He lifted the wine bottle and leaned across the table. As he poured the wine for me, he looked into my face silently. I twitched in my seat. I was doing this all wrong. I had messed up. I hoped he wouldn’t tell Jake exactly how bad I’d messed up.
I picked up the glass of wine he’d poured for me and took a sip.
“I think you’re a genius painter.”
I coughed, catching myself before I could spit the mouthful of wine across the table.
“Excuse me?” I asked, after swallowing back my sip of wine.
“You’re a genius,” Jean-Luc repeated. His dark features were expressive as he waved his wine glass in the air. “Your paintings. Such emotion. How’s the wine?”
“Uh…uh, great,” I said. To be honest, I hadn’t tasted it. I took another sip now. It was bitter on the back of my tongue. I wasn’t exactly a wine critic, but I nodded enthusiastically at Jean-Luc.
“I wanted to know what your inspiration was.”
Inspiration? I couldn’t very well tell him that half of my paintings were up on most of the subway lines in Brooklyn. And I certainly couldn’t tell him that Jake had slammed my body down on more than one canvas and made love to me until we were both covered in paint.
“I try to paint emotions,” I said instead.
“Emotions?”
Jean-Luc leaned forward. His knee was definitely brushing mine under the table, but I had nowhere else to move.
“Yep,” I said, taking a sip of wine and avoiding his eyes. “Most of my paintings are meant to recreate an emotional experience.”
“How did you meet Jake Carville?” Jean-Luc asked.
That was an abrupt shift in conversation. A flush rose to my face. I didn’t know if it was because of the wine or because the way I met Jake Carville involved a smushed cake and his fingers inside of me.
Or maybe it was because of the way Jean-Luc was looking at me. I swallowed another gulp of wine before answering.
“We met at a party,” I said. I didn’t say that it was his birthday party, and Jake had mistaken me for a gift.
“Are you two close?”
I was pretty sure now that Jean-Luc was one of Jake’s friends and not a real art collector. I wished I’d had time to look him up before coming here.
“I suppose so.” I finished my glass of wine. “He’s been very supportive of my art.”
“But are you his girlfriend?”
I squirmed in my chair. I wasn’t sure how to answer that. Jake hadn’t really introduced me to anyone as his girlfriend yet. I didn’t want to say anything I wasn’t sure of.
“No, not… I mean, I suppose we’re dating. I don’t know. We haven’t talked that much about how serious things are between us.”
Jean-Luc smiled and poured me another glass. His dark eyes sparkled, and I felt a slight pressure against my knee.
“Tell me more,” he said.
Chapter Seven
By the time I’d finished the plate of crepes, Jean-Luc had poured me two glasses of the most delicious Chardonnay and I was well on my way to the third.
“I never knew I liked white wine before,” I said. I hiccupped and covered my mouth. “Excuse me!”
“Nothing to excuse.” He leaned closer to me and lifted his own glass. “It’s a very full body of wine, don’t you think?”
I had no idea that wines had bodies, but I nodded in agreement. Jean-Luc smiled, a kind smile that reached his eyes. He seemed like a very kind person.
I decided that I needed to stop drinking. I needed to be professional. But his body’s nearness set off a feeling inside of me that made me feel warmer than any alcohol could have.
“Jean-Luc?” A woman’s voice interrupted our lunch, and I remembered that I was there for an art workshop.
“Come in!” he cried. As though on cue, two more art students came in behind the first woman. It was a young group of artists, more women than men.
“We shall get started. You will paint today with us, yes?”
My mouth dropped open. I’d thought that I would be watching a class, not painting. I had no idea that this was what Jean-Luc had in mind for me. My tongue fumbled around my mouth for an answer.
“I—uh—I didn’t bring any of my brushes or anything,” I stammered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Of course, you are on a trip! You will use my brushes.”
Jean-Luc spoke in a way that made any thought of arguing with him seem utterly impossible.
He set up an easel for me with oil paints and brushes. I stood nervously, waiting for him to be done. I hadn’t thought that I would be painting today, let alone painting in front of a bunch of students.