Rewind Boxed Set

by Rowan Shaw

  "Oh, okay."

  "Would you take care of Ila? I usually pay the concierge, but since you're living there now... Also, expect Thomas to still come and clean the apartment."

  I was surprised he even trusted me with his cat, though of course, he had all my personal information now, so if anything happened to her, he would probably hunt me down and kill me.

  "She hates me," I pointed out.

  Adrien laughed. "She's a Siamese. She hates everyone. Don't take it personally. Just put food and water in her bowls. I'll clean her litter before I leave and when I come back. You don't need to approach her or anything. I have fish in my room as well, but they'll be fine on their own."

  "Where are you going?" I asked and ate a piece of tomato.

  "New York City."

  My eyes bulged. "Wow! Really?"

  "Yeah."

  "How long?"

  "Just for the weekend. Four days including the flight."

  "For work?"

  "Yeah, for work."

  We finished our meals in silence, but Adrien insisted we get desserts, so I chose a crème brûlée while he tackled a huge pêche Melba ice cream.

  "Do you work out a lot?" I asked, wondering where he put all the calories as I watched him eat the entire thing.

  "At least two hours a day."

  "Really?"

  Wiping his mouth with a paper towel, he winked at me, then grabbed the bill from the waiter. "Let me go pay for this. I said I would treat."

  "Thanks. You really didn't have to."

  "My pleasure. You can treat next time." He flashed me one of his megawatt breathtaking smiles and left to go pay at the counter, while I watched the Parisians scurrying by, all of them in a rush.

  Chapter 6

  ADRIEN

  When I turned on the stereo in my studio at 8 A.M., I hoped Raphaël was awake. I'd heard him stir in his room and talk to someone on the phone, so hopefully he wasn't going back to sleep. No matter what, I needed the music to fuel my inspiration. Early morning was the best time to create. I pumped the volume as classic rock poured through the speakers on the walls. For once, I didn't feel melancholy when I woke up, which was rare. It was only a short reprieve. I knew that. It was best to use the energy while I had it.

  I let out a groan when my eyes shifted toward my new piece resting on the easel. I didn't feel that one. At all. Though I couldn't really pinpoint why. I wasn't one to give up on an unfinished project, but I wasn't sure I could continue this one. I loved abstract art, especially throwing paint at a canvas, watching the colors bleed into one another. I usually liked the result, but this time, the colors had mixed into something uniform and dull.

  I sighed, scratching my forehead, then picked up the painting and dropped it in a corner of the room where I would let it rot. I grabbed a brand new canvas from my stash by the door and placed it on the easel before opening the curtains of the swing-in glass door. This was the only room opening onto a balcony and the brightest one as well. I'd chosen it purposefully to that effect to paint and draw.

  I was about to grab some yellow acrylic paint when a knock interrupted me. "Vas-y, entre!"

  As soon as Raphaël popped his head through the opening, his eyes rolled all over my body from my stained t-shirt and torn jeans to my bare feet that were cold against the freezing tiles.

  "D'you have a minute?" he asked as he stepped into the room. His curiosity was so blatant, I couldn't hide my amusement.

  His gaze swept the entire room, his eyes outlining my paintings and drawings on the walls and all my art supplies.

  "There's a balcony here?" he exclaimed when he noticed the door. Without any hesitation, he walked there and stepped out to take in the view. The balcony opened on a narrow street in the back of our building. In spite of the Parisian noise pollution, our neighborhood was blessed with many trees, flowers, and birds, giving it a natural feel. It was the perfect environment for my creativity.

  "Could I have breakfast here in the morning?" Raphaël asked over his shoulder.

  "I don't allow food or drinks in my art studio."

  Even Ila wasn't allowed in here. I only used the table outside to draw when it was warm enough.

  Raphaël seemed so disappointed though that I caved in—far too easily. I cursed myself for being so weak. It was those damn dimples of his. They got me every time.

  "If I let you eat on the balcony, will you go get us pastries from the bakery down the corner?" I asked with all the charm I could muster.

  "Sure." His dimples carved into his skin when he flashed a smile.

  "I'll make us some coffee."

  Raphaël gave a noncommittal nod, his gaze tracing my body, stopping at my forehead. "You got paint right there," he said, pointing at the spot above my left eyebrow.

  "Yeah, I know. You don't mind eating with a slob, do you?"

  He didn't respond, though he never stopped checking me out.

  "I'll be right back," he said and spun on his heels.

  I caught sight of his beautiful ass molded by his pants, and I watched without shame as he walked away before I headed to the sink to wash my hands.

  He returned twenty minutes later, carrying a paper bag that he opened to reveal the croissants hiding inside. He grabbed one as I pushed his bowl of coffee over the table and sat down facing him.

  "Careful, it's hot," I warned when he was about to take a sip. "I don't know how you prefer it so I brought sugar and cream."

  He ignored the cream but dropped two sugar cubes in while I took note of his preferences.

  "Damn, it smells good," I said when he tossed the bag of pastries at me and dipped his croissant in his bowl.

  "So good," he moaned, taking a bite.

  "So, what are your plans for the day?" I asked.

  "I still have to go buy all the books I need for class."

  "Yeah? And then?" I drank my coffee black, observing him the entire time.

  "After that, I don't know."

  "I can come with you if you want." I didn't have work until tonight, and it was better for me to go out on a day I felt well. Hopefully, the sun would make the feeling last longer, though that was just wishful thinking on my part.

  "I was considering visiting The Louvre," he said. When I shuddered, Raphaël stared at me. "What?"

  "Oh, nothing." I tried hard not to roll my eyes.

  "Right. Nothing."

  "Why does everyone want to visit The Louvre?" I asked.

  "Maybe because it's the most famous museum in Paris, and the art is gorgeous."

  I huffed at that.

  "You're going to tell me you don't think the art there is gorgeous?" he asked, outraged.

  "Gorgeous, sure, if you enjoy a lack of originality."

  "Excuse me?" His outburst was almost funny, except it made me sad.

  "Those so-called masters did nothing but obey the dictates of others," I explained. "They never followed their own artistic inspiration."

  "They were just trying to survive."

  "Aren't we all?"

  Raphaël pursed his lips. I'd definitely hit a nerve. Who knew he loved classic art that much? I couldn't help but smile at his indignation. "You don't like it when people speak the truth, do you?"

  "The truth? How can you hate classic artists?"

  "I don't hate them. Obviously, their art is gorgeous. I never said otherwise. But they only did what they were told. It was beautiful technique, sure, but art should be personal, unique."

  "Where do you suggest I go then since the Louvre isn't good enough for Monsieur Adrien?"

  I shook my head at his attitude. "The Orangerie, to see the impressionists—real artists who didn't mind rejecting the expectations of some stuck-up masters."

  Raphaël kept staring at me like I had three heads. "So you prefer modern art, then? Like the paintings in your living room? I'm sorry, but some modern art is shit. I mean, literally. There's some artist out there who shat in a can and called that art. Are you really going to sit here and tell me that'
s better than Delacroix? I don't think so."

  I let out a tiny laugh. It was so easy to rile him up, but I chose to change the subject. "You said 'your' living room. You pay the rent; you live here; it's your place too now."

  "Does it mean I can change some things around if I don't like them?"

  I cocked an eyebrow. "You have a problem with the decoration?"

  He shrugged. "No...I mean..."

  "It's the erotic art, isn't it?" I knew it was. It'd been an issue since day one. "We've already discussed that. You can take it down when your family comes to visit. I don't mind that. I don't wish to embarrass you. But otherwise, the art stays up."

  "Right, and how is that supposed to help with the hard-ons I get any time I leave my room, huh?" To my surprise, he didn't shy away or avert his eyes when saying it, either.

  I tried hard not to laugh. "My art is turning you on?"

  "You've got two guys in a threesome with a woman. What do you think? The first time I looked, I didn't even realize one of them was actually penetrating her. To the hilt. I haven't fucked anyone in over three months. Your art really isn't helping."

  I rolled my tongue over my teeth, unable to hide my cocky grin. "Does it bring back memories?"

  "Pfff, I wish!"

  I looked at him steadily. "You've never been with a man and a woman at the same time?"

  "No," he groaned, getting grumpier by the minute. "Have you?"

  More often than I could count, actually.

  "But you've been with men, right?" Not that it mattered if he had or not. Didn't make him any less queer.

  "Yeah. I've been with men."

  "Who knows? Maybe this will be your lucky year." I wriggled my eyebrows at him. "You'll probably find more bi people here than where you come from. I've heard the countryside is pretty hetero-normative. I bet everyone there is closeted."

  "It is, but I come from a city, not the country. And my best friend is bi, too."

  "Really? Nice." I wasn't about to ask if they'd shagged. Considering how Raphaël's eyes shifted away, it was easy to assume they had. When he began to fidget on his chair, I decided to change the topic. "So would you like to visit the Orangerie or the Orsay Museum instead of the Louvre?"

  "Sure. But if it sucks, you'll owe me one."

  "You don't have to agree if you don't want to."

  "Will you give me a tour?"

  "If I do, will you give me an architectural tour of the city later on too?"

  Raphaël beamed at me. "Sure, that'd be fun. I've studied Paris and Haussmann for my Master's degree. I need to go buy books before we head to the museum, though."

  I nodded and finished my coffee in one gulp. "Ready to leave now?" I looked down at myself. "Let me change into something else and wash my face."

  Chapter 7

  RAPHAËL

  It was nice outside, ­­not as warm as the previous day thanks to a light breeze and clouds announcing potential rain. Sadly, the air was just as polluted. The Parisian traffic never seemed to decrease, and a week here was enough to make me feel like I was suffocating.

  I tried to keep up with Adrien's fast pace as he led me along the Seine River, chatting about art while I admired the historical buildings surrounding us. He and I were mostly disagreeing, really, but our argument stopped upon seeing the long line waiting outside the Orsay Museum. It took an entire hour before Adrien could finally take me to the top floor, where we started our visit.

  "There you go," he exclaimed, pointing at a painting of wild foliage by the Douanier Rousseau. "Another artist ridiculed by boring-as-fuck art critics. Look how popular he is now."

  People gave us a few side glances, so I told Adrien to keep his voice down.

  "Still, it's no Delacroix." Sorry, but he wasn't convincing me on that one.

  "You're really obsessed with the guy, aren't you?" he asked. "You do know he has his own museum in Paris, right?"

  "I was hoping to see some of his paintings, yes. It's been a while."

  Adrien let out a long sigh and shook his head. "Whatever. Just follow all the other trendy sheep."

  "There's no need to be so vindictive about it. I'm just saying..."

  To my surprise, Adrien didn't protest. He beckoned me toward the Lautrec pastels.

  "Now careful what you say about him. He's my favorite," he warned.

  I scrunched my face. "Just some dude drawing whores, really."

  Adrien's eyes turned into daggers. "Got a problem with whores now?" he snapped, his voice freezing cold.

  What the fuck was his deal? I'd come here to relax, not to be scolded like a child. I would have gone to the Louvre on my own if I'd known he'd be so damn cranky.

  "Just women trying to survive," he added. "But I guess you were too damn lucky in life to realize that, huh."

  "Me, lucky?" I snarled. "Look at you with your fucking thousand-euro watch. Want to talk about luck?"

  "You think I was lucky in life?" Adrien asked, chuckling at me like I was some idiot.

  "Why are you so weird about this whole art thing?" I hissed through my teeth when the guard asked us to quiet down or leave. "Not my idea of fun, man, just so you know. You're starting to piss me off."

  Adrien shook his head. "I'm just stating facts, that's all."

  "Why do you care what I think about those prostitutes Lautrec drew?" I whispered.

  "Just be careful who you judge. You never know who could end up on the streets tomorrow and need to provide sexual services to survive. That's all."

  "Is that a threat?" I asked. "You're threatening to kick me out? Is that it?"

  "Not at all," he replied, cocking his fucking eyebrow at me. I wanted to knock it off his damn smartass face. "I'm just saying things as they are."

  Before I could respond, he changed the subject on me like nothing had happened. "We'll have to walk back, by the way."

  He'd already insisted we walk here. "Why?"

  "The subway workers are demonstrating today. I don't want to wait forever for a train."

  "We could have taken your motorcycle. Why didn't you tell me when we left the apartment?"

  "I thought you hated the motorcycle."

  I did, but I wasn't going to acknowledge that. "I'm just saying."

  "We can do the walk. It's not raining yet, and it's really not that far. Besides, if you're going to live here, you'd better get used to it. Workers demonstrate all the time, and Parisians walk."

  I sighed, disgruntled. I wasn't so sure I wanted to spend the rest of the day with his sulky ass anyway, but whatever.

  Chapter 8

  ADRIEN

  I felt bad for getting upset at Raphaël the day before, but he was so damn naïve, it got on my nerves. He didn't seem to realize how fortunate he was. He'd taken one look at me, my apartment, my clothes, and decided I was some fucking rich brat or something. It aggravated the shit out of me, even though I wasn't ready to tell him the truth.

  I ground my teeth as I grabbed my soft core color pencil and filled in the dark brown shade of the model's eyes on my white sheet. I was sitting in the same café I came to every week, waiting for Céleste to finally show up. Since I was in public, I couldn't work on my charcoal drawings. I had to settle for tame portraits that did nothing but frustrate me.

  The waitress came with my espresso—the third one already—and shot me a flirty smile. "Do you need anything else?"

  "Non, c'est bon. Merci." I gave a tiny grin, hoping she wouldn't take that as an invitation. She'd already crossed the line when she'd asked for my name a few weeks ago, forcing me to make something up because I couldn't afford a slip where she might call me out in front of Céleste. Thankfully, she left without another word and didn't force her chit-chat upon me.

  I drank my espresso, ready to give up, when the door finally opened. The chimes rang as Céleste came in, laughing with her friend who was so much more than just a friend. Céleste was holding her elbow with two hands while leaning into her with each chuckle. It was always such a relief to see her
so happy; it was worth all the wait in the world.

  She was wearing a tank top with a pink, yellow, and blue heart in the middle. Her long, wavy hair reached below her shoulders, looking different than when she was little. It used to be short enough to look like a buzz. When Céleste was four, she'd thrown a tantrum, screaming that she wanted to look like me and that girls could also have short haircuts. Because she was still sulking after three full days, her mother didn't have a choice. Of course, she'd blamed the whole thing on me. I was a bad influence. Everyone knew that.

  In all those years, Céleste hadn't changed much except for her hair. She still had that same mischievous smile. I preferred remembering that impish grin instead of the tears in her eyes on the day I left.

  She no longer knew or recognized me. I didn't know if that brought me pain or relief. She didn't know I came here every week to be with her either. She didn't know anything about my life, how I'd struggled after I left, how her mother still emailed me every year to harass me with spiteful criticism. Céleste knew none of that, and it was just as well. I didn't need to drag drama into her life. She seemed joyful, and that was all that mattered.

  That Céleste was pansexual probably never even crossed her mother's mind. The woman was hetero-normalized to the extreme. I would have laughed about it if the whole situation wasn't so damn terrifying. I feared for Céleste every day because I knew what her mother was capable of. I hoped against hope that no one would find out she was dating her friend Inès, and I prayed she got to finish her studies and gain her independence before coming out.

  When the group of girls sat at the table right next to mine, I pretended to ignore them, which worked out well until one of them turned to me and whistled.

  "How did you learn to draw so well?" she asked.

  A little smile poked at my lips. "It's not something you learn."

  She elbowed Céleste. "You've got competition. This guy can draw even better than you."

  I lowered my head to hide my shock. I didn't know she drew as well. We had so much more in common than her family would have liked to acknowledge. When I raised my gaze toward her, she sat up in her chair, pushing herself up on her elbows to see my drawing.