by Aubrey Rose
“You’re gonna have to talk to him, Shannon,” Asher said. His voice sounded like he was hiding something. Shannon’s stomach dropped.
“Was he drinking?”
“No. Look, hey, Shannon. It’s not bad, honest. But you have to talk to him.”
“So where is he? I can’t believe you’re all covering up for him! I swear to god—”
“Stop! Everyone stop what you’re doing!”
Shannon whirled around, ready to punch someone, but that someone turned out to be Jean Maniere. The famous photographer was dressed in tight black pants and a black tank top. His white hair stood out in sharp contrast to his youthful, muscular body, and his eyes wrinkled up like a crumpled paper bag when he spoke.
“Is this the lovely Shannon?” The way he pronounced her name made it sound exotic and foreign.
“Monsieur… Monsieur Maniere,” Shannon said, holding out her hand in greeting. The old photographer ignored her handshake and stepped forward, kissing her on both cheeks.
“Please, je m’appelle Jean. Such a pleasure. The guitar player told me that you were a photographer too. Patrick!” He snapped his fingers and spoke in accented English to the head assistant. “Break down the lighting here, we’re done. Move everything down to the gardens. The far fountain, please.”
The assistants swirled in a rush to gather up all of the costumes, and Asher helped herd the dogs outside. Jean offered his arm to Shannon, who took it shyly. She didn’t know how the photographer managed to keep from overheating in his all-black outfit, but his skin was cool to the touch as he walked her out into the corridor.
“This is your camera?” he asked, looking over at her shoulder.
“Oh, um, yes,” she said, raising her eyebrows nervously as he reached out to take it from her.
“Let me carry it for you,” he said, turning it on.
“I’m not…these are just my initial shots,” she said, blushing as he turned to the pictures she had taken from the past week. God, how embarrassing. It was a good thing she hadn’t let Julian take any naked pictures of her, no matter how much he had insisted.
“Ah, yes,” Jean said. His white brows knitted together in his forehead. “This needs more lighting from the side.”
Shannon craned her neck to see the shot and caught a glimpse of Daniel and Asher sitting together backstage, talking.
“Oh, oh yes. I wanted—”
“This one should be cropped.” Jean covered half of the screen with his hand. He scrolled through the shots more quickly. “Bad light, bad light. This one is okay. Interesting angle.”
Shannon zipped her mouth and listened in bleak embarrassment as Jean Maniere tore apart her photographs. All of his criticism was spot on, and she grew more and more ashamed as he went through the dozens of inferior photos, pointing out the flaws in each of them. He marked the few he thought were good.
“Bien. Well,” he said, handing the camera back to her. “You have three good photos there. The one with the singer, yes, that one is very good.”
Shannon knew which one he was talking about. She had taken a picture of Alex backstage, writing down a note on the set list before they went out. The other band members were silhouetted by the colored lights of the stage, and Alex’s face was lit by a flashlight one of the stagehands held over him as he wrote. At first she thought the shot was boring compared to the rest of the photos she had taken—after all, it didn’t have any mark of Paris in it. No Eiffel Tower, no ornate architecture, nothing. It was just the band, being the band. Still, there was something compelling about the intensity of Alex’s face as he held the marker in one hand.
“I do like that one,” she admitted. “I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Put a finger on it?”
“Sorry,” Shannon said, realizing the idiom didn’t make a lot of sense when translated over to French. “I mean I don’t quite understand why I like it.”
“Oh! It’s simple!” Jean leaned over to her and scrolled quickly to that photo. “Look at the light. It reminds one of a Caravaggio painting, maybe San Gerolamo. The half-illuminated face. The way the guitars point down toward the subject, the curtains like columns on either side. It’s a classical composition with an eye towards naturalist lighting.”
“Um, okay,” Shannon said, the ideas whirling in her mind. “I guess so.”
The old photographer looked up at her. “You were lucky with that shot.”
Shannon blushed. “And the rest of the photos?”
“Trash.” He turned off the camera and let it go gently. “A couple of salvageable ones, perhaps, but mostly garbage.”
Tears welled instantly in Shannon’s eyes. She’d thought that her photos were good, but now that he’d pointed out their weaknesses, she knew that she was terrible. A fake. She should give it up.
Jean saw her face and his eyebrows raised.
“Oh no, mademoiselle! No, no, no, don’t be sad!”
“I just…” Shannon wiped away the tears. “I want to take good photographs, I really do.”
“And you have! You have one great photograph! This is a compliment. How old are you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “So young! You have years and years to improve. To take even one good picture by the time you are twenty-five, it is impressive. To have one great picture in a week’s worth of shots… well, that is impressive indeed! Please, no, please, you are very talented!”
Shannon blinked. She didn’t understand exactly what had just happened, but Jean Maniere had called her talented.
“I didn’t even know why it was good though,” Shannon said, sniffing a bit.
“Ah, never worry about that,” the photographer said, patting her hand as they walked on down the marble hallway. “You have taste. Taste always exceeds talent, especially in young artists. That’s why so many of them give up. They are too impatient for their skills to catch up to their ideas. You shouldn’t give up. Keep working, keep taking photographs.”
“Really?”
“Of course. That is how we work. Take a thousand photos and find the one good one. It’s hard, but you will know when the right shot comes along.”
“And I won’t even know why it’s the right one,” Shannon said, laughing a bit through her tears. “I’ll just know?”
“You trust your heart,” Jean said, his eyes flashing brightly under his wrinkled forehead. “You’ll know when it’s the right one.”
Shannon smiled a wan smile, her fingers tight around her camera.
“But now,” the photographer said, “we have to do a shoot. Will you help me?”
“I’d love to,” Shannon said. She walked through the doorway that Jean held open for her, and gazed out into the acres of beautifully trimmed gardens.
“Excellent,” Jean said. “Follow me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Shannon followed Jean down through the maze of hedges and rose bushes. They arrived in a small clearing with wrought iron gates all around. A heap of photograph equipment, costumes, and lighting devices were scattered around, but there was nobody else there, no assistant in sight. The photographer jumped spryly into the middle of the clearing.
“This one, I believe, is yours,” Jean said, digging through the costumes. He pulled out a gown.
“Wait, what?”
“Your dress.”
Shannon laughed, then realized he was serious.
“I’m not… I’m not part of the band shoot,” she said, holding up her hands in protest. “I’m just here to help. Where is everyone, anyway?”
“We have to have a queen for the courtly gardens,” Jean said. “And despite your drummer’s insistence that he be allowed to dress up as such, I think you would do much better.”
Shannon smiled, thinking about Asher wearing a dress. Jean placed the gown in her hands. The fabric was a light green silk with embroidered roses all along the hems.
“There’s no way…it’s not going to fit,” Shannon protested.
“Try it on, mademoiselle.”
“I will stand guard outside the clearing, don’t you worry,” Jean said. He stepped out of the clearing entrance before Shannon could give him back the dress.
She sighed. At least it would give her an opportunity to get out of her sweaty shirt. With only a brief moment of hesitation, she peeled off her clothes and pulled the dress on over her head. To her surprise, it fit her well. She reached behind her and zipped up the faux corset. Snug but not too snug, and the lace was exquisite. She twirled around and watched the dress billow out under her. In the sunlight the fabric shimmered and flowed like light over water.
“Ready?” Jean Maniere called.
“Yes!” Shannon said, unable to stop the enthusiasm in her voice.
“Voila!” The photographer stepped back in and pretended to be struck in awe. “The very picture of Marie Antoinette. But no, she was not as beautiful as you, my darling.”
Shannon felt a light flush come over her skin.
“Merci beaucoup,” she said, trying her best to recreate the accent she had heard on the French language instruction tapes.
“Mais, bien sure,” Jean said, waving away her thanks. “Now we must frost you with jewels.”
Shannon gaped as Jean pulled out the most incredible necklace she’d ever seen. At first she thought it must be fake, but when he clasped it around her neck she felt the weight of real gems.
“Emeralds,” she whispered, looking down at the huge faceted stone resting in the hollow of her neck. “My favorite.”
“And earrings to match,” Jean said, handing the gold and emerald pieces over. They dangled and ticked the skin just below her ears. He handed her a mirror.
“This is incredible,” Shannon said, raising the mirror up to examine the jewelry. They sparkled and set off her complexion beautifully. She heard a snap and looked up. Jean was already taking pictures of her.
“C’est si belle,” he murmured. “So beautiful. Such a natural queen.” Shannon was so caught up in trying to pose for Jean’s camera that she almost didn’t notice when his eyes flickered back to the entrance of the clearing.
“Ah, and there is your king.”
Shannon turned to see Julian dressed up in seventeenth century garb, black breeches and a dark leather waistcoat over his white buttoned shirt.
“Julian!” she cried, running forward. She had thought she would be more irritated with him, but instead relief flooded her body. “You’re here!”
“Of course I’m here,” Julian said, catching her in a kiss. “Shannon, you look…”
He looked at her from head to toe with a gaping grin. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you,” she said, curtsying. “Jean fixed me up like a queen.”
“He sure did. On a scale from one to ridiculous, how do I look?” Julian tugged at his buttoned shirt.
“You’re actually pulling it off quite well.” He was, surprisingly enough. With his classical profile and strong jaw, he looked just like a high-ranking courtier from the fourteenth century.
“Is that so?”
“You look very… noble.” Shannon looked at him fondly.
“It must be all the French nobility in my blood.”
Shannon smiled, but her thoughts turned quickly to the events of the night before. She had to know what had happened.
“Where were you this morning?”
Julian opened his mouth, but before he could speak the photographer interrupted.
“Go, walk with her through the gardens.” Jean motioned towards the entrance, waving them on.
Julian offered his elbow, and Shannon took it primly, gathering a bunch of the dress fabric with one hand to lift up the hem.
“Please, Julian,” she whispered. “Are you going to tell me why you left me all alone?”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there this morning.” His voice was contrite, but there was also a tone of excitement in it.
“Did you even come back last night?” She frowned.
“No. Wait, Shannon, hear me out.”
“I’m not sure if I should.” Her hand tensed on his elbow, and she felt him caress her arm soothingly. Well, she wasn’t going to be soothed with just a touch. Even if it was his touch.
Jean yelled out from thirty feet behind them. “To the left! Towards the fountains!”
They turned at the corner, Julian helping her up the steps and onto the new path edged with roses.
“I was on a secret mission.”
“What mission?” So he hadn’t been drinking. That was the biggest relief. Shannon felt herself untense. As long as he was okay, she would be okay. They would be okay.
“Before I reveal my secret mission, I need to tell you something else.”
The photographer lagged behind, taking a panoramic shot from the far end of the gardens. There was a fountain mounted at the top of an incline, with stairs curving all around it.
“What?” Shannon wanted to put her hands on her hips, but she thought it would be decidedly not-eighteenth-century enough. Instead, she stood straight up, her eyebrow arched coyly.
Julian led her up the stairs towards the top of the fountain.
“I’ve had such a great time with you in Paris,” he said.
“Me too,” Shannon said. “It’s been wonderful.” She remembered all of the beautiful places he had taken her to. The churches, the rivers, the gardens and museums. And this! Versailles! This palace might be the most beautiful place of all.
Julian stopped at the top of the fountain. The water sprayed from the statues, and the small gusts of wind blew a fine mist over them. Shannon closed her eyes and tilted her face blissfully up to the sun as the cool mist bathed her skin.
“Shannon,” Julian said. She looked back at his face, now serious. Her stomach sank. It must be bad.
“Yes?” She almost didn’t want to know.
Julian cupped her face with one palm, his large hand cradling her head. His other hand circled her waist protectively around the bustled fabric.
“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I was on a secret mission last night to get you a present. Asher helped me. So please don’t worry. It wasn’t anything bad.”
A present? Shannon opened her mouth to speak, but Julian pressed a finger to her lips.
“Shannon. Let me finish. You are the most talented and beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t imagine spending a minute without you. You’re so kind and so gentle, and I could never have hoped to meet someone as wonderful as you. I know I’m not perfect, but I’ll try to be perfect for you.”
Tears welled up in Shannon’s eyes, and she fought to keep them down, if only for the sake of the photographs.
“Julian—”
Julian bent down, and then—oh, Lord—he was on one knee, pulling out a ring. A hundred tiny emeralds circled the diamond in the center, flashing in the sunlight.
“I love you, Shannon. Will you marry me?”
Shannon reached one trembling hand out to Julian, who slid the ring on her finger calmly, so calmly. How could he be so calm? Shannon felt as though the world around her had shattered into bright pieces of joy, and the dizziness of it made her head spin. The sky shone so brightly.
“Yes,” she whispered. Julian stood, and she flung her arms around him. In his embrace she felt so safe, so wanted. “Yes, oh god, yes. I love you, Julian.”
“I love you, too,” Julian said. He pressed his lips to hers and she fell headlong into the kiss. The mist from the fountains behind them sparkled with sunlight, and then she closed her eyes and was lost in his caress.
This. This was everything she had ever hoped for. All of the doubt and uncertainty she had felt evaporated into the air. She had known, from the first time he had met her and treated her so kindly, that she would be safe with him. And now he would be with her—her, her only— forever. When she was a little girl, she had dreamed of a prince coming to
take her away from the people who laughed at her and teased her. She had always hoped for someone who could love her without question. Someone who would see her as she really was and accept her. Julian wasn’t just another man who would use her and abandon her. He needed her and she needed him, because together they were both better people than they were apart. Together they were both whole, and even though they had their weaknesses, they would support each other no matter what. That was what love was, wasn’t it?
A loud cheer broke Shannon from the kiss, and she turned to see the rest of the band members coming out from behind the long garden hedge.
“Whoo! Yeah, Julian! That’s how you do it!” Asher punched the air in excitement.
“Did she say yes?” Alex yelled over. “Shannon, don’t do it! He’s mine!”
Asher shoved him and Alex tumbled into one of the sculpted bushes, laughing. Daniel clapped wildly, a broad smile on his face.
Jean Maniere raised his hand in a thumbs up as he walked over towards them with the band members.
“I got every shot,” he said. “You two are beautiful together. See?” He raised his camera up and showed Shannon the photo he had taken of them in the fountain, the water spraying around their bodies as they kissed.
“That’s the shot,” Shannon said. “It’s perfect.”
“I told you,” Jean said, winking at her and then looking at Julian. “What did I tell you? You will know in your heart when you’ve found the right one.”
“I have,” Shannon said, squeezing Julian’s hand tightly in hers. “I have found the right one.”
“So,” Alex said, picking pieces of leaves out of his hair. “First Paris, now we’re off to tour the rest of Europe. What on earth will you guys do for a honeymoon?”
Shannon blushed and Julian hugged her around the waist tightly.
“Oh,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
Epilogue
Julian kissed Shannon in Paris, amid the gilded gates and statues of Versailles. Her lips burned with passion as he took her breath from her, leaning into the embrace. The stubble on his chin scratched her cheek as he nuzzled her.
