Not a Flower - A Novel

Chapter 9

The next morning came and went without anything more dramatic then slightly burnt toast. Grace was relieved. After the emotional upheaval of the night before, all she wanted was peace and quiet.

Eating breakfast quickly in the dining room of the hotel, Grace debated going back to her room to hide but in the end decided not to. Being alone with her thoughts didn't seem too fun. In the glaring light of day, she was beginning to feel embarrassed about the whole situation with Duval. Had she really kissed him? And then kissed Adrian too?

Face red, she hurriedly put some cash on the table for breakfast and headed to the front desk to call for a cab. Her brain simply couldn't wrap itself around the kisses. The brief kiss with Duval had felt like heaven. Kissing Adrian had felt closer to the warmer side of the beyond. But both had managed to knock the breath from her. It was all so confusing. Perhaps it was her fault for not kissing more men in her lifetime so that she could compare and see if all kisses felt that way or if it was only due to the Roussiard men.

An hour later, she was out under the hot sun and actually enjoying herself as she browsed the small shops. Sipping a large cup of coffee she wandered past an artist sketching. When he glanced up, she realized it was the same artist who had asked to sketch her portrait a few days earlier. He must've recognized her as well for his dark eyes lit up in a friendly grin.

"You are looking very beautiful today." He said it in such serious tones that she had to smile back at him. His grin grew wider as he tilted his head and regarded her face closely. "There is something different about you though, hmmmm? You are glowing. Perhaps you are in love?"

"Not really." She said with a big grin.

"Why not?" He took out a fresh sheet of paper and gestured for her to sit down. "You are young, beautiful and should be falling in love every day. I will draw your portrait. No charge. I have extra time and you have such an engaging face."

"Well—." Grace hesitated, feeling flattered and awkward at the same time. She knew she was no beauty but it felt nice to be complimented so. Suddenly she shrugged. So what if it was a con to garner more business? The artist did not harm anyone and the compliments had only made her feel good about herself. She nodded and sat down.

His beautiful eyes approved. Slender fingers moved quickly as he began to sketch her. Grace tried to sit still but the wind was suddenly blowing strands of her hair around her face. Laughing a bit self-consciously, she kept brushing her hair back. A small group of people gathered around behind the artist as he worked. Grace's face felt warm from more then the heat of the sun. She had never been fond of being the center of attention and prayed that the artist would be done soon.

After what seemed like hours later but was only maybe five minutes, he laid his pencil down and nodded his head. The crowd behind had thinned down to a tall handsome blond man and a young kid who had his own sketchbook clutched in his hands. Grace walked up to the artist to see what the picture looked like.

She stepped behind him and looked—then gasped in surprise and pleasure. It was her, there was no doubt of that, but it was also not her. Her face was shown looking directly at the viewer; she had one hand up pushing back a wild tangle of dark hair. Her lips were held in a half-smile but it was the eyes that beckoned; bold stormy eyes that demanded attention.

"Gorgeous." The blond man said next to her. Surprised, Grace turned to look up at him and found he was giving her an admiring look from deep blue eyes.

"Do you like it?" The artist asked her.

"It's wonderful." Grace assured him. "I don't know if I really look that—uh—pretty though."