“You don’t want to do that,” he warns. He steps away with his hands on his frustrated body, keeping his eyes on her.

“Why? Let me ease you,” she pleads, reaching out a soft gentle hand.

Knowing he needs to crush this right this second, he quickly grips her wrist and pulls her forward. Wrapping her fingers around his aching flesh, he curses.

In a voice so thick and full of gravel that he almost has a hard time getting it out, he tells her, “You came here, Gemma. You came here and listened. Now, it’s time to go.”

“Stop.” She shakes her head. “We aren’t done yet. There’s still more I have to ask.” She pauses, pulling her hand away. Rushing on, she says, “There’s more you need to tell me.”

Phillipe tilts his head while he stuffs his unsatisfied cock back into his pants. “What more do you need to know, Gemma? I sent the last two pictures, Sacred and Deceptive, to the gallery owner two weeks before!” He leaves his explanation hanging there. Both of them know what he’s referring to when he mentions before.

“Those paintings completed the final six that then became The Blind Vision Collection. That’s the whole reason why you came here.”

Putting her hand on her mouth, she takes a step back, realizing the enormity of what he’s finally telling her.

“No. No! I came here to learn about you, not your damn paintings. I already knew about them!” she yells at him.

Resolving himself to her reaction, he steps forward and grasps her shoulders, drawing her body in close to him. He crushes his mouth down onto hers again. She gasps and parts her lips, allowing him to push inside. Stealing one more brutal kiss, he wants to ease the desperate, frantic realization of loss flooding her as she stands there, trembling in his arms. As he moves away, letting her go, he looks down into eyes filled with hurt and confusion.

“The story has ended, Gemma. There’s nothing left to say.”

Wrapping her arms around her waist, she looks like she’ll fall apart at any moment.

“So, that’s it? After everything? After every single thing I have read and sat through, you don’t even trust me to tell me what fucking happened?”

Getting up in her space, he leans down until they are nose to nose.

“Yes. Isn’t that just too fucking bad? This is all you’re getting.”

With that, he storms past her, leaving her broken and bereft, just like he is.

* * *

I feel empty, like he’s ripped my heart from my chest and left with it clutched in his fist. As I stand in the center of the studio, I can’t comprehend everything that just happened. One minute, we were talking about the final two paintings. I was reassuring him. He thanked me, and then his mood completely shifted.

Breathing hard, I rub my forehead, still clutching my waist with my arm. Oh god, it hurts. I didn’t think it would hurt so much as he pulled further and further away from me, but it does.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I make myself take several breaths to calm down. My head is still ringing with his angry words. Instead of worrying about my stupid fucking article, all I’m doing is thinking about how he doesn’t trust me.

Finally, when I have my emotions somewhat in check, I open my eyes slowly and shake my hands by my side. Turning to leave the studio to go back to my room to start packing, my eyes fall to the large painting that had been sitting covered in the studio corner the whole time I have been here. This time, it is facing me, and this time, there is no cloth covering it. Raising my hand, I cover my mouth as it falls open with a silent gasp.

There, before me, is a painting I have never seen. My body trembles, and my skin breaks out in goose bumps as at the image sinks into my brain, passing through all my anger and all my hurt.

Walking toward the large canvas, I am once again captivated and entranced by his work. I swallow, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. It’s beating so fast that I’m surprised I can’t see it thumping against my shirt.

She is in the center of the canvas. Even in death—because death is what I see—she is beautiful. It’s immediately obvious what this image is depicting, and as I get closer, I feel like she’s behind me, urging me forward.

She’s in the water. Her beautiful white dress floats toward the surface as her lifeless body seemingly floats in repose. Arms, legs, and hair point down to her final resting place.

With a trembling hand, I run my fingers down her arm and touch her hand gently. As I let my eyes take in all that I am seeing, they are drawn to the ray of light, shining through the water from above, as it casts a glow over her as she finds peace. I’m spellbound by Diva. The very instrument that brought her to life is floating down with her as the sun hits the bout of the violin. It makes complete sense that it is there, lingering near her, even in death.

Biting my bottom lip to keep myself from sobbing, I can feel the tears streaming down my face as my shoulders shake. I remove my hand from her palm and raise it to cover my mouth again as I let myself feel the pain of each agonizing stroke he made.

Stepping back slowly, I realize something else through all of the sadness and pain. He does trust me. This is him trusting me. I can feel it just as strongly as I can feel her presence here with me. She’s sharing in my moment of clarity and insight. I realize this is him trusting me with her.

Wiping the tears away from my face, I turn to go and find him. I’m determined to tell him that I understand now. I have everything I need. I know how incredibly wrong they all were.

After her death, Chantel’s parents had been the most vocal of his accusers. They pointed to him as the man who had brainwashed, manipulated, and trapped their poor blind daughter who had no knowledge of his wicked ways.

What irony it is that their daughter saw life and love more clearly than either of them did. Nothing about Chantel was explored. No one asked how she felt. No one looked beyond the surface. Everyone saw the finality of her life and made assumptions.

I now know that assuming was the biggest deception of all.


Chapter  Twenty-Seven ~ Truth