The reply buoyed me. I pressed to be sure. “You’re not looking for a potential husband in that pool of eligible suitors?”
“I’d rather be impaled through the eyes.” Belle turned her back on me, reclaiming her seat. “Marriage isn’t in the cards for me.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
I joined her in looking out over the gardens. Acres of roses, chrysanthemums, tulips, gushing fountains, and a winding stone path stretched out before us. This was my mother’s pride and joy. She took every guest on a tour through them, gushing about the time and work that went into crafting her paradise. It didn’t seem to matter that she did not plant or water one bush in the entire lawn.
“Why is that?”
“I have my reasons,” she clipped. “What about you, Desai? Looking forward to a summer of women throwing themselves at you left and right?”
“No.” I wielded the same bluntness she used on me two years ago. “What I’m looking forward to is a summer backpacking Europe. Nothing that is going on in there is about me.”
Now she looked at me. “You’re not going to the cove? You don’t want to get married either?”
“No. At least not yet and... not to anyone in there.”
“Have you told your parents?”
“My thoughts on the subject are not needed or asked for.”
Maybe it was a trick of the light, but it appeared her wrinkled nose softened. The anger went out of her eyes, leaving only the sadness. “I know what that’s like. Dad and the dame have lost it. I was supposed to go to Europe this summer too. Not just Europe. All the fashion capitals of the world, to draw inspiration before school. They said it’d be my graduation present”—she squared her shoulders—“and it still will be.”
“Fashion capitals? You’re a designer.”
“Yes.”
“Did you design this dress?”
She cracked a smile that punched me straight in the gut. For two years I wished I’d stolen a smile before I left her. I’ve wondered what it looked like and if it pierced the cloud of pain she gathered around herself like armor.
It did.
Belle smiled and everything about her lit up. Her button nose wrinkled cutely and those ruby lips curled impishly—which left me the impression I might get in trouble. Depended on if she used her growing power over me for good or evil.
“You need to brush up on Oscar de la Renta, my friend. Although it is an honor for someone to believe I can design on his level.”
“I’m glad I’ve paid you a compliment through my ignorance.”
She chuckled—a light, exhalation of breath that was over as soon as it started. But all the same, she laughed.
“What were you going to do in Europe?” she asked. “Take advantage of the drinking age? Shake the top hostel bunk with any and everyone who drops their panties? Pretend you’re cultured by popping into a few museums during the day and hitting all the clubs at night?”
“Yes, yes, and... no,” I replied. “My glaring gap in fashion knowledge aside, I’m well-versed in the arts. The Desais own the largest private and public art collection in the world. We have galleries in every country. My visits to the museums wouldn’t have been for show.”
“You’re an artist too.”
I shook my head. “I’m an admirer of art. Sadly, I’m hopeless with a brush, chisel, and charcoal.”
“That’s good. It’s dangerous for your kind to be too perfect.”
“My kind?”
“Living statues.”
My face scrunched in confusion. “Wow, what happened? We were making nice conversation and now I’m a statue.”
That grin played on her lips. “We’re still making nice conversation, or I’d have kicked you off this bench a long time ago.”
“You’d kick me off my own bench?”
“In a heartbeat. Careful I don’t lose interest in you or this conversation.”
“Can’t have that.” I certainly couldn’t. I’d hoard every single second of Belle until she left through my gate.
“The gallery where we met,” I said, “is owned by my family. I walked up to you because you were gazing at one of my favorite paintings like you could truly see it. That lazy, skimming glance that most tourists do pisses me off. They walk amongst hundreds of masterpieces and don’t see a thing.”
“Another flaw.”
I quirked a brow. “What is? My disdain for philistines?”
“No. Admitting that is one of your favorite paintings. I believe I laid out a very strong argument for why that story and the reasons for emulating it are bullshit.”