Leopard's Prey - By Christine Feehan Page 0,129

trying to capture each aspect.

It seemed an impossible task to find everything he’d molded into the water. Each time she thought she’d found them all, when she moved, something else revealed itself. “This is amazin’, Arnaud. Incredible. I don’ know how you could even manage to do this. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. The weird thing is, the more I look at it, the more beautiful it becomes.”

“What do you think I’m trying to say?”

This was always the most difficult moment. Arnaud made statements with his sculptures. He didn’t mind the critics getting it wrong, but it mattered to him that she saw his vision, because she was one of the few people he allowed into his small circle of friends. She walked around the sculpture one more time.

“It isn’t about fallin’ in love,” Bijou said. She looked up at him. “At least, that’s not what it says to me. All the drops are individual until they hit halfway down the waterfall and then they blend together, revealin’ all the faces pourin’ over the cliff and flowin’ to the bottom into the pool. When I look at it, I see the life in the universe—the way each form of life is on an individual journey as we take that free fall. We come together back in the universe . . .” She bit her lip. “I’m not sayin’ this very well, Arnaud, but for me it’s a statement on the universe and life and death. That’s what I see when I look at this piece.”

A slow smile lit up his face for one brief moment and then faded away. “You always ‘get’ me, Bijou. I believe we all free-fall through the world and then the universe absorbs us back into it one way or another and we give back to it.”

“No matter what it means to others, Arnaud, and that’s the true beauty of art, everyone sees what they need to see, this sculpture is truly wonderful.”

“It’s my favorite of all of them.”

“You didn’t just do faces like everyone would expect,” she observed. There was the curve of hair, a perfect mouth, animals and plants, bits and pieces of various living things captured in his sculpture.

“Our life-form shares the planet with millions of other life-forms,” he said. “And then all of us go back to dust to feed the Earth.”

“I don’ know if that’s beautiful or terrifyin’,” Bijou said.

“Of course it’s beautiful. Our life-form is beautiful, but not always those that inhabit the form are. You happen to be very rare, Bijou.” He looked around the crowded room, the people in dozens of conversations, sipping on expensive wine and champagne and eating from the hors d’oeuvres trays the waiters passed around. “I think you’ve found a few friends who seem to be very much like you.”

He paused, forced a smile and waved at several people greeting him. Bijou immediately took over for him, making the conversation, easing him into it occasionally. She tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm, a small way of using code between them. When Arnaud needed a little space from the crowd grouped around them, he pressed his palm tightly over her hand and she would find an excuse to graciously move on, giving him breathing space.

The next two hours were spent talking to couples, groups and individual fans of Arnaud’s work, all eager to purchase one of his famous sculptures or a smaller item from his rare jewelry section. They worked the room together, Bijou making certain that no one felt slighted. They were all potential customers, and many were repeat buyers, millionaires and even two billionaires perusing the art. Not only did they get to talk to Arnaud, but they were more than delighted to chat with the celebrity on his arm.

The music turned dreamy and the small dance floor became crowded. Men in tuxedos and women in long, glittering gowns moved together to sway and twirl. Bijou caught sight of Saria and Drake dancing, steps perfectly matching.

“Is Drake your bodyguard?” Arnaud asked as they distanced themselves from the latest crowd of admirers.

“No, why?”

“He carries himself like a bodyguard, and he’s very aware of everyone in the room and where you are. He isn’t the only one either,” Arnaud added.

Bijou had forgotten just how much Arnaud, as an artist, took in. He was very observant, even if he really wasn’t all that social. She inclined her head, respecting him too much to lie to him. “Remy’s

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