Bound by Fate (7 page)

The rest of the meal passed by without
incident, but the more I sat there, the more disheartened I became. Although I
wanted to please him, after making mistake after mistake, I was beginning to
think I would never meet his high standards. Why was he keeping me around when
I obviously wasn’t cut out for this type of lifestyle? He said he wouldn’t play
any tricks on me, but what was he doing taking me to fancy places like this?

I tried to enjoy the meal he bought for me,
but it was starting to taste like ashes in my mouth.

I was visibly sulking as we left the
restaurant. I didn’t care who noticed, not even Victor. Let him punish me, for
all I care. I glared at Victor’s back as I followed him outside the hotel.
Tears burned in my eyes and threatened to spill over. Why do I even bother
trying to please him in the first place when all he does is reject me? I looked
up and down the streets of Paris. I suppose if I really wanted to, I could run
off and live here. Surely being homeless in Paris couldn’t be too bad. There
seemed to be a lot more tourists here than in San Francisco, so maybe I would
be able to get more money from them begging in the streets. Then I wouldn’t have
to worry about Victor or his stupid rules ever again.

As we climbed into the backseat of a sporty
black car, Victor finally seemed to notice my dark mood. He didn’t say a thing
as he put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to his side. Almost without
thinking, I snuggled deep into his embrace and took a deep breath. The feel of
his strong arm around me made me feel steady once again, reminding me of our
time earlier as we quietly embraced in the shower. I took another deep breath
and was able to regain my composure. Whatever happens, I can get through this.
I had been through hell and back trying to survive out in the streets; did I
really want to go back to that lifestyle? Living this strange little life with
Victor, eating fancy food and driving around Paris should be a cakewalk in
comparison. I should be grateful for what had been practically given to me.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked him.

He gave me a small squeeze. The gesture
seemed so familiar, but I tried to not let it confuse me. “You know I don’t
like ruining a surprise. Let’s just say that we’re going somewhere special.”

I relaxed back into his arms, and after a few
quiet minutes of driving, we pulled up alongside what looked like a huge
palace—it made our entire hotel look like an ant in comparison!  Just like
many of the buildings in Paris, it looked older than time itself and was
absolutely majestic, but what was most strange was a large glass pyramid that
sat right in the middle of everything, surrounded by three smaller ones.

“The
Musée du Louvre
,” Victor told me,
as though those words would ring a bell. I furrowed my brows as we got out of
the car and walked towards the pyramid. A gaping entrance greeted us as he came
near it. “I noticed you had interest in my small art collection. So I thought
you might enjoy this.”

As we walked into a lobby underneath the
pyramid, filled with maps and various signs, I realized we were in a museum,
and it seemed to me like the largest museum in the world.

We were all alone, and I couldn’t begin to
think of how Victor had managed that. I peeked into one of the wings adjacent
to the lobby, and my jaw dropped as hundreds of pieces of art met my gaze. “Oh,
thank you. Thank you so much.”

He laughed. “We haven’t even started yet.
Where would you like to go first?” I pointed ahead. “Well, lead the way.”

My heart soared as we toured the museum.
There were rooms devoted to every aspect of art history imaginable, including
an expansive collection of Ancient Egyptian artifacts, Greek and Roman Art, as
well as art from the middle ages onward. I stood awestruck as I stumbled upon
the
Venus de Milo
sculpture. “It’s so much more beautiful in person,” I
whispered.

He stopped beside me. “What can you tell me
about this piece?”

I looked up at him, surprised that he would
ask such a question. It was a world-famous artifact. Surely he knew already?
“Oh, well...it was made around 100 B.C. There have been debates whether it is
Aphrodite, the goddess of love, or Amphitrite, the sea goddess. It’s
interesting how the names sound so similar, right?” I paused, suddenly aware of
how strange my words sounded. It always surprised me how much I knew about art.

He seemed equally as curious. “What else do
you know about it?”

“Um, well, the statue is made from two slabs
of marble, and if you look closely, you can see holes in the sculpture where
she used to wear clothing or jewelry. She was found by a man in the early
1800s, but no one knows why or how long it has been since her arms have been
missing.”

“That’s...really impressive, Dove.”

I shook my head with wonder. “I really don’t
know where all this is coming from. I certainly didn’t study any of this while
sleeping out on the sidewalks.”

“You gave me a glimpse of what you knew while
we were looking at my own art collection,” he reminded me.

“I know, but...I had no idea...” my voice
trailed off.

We continued to wander through every corner
of the museum. I enjoyed every single room, but what captivated me the most
were the paintings of ages gone by. We stopped by one in particular that made
me gasp with surprise. “Oh, I love this one.”

“You’re familiar with this as well?”

“It’s called the
Raft of the Medusa
,
by Théodore Géricault. This piece always fascinated me.” Just like with the
Venus
de Milo
, the information came readily to my mind. “It depicts a group of
soldiers who were shipwrecked. They built their own raft to find a way home,
but most of them died along the way.” I pointed to the corner of the painting.
“They see a boat—salvation—off in the distance, but the boat sails away without
even seeing them. It’s such a dark, emotional piece. Perhaps that’s why I’ve
always been drawn to it.”

“Well, you’ve managed to completely surprise
me with your knowledge on art.” He smiled down at me. “What else are you hiding
in that head of yours?”

I shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. We
continued going from room to room where I would explain many of the pieces to
him as though I were some museum tour guide. The fact that I could recite so
much information both surprised and unnerved me. Why did I know so much about
art but not even remember my past or my own name?

We were standing in front of the
Mona Lisa
when Victor put his arm around me. His hand rested on my shoulder as he pulled
me close. We stood, admiring the painting for a few minutes before he asked,
“Do you like to draw?”

Do I like to draw? ‘Like’ doesn’t even begin
to describe it. “I do,” I admitted. “I absolutely love to draw. The most recent
thing I did out in the streets was to draw with chalk on the sidewalk for change.
Some people even said it was pretty good.” I remembered the little kids who
would beg their parents to come watch me draw for them. I would take requests,
mostly drawing cute things like cats, dogs, or bunnies. Most of the time,
however, people would watch me, but would soon walk away after getting their
fill without dropping a cent into my hat. “I didn’t get that much money from
it, but it helped me to eat sometimes. And it helped take my mind off of the
stress of living out there.”

“What are your favorite subjects to draw?”

I thought about that for a moment. “The
entire world inspires me. But if I were to choose, I suppose I like drawing
people the best. I like to portray people’s emotions and characteristics
through my art. Before I had my art supplies stolen away from me a year ago,
caricature drawings was what brought me the most money. Too bad that didn’t
last long.” I had to weigh the cost of new art supplies with the cost of not
having any food, and of course, food prevailed. I was ecstatic when I found a
pack of partially used chalk in a dumpster a few months back.

Victor pulled a piece of paper out from his
suit pocket. I blushed, realizing it was the sketch I drew of him. “I think
you’re very talented,” he said, looking down at the sketch. It had been folded
neatly, as though he took care not to crush it. “When we get back to
California, you may ask for any kind of art supplies you may need or want. I’d
like to see more art from you. I want to see what you’re capable of creating.”

Tears filled my eyes as I registered his
words. Any art supplies I want? For so long I have wanted to hold an actual
paintbrush in my hand and pour my heart out over a blank canvas. Victor was
actually going to give me that opportunity, just like he gave me the opportunity
to travel to Paris and see all of these famous pieces of art in person.

We walked back to the entrance of the Louvre.
The sun had already set and suddenly exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks. I
barely had a moment’s rest since we left for France, and I had to struggle to
listen to Victor’s words as he stopped me by the door of the entrance.

“You’ll be able to see a lot more than just
the Louvre.” His voice was serious. I could tell he was back to being
“Dominant” Victor, and not the casual, friendly Victor I had been with during
our time in the museum. “But I’m not willing to take you places with me if you
don’t learn proper manners. I don’t want you to embarrass me, especially in
front of people I may know.”

Cool it, Dove. I told myself. I thought it
best if I didn’t show him how easily I could get worked up. “I’ve been trying
my best not to embarrass you.” I held back the flurry of emotions that his
words evoked. “It’s just so frustrating; I feel like I can never please you. I
don’t know what more I can do.”

He smiled at my words. He leaned forward and
kissed me softly on my lips. His lips were gentle and warm, as I had imagined
they would be. My heart felt like it stopped as I waited for more, but he had
pulled away already. “You’re doing very well.” His voice was just above a
whisper.

At that moment I made a promise to myself to
work even harder. I wanted Victor to continue to show me places, to reveal new
opportunities for me. I was eager for him to show me that there was more to
life than the bitterness and hardship I had known for the past two years.

I took one last look at the beauty of the
Louvre before we walked away from it. I hoped one day I would be able to return
and wondered whether or not Victor would still be by my side if that were to
happen again.

We had been in France for a week, seeing all
of the historical sights of Paris as well as making day trips around the city.
We visited the Palace of Versailles in the southwest where Victor had bought me
a garland of flowers from a local flower shop to wear in my hair as we toured
the famous landmark. I marveled at the ornate rooms inside the palace, in
particular was Marie Antoinette’s bedchamber where there was a giant chandelier
hanging above the bed. Everything seemed to be made from gold, even the walls
and the ceiling.

“I can’t imagine sleeping in a bedroom like
this,” I said to him as I admired the room. “I’d be too afraid of ruining
something.” I stared up at the portraits on the wall and the paintings on the ceiling.
“I sure don’t mind looking at it though.”

The gardens surrounding the palace were
almost just as impressive. Two giant rectangular pools of water covered a large
portion of the palace grounds, reflecting the sun brilliantly. The image of the
palace was also mirrored in the pool’s watery depths. However, the gardens did
not end there; acres of manicured trees and flowers as well as huge strips of
perfectly cut lawns surrounded the palace like protective armor. Victor and I
scaled the long stretch of emerald green lawn, called the Royal Walk,
arm-in-arm. When I smiled up at him, he would do the same and smile back down
at me. Seeing that unforced smile coming from him made me feel happy
and...safe.

The next day while we were in Reims, he
flagged down a person to take a picture with his phone of us standing in front
of the ancient cathedral. After the picture was taken, he swept me in his arms
into an embrace.

“Your cheeks get so rosy when we walk around
in the cold,” he commented, his face close to mine.

I lowered my eyelashes at him. I had learned
a few days earlier that he enjoyed that little gesture. I knew that when I did
that he couldn’t help himself from giving me a kiss. When he pulled away, I
asked, “Do you like my cheeks rosy, Sir?”

He twirled me around in his arms once before
putting me back down on my feet. “It’s very... becoming of you.”

I laughed at his choice of words. “Sometimes
I think you’ve been transplanted here from some long-ago era. I don’t think
I’ve ever met anyone who talks the way you do.”

“I should say the same about you. The last
part, I mean.”

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“You’re lucky no one saw that.” He tried to
sound serious, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. I loved that I was able to
make him comfortable enough to show this side of himself, this kind, gentler
side.

As we started to make our way back to where
our driver was waiting for us, I noticed an old lady sitting by a fountain with
an easel set up. She held a paintbrush in her hand and seemed to be concentrating
deeply on the small piece of paper sitting on the easel in front of her.
Surrounding her were a bunch of tourists waiting in line to have their portrait
drawn of them. I sighed wistfully. “That looks like so much fun.”

“Let’s go over there and watch her for a
while,” he said, pulling me forward with him.

“Wait, what…”

We stood watching as the old lady finished an
adorable painting of a small girl. She gave the picture to the girl who took it
and ran over to her parents with excitement. The father walked up to the lady
and dropped a few francs into an opened suitcase. As the crowd of tourists
left, we walked up to the lady.

“
Bonjour, ma belle dame
,” Victor said
to her, the old lady look at him and blushed profusely. I fought the urge to
roll my eyes. Victor could woo
anyone
. He continued speaking to her in
French for a while longer before he beckoned me closer to him. “This lovely
lady is going to let you paint portraits for all of these tourists while I take
her out to lunch.’

“What, really?”

“You told me you would enjoy it, correct?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Don’t worry. I know you would feel bad about stealing away her customers so
whatever money you would be making you can give directly back to her.” He
turned his head and winked at the lady behind me. I did not know it was humanly
possible to blush as profusely as she did at that moment. “I’ll see you in a
bit, Dove,” he said before  walking away with the ecstatic old lady.

I stared after them in stunned silence for a
moment before sitting on the edge of the fountain in front of the small easel
the lady had set up. A blank sheet of paper and an array of watercolor paints
were ready for me to use.

“Excuse me?” I snapped my head up. A young
man and a woman stood just in front of me. The man’s accent sounded as though
he were Australian. He spoke to me slowly; he probably thought I only spoke
French. “Can you draw our portrait for us?” He pointed to the woman. “Both of
us together?”

I nodded, and decided to play up my part as a
painter on the sidewalks of Reims. “
Oui,”
I said to him with a smile.

It felt a little strange at first to be using
paints after going without them for so long, but after a while both my mind and
my hands remembered what to do—how much pressure to apply to the paper, and how
to shade in certain areas to create a sense of depth to the image.

The couple ended up loving the painting I
made of them, and immediately after they left, another group came up to me to
have their portraits done. I had no idea how much time went by before Victor
and the old lady returned.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Victor asked as I
gave my seat back to the lady.

“Oh, it was so much fun. I had so many people
come up to me to get their picture drawn. And they absolutely loved what I did
for them.” I turned towards the old lady. “
Merci beaucoup
.” I had left
the money I had made next to her art supplies for her to find later. She waved
her hand at me, embarrassed but still very pleased.

I was having more fun than I could ever
imagine during these past few days, but I worked hard to remember to curb my
tongue, to stand up straight and walk with poise, and to remember all of the
mannerisms proper for a lady associating herself with a man like Victor.
Victor’s harsh criticism became less and less as the days went by until he was
hardly correcting me at all (not that I was making that many mistakes anymore)
and I could get by with teasing him every now and then.

France was a gorgeous country, and I drank
all the sights in eagerly, almost forgetting that one day we would have to
leave. Our days in Paris were numbered.

The next day, I changed into the new dress
Victor had bought for me the night before, remembering the smile he gave me as
I thanked him gratefully for the lavish garment. I couldn’t quite put my finger
on it, but it seemed like something was changing within himself as well. Some
of the harshness he had shown when we first met was starting to wear away.

I was scared that once we returned to the
United States, he would resume his cold, hardened persona again.

It was a warm night, and we decided to walk
to dinner. Our path was along a cobblestone street, and I imagined this was
what a fairytale princess must feel like, walking arm and arm with a gorgeous
prince down in the middle of a beautiful, European city.

The restaurant was near the Seine River.
Before we went inside, we stopped to look at the calmly flowing water. He took
his hand in mine as we watched people stroll along the bank, wrapped up in
their romantic reverie like us. A warning bell started going off in my mind as
I realized he was holding my hand for everyone to see, but I decided to ignore
it and enjoy the moment.

We went to dinner at a beautiful restaurant
with an outdoor veranda. By now, I had memorized what each and every utensil
next to my plate was for, and I thoroughly impressed Victor as we made our way
through each course of the dinner. Even when I did make a small
mistake—forgetting to use my knife or reaching across the table for something
instead of asking politely for it—Victor would only give me a gentle reminder.

“You’re really coming along well, Dove.”

So are you, Victor.

As we finished our dinner—
Coq au Vin
,
with a glass of red wine—a string quartet began playing. I watched curiously as
couples occasionally got up from their seats and started dancing. I envied the
way the couples seemed to know each other’s movements without saying a word,
their feet gliding across the dance floor effortlessly. The way they looked so
lovingly into each other’s eyes as they performed these beautiful moves was
enough to make me sigh longingly.

“Would you like to dance as well?”

I did not realize he had been watching me
admire the dancers. “No, no, no. I can’t dance,” I began, but decided to change
my wording into something more suitable for him. “I mean, I don’t want to
embarrass you because of my clumsiness.”

He didn’t say anything more, and I figured he
must be pleased with what I said. The next time the waiter came by our table,
the two of them spoke quietly in French. The waiter left and returned a moment
later with what appeared to be an answer to Victor’s question. I watched him
slip a folded bill into the waiter’s hands. “
Merci beaucoup
.” I waited
for him to share with me what he had said to the waiter, but he acted like none
of that just happened.

A few minutes later, I began noticing people
being herded out of the restaurant by the wait staff. I looked questioningly at
Victor, but he continued to sip his wine as though nothing was wrong.

“What’s going on?” I asked him.

“Relax.”

Within minutes the entire restaurant was
empty except for the wait staff, the string quartet, and us. Victor got up from
the table and took my hand, drawing me up from my seat. He led me to the middle
of the open floor. The band began playing a slow song as his left hand reached
for my right and the other hand rested on my upper back. “Put your hand on my
shoulder and then mirror my steps.” He stepped forward and I stumbled back,
practically tripping over my feet. I burst out in laughter, and I even had
Victor chuckling.

“I’m no good at this,” I mumbled.

“That’s all right,” he said. “I’m not
expecting you to know this. We’ll go slowly at first.
One
, two, three.
One
,
two, three. Step to the beat of the music. It’s easier if you match your feet
both to my feet and to the music.”

I stared down at our feet, determined to get
the steps right. When he steps forward, I should step backwards; when he steps
to the side, I should step to the same side with him. I made many mistakes, up
to a point where I fell on the ground and doubled over with laughter, but
Victor was patient with me the entire time. After a while, I started getting
the hang of it, and we progressed to more complicated moves.  We laughed
at my mistakes, and Victor praised me when I did well. Suddenly we were gliding
across the dance floor as though I had been dancing my entire life.

At the end of the dance, he twirled me around
and dipped me low in his arms. Grinning with pleasure, I looked up into his
blue eyes and was happy and surprised to see that the coldness in them seemed
to have melted away. It had only been a couple of weeks and I had already seen
so many changes in him.

“You caught on quickly, Dove.”

“Well, I have a good teacher.” I knew my face
was bursting with happiness.

“Care for another dance?”

The music started up again. I nodded, and we
once again flew around the dance floor like we had always belonged there.

After we had our fill of dancing, we sat back
down at our table, only to be greeted with decadent chocolate cake covered in
fresh strawberries. The waiter cut me a slice of the cake and I ate it quietly,
watching Victor as he did the same.  It was at that moment as I sat there
looking at that mysterious, distant, yet kind man that I realized I was falling
in love with him. I frowned at my cake. No, this shouldn’t be happening. Our
relationship was purely built on that contract he had me sign the first night I
arrived at his house.  The candlelit dinner, the waltzing, the entire damn
trip to Paris... Why was he spending so much money on me when I was obviously
just a convenience for him, just a little plaything to keep him company?

The world is filled with selfish people,
a small voice in the back of my mind told me. Of course,
he didn’t really care about me. Why should I waste my time to care about him?