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My mother, of course, did it to be seen as charitable and cultured, but I didn’t care. I loved it here, how there was always a small crowd speaking in hushed tones, just staring at the art in wonder. It was somewhere where it did not matter where you came from, what you looked like. We were all here for the same reason: to feel something magical, to get lost in a piece of art that could transcend even the most insurmountable differences.
Lunch was amazing. He had ordered my favorite dish from my favorite restaurant. I hadn’t even been aware they catered. The thought and effort he had put into this… I had never heard of a man doing something like this, not outside of a romance novel. Even then, it was for the love of his life, not his arranged-marriage bride.
I had hoped this impromptu outing would help clear my mind about what I was feeling. That he would prove himself to be ignorant, selfish, and a narcissist who should never be tolerated for longer than absolutely necessary. Or better yet, he would be stupid, and therefore easily managed.
Instead, he was smart, considerate, quick-witted and, although not knowledgeable about art, quick to learn. There was no way I, or any other woman, could manage him any more than he would allow. It made him so much more irresistible, which in turn made it so much worse.
I was even more confused now.
Not only because I wanted him physically, and I enjoyed his company, but I didn’t understand why he was doing any of this. None of it made any sense. He already had me. I didn’t have a choice. My mother was going to force me to marry him regardless of whether I wanted to. I couldn’t figure out what his game was. No matter how I looked at it, there was no real reason to put in this much effort other than it made me happy.
The way he had broken down my door hadn’t been about making me happy. I had been terrified. Then he made sure I came before he did. Even in the limo, he had demanded my pleasure before he had taken his.
Still, this lunch didn’t make sense, with all the attention to detail. He must have been paying attention while we spoke, when he was in my room, or even talking to my sister. To know that I liked art was one thing but he even got lunch from one of my favorite restaurants. He took me to an exhibit I had been looking forward to for months. We were sitting in front of my favorite painting in the entire world.
It couldn’t all have been a coincidence.
He was trying to get to know me.
Maybe I should give him the same courtesy.
Planning a date like this would be inappropriate, but maybe I could find some things that he liked, discover what he did in his spare time. The dossiers my mother had drawn up those months ago had all this information on the other men, but his were blank.
I would ask him more about his goals, aspirations, and hobbies when he got back. In the meantime, I could do as he asked and attempt to draw something for him.
I started drawing on the paper he had given me, trying to sketch out the woman Manet had painted so beautifully.
His Montblanc fountain pen was thick, heavy, meant for hands bigger than mine, making it hard to control. The gold nib was honed perfectly, but not for my handwriting.
I was used to my lighter, slimmer S.T. Dupont fountain pen. Still, I tried to make it work while my thoughts raced and I tried to sort through them to figure out how I was going to get him to talk about himself.
Luc was the man I was going to marry.
He and I needed a civil relationship at least, but a small part of me wondered if there could be more.
Could we move to a genuine friendship, then maybe beyond that? I’d heard stories of arranged couples finding love.
Maybe there was hope?
I didn’t even know what to ask him about. Did I try asking about his favorite artist? Would he even have one? Or should I try sports?
My pen scratched over the rough paper as I traced out lines and tried a little shading with the smooth nib. I let my mind wander to all the things I already knew about him, which wasn’t much. His family had made their fortune in whisky. He’d gone to school with Harrison, but he and my brother weren’t close. He had younger sisters, but I didn’t even know if they were close.
What I didn’t know was endless. Did he like sports? Did he want kids? What did he do for fun? Was he a ladies’ man? Was he a workaholic?
He had surprised me with all of this, showing me he knew me better than I thought, and I hadn’t been paying attention to him at all. I hadn’t picked up on any of this.
Did that mean that between the two of us, I was the bad spouse?
Was I like my mother, more consumed with how everything affected me?
My stomach rolled at that thought.
I refused to treat Luc like my mother treated my father.
Even if it was never a love match, I didn’t want to be the kind of person who did that to anyone.
When Luc returned, I would ask about him, and apologize for being so in my head, and focused on myself. Though, it was not like it was my fault.
