She is standing by the water, toes touching the cool liquid, as a long white dress flows around her with hair dark as night surrounding her pale beautiful face. As she stares back at me with eyes unseeing, I feel my own heart break for a woman I now love.

* * *

As Phillipe stands in his room, looking out at the old arbor, he tries to remind himself that what he did earlier was necessary. Reliving old wounds frees one’s soul, right?

Then, why don’t I feel free? Instead, he feels trapped.

Standing down by the river tonight, he felt her there, holding his hand, as he relived the most horrible night of his existence. Once again, she was there comforting him, letting him know that everything would be okay. When Gemma finally let him walk away, he knew that he was leaving them both by the river as broken as he was.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath in and runs a hand up through his hair. This is it. The story has been told, and the tale has now ended. He knows Gemma will be leaving soon. Although he has done everything he can to push her away, he still feels her inside of him almost as strongly as he felt her.

When did this story morph? When did it change from a tale of two to a tragedy of three?

Shaking his head at his own selfishness and need to touch another, he berates himself for ever involving Gemma in the first place. When he first decided to grant this glimpse into his private life, he thought he would be smart. He planned to bring in a woman that did not resemble Chantel at all, someone who was the complete opposite of her, so he could look at her and feel nothing. That was not the case.

This independent, curious, and brave woman pushed her way in. She took everything he threw at her and stored it away behind a fierce wall of strength. She listened and shared in his love—his love of art, his love of music, and his love of a woman who was no longer here.

Gemma gave her back to him in ways he couldn’t understand and would never have suspected possible. As a result, she also witnessed and shared in his agonizing heartache.

Turning away from the window, he moves to the locked closet. Opening it, he stares at the clothes still hanging untouched and cold. At the very end, still in the plastic garment bag, he finds what he was looking for. Avoiding all the other clothing, he reaches in and pulls it out.

Maybe if I do this? Maybe if he gave Gemma this, he can send her away, knowing she would be leaving with all of them, and she wouldn’t be alone, like him and, ultimately, her.

* * *

When I arrive back at the chateau, I go straight up to my room. I am under no illusions that my time here will continue. There are no more journal entries to be read. There are no more tales to be told. The story is over. The problem I’m having is what to do with everything I now knew.

I open the door to the room that has been my sanctuary for the past few weeks. I’m surprised to see that the small bedside lamp is turned on, and my bed is turned back. As I move across the small space, I notice a dress laying out across the bed. Stepping even closer, I spot a small note nestled in the V-neck of the soft material.

Gemma,

I’ll be waiting in the showroom.

Phillipe

Reaching out, I trace my finger over the rose trim of the bodice. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment.

I hadn’t known what to expect when I arrived here all those days ago. As I scoop up the beautiful ivory gown from the bed, I find I still have no expectations of what I will find down in the showroom where Phillipe is waiting. One thing I do know for certain is that nothing will stop me from finding out.

Showering quickly, I style my hair in a regal notch at the nape of my neck, sweeping my blonde bangs across my forehead. Believing this gown calls for elegance, I am determined to do it justice.

Making my way out into the bathroom, I spot heels that were covered by the gown. Beautiful taupe tips adorned with rose-colored jewels peek out from under the bed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed where I slept, dreamed, and fantasized, I slip my feet into the leather-lined shoes and stretched my legs out in front of me, admiring the sparkling jewels as the light hits them. Taking a deep breath, I stand and look myself over in the mirror by the dresser. I’m struck by the woman who is looking back at me.

She is a stranger, she is a woman who has given her heart away, and she is a woman who will never be the same.

She is now me.

* * *

Phillipe feels her the minute she enters the room.

He’s waiting by the corner in the shadows, wanting to give her the time and space to feel whatever it is she needs to feel.

Once again, the room is dimly lit, except for the spotlights on each of the paintings. As Gemma moves into the space, Phillipe is surprised when he feels that the room is now complete with her presence.

Breathtaking. That’s how she looks as she steps carefully into the low-lit space. The dress he chose for her cloaks her body like candlelight, and with every step she takes, the satin parts and her long, sensuous leg appears through the clouds of fabric. He is mesmerized.

He notices that she has pulled her hair back to the nape of her neck. Smooth and graceful, her elegance calls to him as she moves farther into the room. She stops before the painting, Armor. Watching silently, he is spellbound as she reaches out, and this time, shows no hesitation as she strokes her fingers down Chantel’s arm.

Phillipe steps out from the shadows and takes a step toward her, but he finds himself paralyzed as she moves even closer to the painting. Resting her right palm on Chantel’s shoulder, she inches in as close as possible and turns her head, laying her cheek against Chantel’s breast. Whispering, she asks, “How do I leave him?”

Phillipe holds his breath as she raises her left hand and traces her fingers along Chantel’s naked thigh.

“And how do I leave you?” she pleads, sounding confused and desperate.

Stepping back into the shadows, he gives her a moment to say her good-byes. After all, he knows how hard it is to let go of her.

* * *

As I stand there, brushing my fingers over her flawless figure, I close my eyes, remembering her words to him. Don’t let them make a villain out of you. Don’t let them break you. It shocks me to my core to know that I am now the them in the equation.

Letting my fingers come to a stop against the curvature of her hip, I make a vow to her. “I will not villainize him. I’ll make sure the whole world knows what happened that night. They will all know that he didn’t leave for help because there was no time to go.” Stepping back from her, I reach out and stroke my fingers down the silent violin that stands stark and strong against her. “That I promise you.”

I turn to look at the door, expecting Phillipe to come through at any moment, but as I stand and wait, he doesn’t appear. So, I turn back and take solace in the knowledge that I am not alone.

As I stand here in a room that once frightened and confused me, I feel calm and comforted. Finally, I understand his need to have her here. She is his peace. She is his sanity. As I gaze upon the six images that torture and sadden the rest of the world, I feel an overwhelming sense of love and acceptance from both the man who painted the images and the woman who posed for them.

Finally, I feel more complete than I ever have before.

* * *

Phillipe doesn’t know why he chose to put this particular piece on. As soon as he hits play on the system, the sounds filter through to the room Gemma is standing in. He feels his heart tighten and then release, like he is giving himself permission to continue.

Setting it to play repeatedly, he makes his way into the room to face Gemma who is now turned and looking right at him.

Without a word, he crosses the wide space to stand before her. Finally, he allows his eyes to really take in the woman before him, without comparing her to the woman who hangs in silent repose on the walls beyond them. Tracing his eyes over her, he marvels at the creamy texture of skin that is displayed so magnificently by the deep V-cut of the bodice. It is edged in a dusky rose that reminds him of her sensitive nipples after he’s sucked them to a full, pouty point.

Caressing her shoulders are thin straps of satin holding the dress in place. Molding down her sides to tuck in at an extraordinarily narrow waist, the dress bunches on her lower back and falls out into a long flowing train that brushes the ground with each step she takes. His eyes gaze over to the sensuous slit in the gown that runs up the left side of her leg, ending high on her smooth thigh in a peek-a-boo ruffle. It makes him want to reach out and touch her.

In the heels he has given her, she is now almost eye to eye with him, and as she stares wordlessly, he allows himself to care.

Reaching forward, he touches her high cheekbone and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he isn’t sure what he expects to see, but he’s surprised enough to confess that his vision has finally cleared, allowing him to see her.

“Gemma,” he whispers, almost affectionately.

* * *

Standing before him, I’m dressed in the clothes he laid out for me. I feel an overwhelming need for him to see me. As soon as my name leaves his sensual lips, I take a step closer to him, raising my hand to where his is touching my face.