by Stacy Gail
“This was an important moment for me. This was the first day I was allowed to see the real Scout Upton.” The softness of Ivar’s tone brought her attention to him, only to find him looking up at the photo with such warmth—as if he somehow believed he was looking at a slice of heaven—that it made an invisible fist clench around her heart.
“This was just me chatting with Zelda about flowers. Nothing special happened.”
“Think about it, Scout. I had never been allowed to see your true nature before this moment. You were always so on guard with me. But you had just shared with me the story of your first flower, and I could barely breathe, I was so moved. At the time, all I could do was marvel at how you had managed to keep your heart so generous and loving, when you had never been shown generosity or love yourself. As I watched you give your time and attention to a sweet old lady, I believe this was the moment when I began to fall in love with you.”
“What?” Hardly able to believe what her ears insisted he’d just said, she forgot all about the picture and turned to stare up at him. And in the back of her mind she heard Tonya’s words—when love is real, it’s forever. “You love me?”
At last he looked away from the photo to lift a brow at her. “You know I love you. I told you that when I came clean about how we met.”
“No, you said you respected me and cared about me.” Both of which were great. Awesome, even. But they weren’t love.
You know I love you…
Oh. Wait.
Ivar loved her. He loved her.
Lord, what a difference that one word made. Because it wasn’t just a word.
It was everything.
“As I recall, I said I cared about you too much to go on another second with any pretense. You are too important to me.” He shook his head as if the way her mind worked was unfathomable. “If this is not love, I have no idea what is.”
“You love me.” At last, the numbness cocooning her heart vanished as if it had never been, allowing it to soar free on brand new wings that were lighter than air. “Okay. Ivar?”
“Yes, ma fleur?”
“Just to help you out on your education when it comes to women, we need words. If you’re assuming I understand something about you, don’t. Assumptions are always wrong, and they always suck. Spell everything out for me in great detail, preferably with accompanying graphs and charts.”
“I have no graphs or charts, but will pictures do?” His grin was maddening as he led her to the next framed photo that he unveiled. “When you were talking with Leo and making sure he knew how much you enjoyed the food his kitchen had come up with, I wanted to capture that kindness. It glowed out of your eyes and filled me with so much warmth, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. You had not begun to trust me yet, so you had never looked at me the way you looked at Leo. This is why I took a picture of it. I wanted it for myself.”
To Scout’s eyes, all she saw was a less-than-flattering action shot of her as she shoved a hearty helping of blueberry muffin into her mouth. But before she could point out that she could see her back molars, he guided her to the next wall, heading deeper into the House’s gallery.
“This one,” he said, dragging the cloth off the framed photo, “might be my favorite. Though, I admit, every photo of you is my favorite in some way. When you looked up at the sky with one eye squinted shut, it was as though you were trying to make the rain stop with your strength of will alone. That ferocity, and the confidence you have that you can make things happen if you just try hard enough, is one of the sexiest things about you. When I took his shot, I believed that I could never want you more than I did at that moment, but I was wrong. I was wrong, because you then did… this.”
Moving to the next wall, he unveiled the moment when a bedraggled-looking Red had slunk out from under a sandwich-board sign to sniff hopefully at the food Scout had offered. Ivar nodded at the image, his eyes never leaving the photo.
“Look at your face, Scout. Do you see how breathtaking you are? Simply to look at, you are a beautiful woman—anyone can see that. But this was the moment when you knocked the breath out of me. This was when I understood how overwhelmingly beautiful a woman is capable of being.”
She felt a little winded herself at that admission. “I hate to remind you of what your profession is at this juncture, but you do photograph the most beautiful women in the world. I’m nothing like them.”
“They are the ones who are nothing like you. Their unattractiveness in comparison to you makes me cringe. There is so much richness in your heart, so much compassion and strength and love—I can see it glowing in your eyes, and this is something I almost never see through my lens. And the patient way you held out that food to Red… look at your expression. Do you see it?”
“No.” But that wasn’t surprising, since she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. “What do you see?”
“An incredible, almost painful understanding of this stray’s suffering. I see you know what it is to be so alone in the world that it is impossible to believe anyone could ever care about you. I suspect that when Mama Coco and Papa Bolo insisted you were going home with them, you must have been like Red was at that moment. Scared, wary to believe someone gave a shit about you, but wanting to believe it so much it hurt. This picture alone shows your worth, ma trésor, and it is a worth that is beyond measure.”
A lump grew in her throat so hard and fast she didn’t have time to say a word. Luckily, he didn’t seem to need a response as he guided her to the next frame to unveil it.
Her gasp tore the silence in half, and she automatically looked around, frantic. “Oh my God, are you crazy? You can’t show a naked picture of me! For God’s sake, I work here.”
“No one else is here, just you and me,” came the calm reply while her body threatened to spontaneously combust in a blush that started from her knees and worked its way up. “As it happens, I agree with you—I do not want anyone else to see this photo, either. Though this is some of the best work I have ever done, I would never allow it to be shown. No one gets to see your perfection but me.”
“I’m not perfect,” she hissed, fighting the urge to tear down the framed print through sheer force of will. “Ivar…” Oh God, if someone walked in here now, she’d absolutely die.
“Do you see what I see? Look at this shot and tell me how you see yourself.”
“Um.” She hesitated, wondering if his artist’s ego would be offended if she admitted she’d rather set it on fire than look at it. Probably. “Uh… I see me asleep on my side, the sheet bunched up on my hip, and I think I may have been snoring because my mouth is hanging open. I obviously need some sun and it’s definitely time I went back to the gym.”
“I see you at your most unguarded, and your vulnerability staggers me. If you are awake, that means you are in charge and making things happen. It is who you are and I get a rush out of seeing you in your element. But when you sleep, another you comes out, and I love that one just as much. Soft and trusting. At peace with the prospect of me watching over you.” A gentle touch of his fingers over her cheek turned her attention back to him, and she nearly melted at the heat in his pale eyes. “Having you like that is like watching a goddess at rest. This,” he tilted his head toward the photo without looking away from her, “will live forever in my memory as one of the most perfect moments of my life.”
The words moved through her like a miracle, touching her so profoundly her eyes swam with warmth. “Don’t say anything else, please.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m starting to think I must be dreaming. And if I am, I’m going to be so disappointed when I wake up, especially if this moment gets any better.”
“Just one more.” Smiling as if he found her reasoning worthy of a laugh track, she allowed him to bring her around to the other side of the wall and one last draped frame. Without fanfare, he pulled the cover away to reveal a candid shot of Mama Coco and Papa Bolo dancing their final dance at their anniversary party. Papa Bolo w
as giving his wife a suggestive leer while Mama Coco laughed up at him. Together they made an adorable, cohesive whole.
As beautiful as the picture was, Scout was stumped. When she looked to Ivar questioningly he pulled her to him, one arm wrapping around her while his other hand caught hers in a pose that mirrored the dancing couple in the photo.
“I want this.” Still holding her hand in his, he touched the edge of the frame, and her eyes widened in understanding. “I want to be with you for so long neither one of us knows how many years we have been together. I want to look at you decades later, and be thankful the woman I hold still gets me hot. I want you to laugh with me and dance with me, and look at me like I am the only man in the world for you. I want what they have. I want forever with you.”
“I really am dreaming,” she whispered, and the liquid warmth in her eyes brimmed over as she smiled up at him, this man who could either be her perfect fantasy or devastating nightmare. At that thought, her smile dimmed. “But… wait a second. What about Canada?”
His smile also did a quick fade. “What about Canada?”
“You said you were going back with your mother.”
“Yes, I leave with her tomorrow to give her as much support as I can as she cuts her last ties with Albertine. I am coming back,” he added with sudden understanding, and the tension that had been tying her in knots vanished as if by magic. “Scout, I know your life is here. The Panuzzis and your extended foster family, the House, Payne…I could never ask you to leave all that behind. The nature of my work is such that I can be based anywhere. Since my only wish is to be wherever you are, I have decided to move permanently to Chicago.”
Scout wouldn’t have been at all surprised if fireworks of pure joy suddenly burst out of her to light up the room, but still she hesitated. “Are you sure? You’re a good man, and I know you’re grateful that I reunited you with your mom, so—”
“I took these photos long before you helped me find out who I am, yes?”
She blinked. “I… yes. So?”
“The reason I took these photos of you was because I was falling in love with you. When I saw how strong and compassionate and sexy you are, how open and loving and real… each of these photos represent a moment when a part of my heart became yours. This is not gratitude. This is my way of showing you why you are the most important person in my life. You are perfect. You are my perfect. I cannot breathe without you.”
“Ivar.” She couldn’t find the words to tell him how much he meant to her, or how she was almost too afraid, even now, to believe she finally had someplace where she belonged. They would come. For now, all she could do was beam up at him, and the action pushed more wetness from the corners of her eyes. “I love you so much.”
The sudden brilliance in his smile was extraordinary. He danced her away from the spotlights and into the shadows of the gallery floor. As he did, his mouth came down on hers, and he didn’t let her up for air until they bumped gently against something. Dazed, she looked over at one of the round, cylindrical display podiums the House often used during exhibits. The breath gushed out of her when she saw what was on it.
“What the—”
“There is an Ella Wheeler Wilcox quote that reminds me of you and your love of dandelions—‘a weed is but an unloved flower’.” Releasing her hand, he reached for the bright yellow dandelion sitting in a gilt-edged, multi-faceted crystal flower pot and handed it to her. “You have always been so bright and beautiful, no matter where you were planted. Against all odds you found a way to thrive and shine, despite being uprooted again and again. You give so much to the world, and to me, by simply being you. You are my dandelion—my perfect flower. And I swear, ma fleur, you are no longer unloved. I love you, and this will never change.”
Her heart swelled so much it was a miracle her chest didn’t explode. No, she thought as her mouth captured his. The true miracle in her life was holding onto her just as tightly as she held onto him. “Thank you. Oh God, thank you so much.”
His brows shot up. “For what?”
“For at last giving me a place to belong.”
A look of near-agony crossed his face a scant second before he crushed her to him, and it was a hold that promised a lifetime of never letting go. “It is no less than you have done for me, ma trésor,” he whispered against her ear. “When I am in your arms, at last I know where I belong.”
Epilogue
Several years later
“That banner is crooked.”
Scout glanced toward the stage where the sixteen-piece swing band was currently playing “As Time Goes By.” Above them, the large banner that wished Mama Coco and Papa Bolo a happy forty-ninth—or fiftieth—wedding anniversary had been hung by the hotel workers hours before. At the main entrance, an intricate archway greeted the guests, welcoming them to Rick's Café Américain, the Moroccan cantina that Humphrey Bogart’s character ran in the movie Casablanca. The party’s theme was inspired by Mama Coco’s and Papa Bolo’s love of that movie, and as it took place in the early 1940’s, it suited Scout right down to her victory curls, scarlet lipstick and swing skirts. “The banner’s fine, sweetheart.”
“Ma fleur, how can you call it fine? It is clearly higher on the left by at least a degree. I have an eye for such things.”
After making sure all was peaceful in the children’s “Kid’s Club” Moroccan-style tent that had been set up off to one side of the ballroom, she turned a smile Ivar’s way. He looked more gorgeous than ever in black tie, white dinner jacket and slicked-back hair. She tried talking him into having a candy cigarette hanging out of his mouth, but he did what he always did whenever she sprang a crazy idea on him—just shook his head and looked heavenward for divine delivery. “You say the same thing about the Christmas tree every year, and it’s always straight.”
“Yes, just so. Because I make it straight.”
Good grief. “If I promise to not force you to try the Chicken Dance this year, will you try to forget how crooked the banner is?”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“You have a deal.”
“Awesome.” She cupped his cheek in her hand, eyes soft as she leaned over her big belly to capture his mouth with hers. It took a lot of leaning. Any day now the latest Fournier would be making his or her debut into the world, and she felt like a stuffed turkey whose timer had already popped. It was time to get her little bun out of the oven, as far as she was concerned, and if she had to take up jumping jacks to shake things loose, she didn’t have a problem with it.
“Now that we have gotten that squared away,” Ivar said after they broke apart, his hands coming up to rub along her back, “I need to remind you of another deal we struck before we left the house.”
Oops. “Now, Trouble—”
“You promised you would take it easy tonight and let Tonya and Sass take over, remember?”
“I just wanted to make sure everything was going along smoothly over here in the tent with the kids.”
“It is. Now go sit with Mama Coco and Papa Bolo for a while. You have been doing nothing but running around ever since we got here, and that was definitely not part of our deal.”
“I haven’t been able to run for at least three months,” she muttered, but she knew he was right. And if his triumphant grin at her weak defense was any indication, he knew it too. “Okay, you win.”
“That was easy.”
“Sitting down actually sounds pretty good. I’m fine,” she said quickly when his smile did a disappearing act and a big hand went protectively to her stomach. “We’re fine, I swear. I barely slept last night thanks to my brain refusing to shut down, so I’ve been dragging a bit today, that’s all.”
“Ma trésor.” His smile remained MIA as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his forehead against hers. She loved it when he did that. It was as though he needed to be close to her in order to keep going, and she was happy to provide that any hour of the day. “We are not
staying for the final dance. Coco and Bolo will understand.”
“Ivar—”
“I refuse to debate this, my wife.”
His wife. That was some serious talk right there. It was right up there was being addressed by both first and middle name. The one time she’d asked him about it, Ivar had said that whenever it slipped out, it was as though whatever he was saying was coming directly from his heart and soul. It alerted her to the fact that he meant business, so she linked her arms around his neck and nodded, rolling her brow against his.
“Okay, sweetheart. We’ll go after the group of swing dancers do their big performance later. I might not be able to get up and jitterbug in my current condition, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
At that, the grin came back. “Am I going to have to tie you to your seat?”
“Only if you tell me the safety word beforehand. Then you can do anything you like, baby.”
Heat poured into those eyes that had once been shuttered, but were now as easy to read as any large-print book. “I like the way you think.”
“Ah, there is Maman et Papa.” The melodic voice of Eliane dropped in, and they both turned to watch her approach with eighteen-month Gunnar bouncing on her hip. At the beginning of the party, he’d looked like a little replica of his father, complete with slicked back black hair, tiny white jacket and black tie, but that had lasted just long enough for family pictures. Then the jacket and tie were off, along with his shoes and one of his socks, and he would have squirmed out of the rest if Scout hadn’t had several more comfortable changes of clothes at the ready.
Gunnar wasn’t a fan of clothes. He’d come out of the womb naked, and it seemed to be his mission in life to stay that way. Scout had confided to Ivar that she genuinely feared he might be the world’s first nudist kindergartener, but Ivar didn’t seem worried. He did, however, have about a ton of hilarious pics of Gunnar winning the never-ending war Scout waged in keeping their son’s little baby butt covered. The only consolation she had was that one day—probably around high school and he was really impossible to control—those pictures would make great blackmail material.
