last pile of pumpkins and stepped to the bottom of her stairway. Breath rushed from her lungs.
"Roman."
Everyone in Arcadia should just go ahead and take their detective exams. It's a team effort, I guess.
♫ Reunited and it feels so good ♫
How do you think this reunion is about to go? Anger, excitement? Mortal Kombat style?
I was a little tempted to title this chapter after the Police song, I'll be watching you, but come on, that's the creepiest "love" song there is.
TEASER: "Somebody important to you?"