Illicit Canvas: political romance and stand alone romance (27 page)

“It wasn’t an ultimatum, Arwen. I wanted to protect you, because I was afraid that he burned you. After so many years, I thought that I made the right decision, but then you slipped away, tried to end your own life. I never talked about him, because I knew how much you idolised him. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me the most.”

I didn’t think that my father’s disappearance had pushed me into the suicide attempt. People say that most creative people are born with depression. Maybe that’s the truth; maybe I came into this world cursed.

“Tell me about the ultimatum,” I add, not wanting to bring my suicide attempt back. It’s the past. I’m never going back there again.

“I told him that if he left, then he didn’t need to come back. At all. I know that it was wrong, but he made you feel worthless, like you were never good enough. Art, homework, anything you or I did was never up to his standards. When he left, you changed, stopped painting. For a while I thought that you were a happy child. I had no idea that he would take me literally. I expected him to go to court for visiting rights or even try to see you somehow, but he just vanished.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Mum admits that she tried to find Ronan after a few years, before I slipped away, to fix everything. She didn’t think that he would disappear. She went back to France, to Marseille, but her search had gone nowhere. Eventually she had to give up, raise me on her own, promising herself that she would never speak about him again.

I listen to this, wondering why she has never said a word, thinking about my half-sister. She has no idea that I exist. Ronan should be happy now. He had another daughter—he never wanted me—and could show and teach her everything he'd ever learnt about art.

“Arwen, I don’t want to lose you. Please, I know that you’re hurting, but we can get help–”

“I’m not going to kill myself over a man. I was seventeen and I didn’t know who I was. Please don’t bring this up again,” I shout, angry that she doubts me, even after three years.

“All right. I’m sorry. I know that you are stronger. Tell me what happened between you and Ethan, that man from the gallery.”
 

“His son found me in Ethan’s apartment in my best lingerie. It was supposed to be a stupid surprise. Colin went ballistic, hit Ethan, and went to the press with everything.”
 

“Oh my God, he didn’t.”

“I was so stupid. I never should have gone out with him in the first place.”

“Darling, you love Ethan. I can see that. I’m not saying that I fully accept the age difference–”

“Mum, spare me the lecture. It’s done, we are finished. There is no us anymore. His reputation is ruined, the art business and his career in politics. I will get over him.”

“Relationships are tough, but I don’t think you’re telling me everything. What happened?”

“Nothing. I simply realised that he didn’t love me. He liked the idea of having a younger
 
girlfriend and sex, that’s all. We were never meant to be.”

Mum looks like she is about to disagree when Francois walks into the kitchen and kisses me on the head. I’m sure this conversation will continue, but right now I don’t want to think about Ethan at all. He needs a fresh start and he will do well during the exhibition. Now that I’m not around and the scandal will have finally died down, I wish him the best.

I have to stay busy. This is the only way for me to not get crazy. My heart feels like it’s not there anymore; it's rotted away, leaving a cavity in my chest.

Brussels was great. It made me realise that there are other opportunities. My mother thinks that it’s just a flying visit, that I’ll go back, but deep down I have no idea what I’m going to do. For now I just need time to heal the pain.

It’s been two long weeks since I laid my eyes on my elf princess. I have been on the road since Saturday, visiting a few friends in Europe and a few artists in Germany, trying to rebuild what I’ve lost. A few days before the opening it was clear that I wasn’t ready.

My trip was a fiasco. I managed to buy one painting, had a heated argument with one of the artists, and I messed up a deal on a few rare landscapes. I went back home discouraged and angry. On Tuesday night I sent an announcement that the exhibition is going to be postponed. A good friend of mine advised me to give myself a few weeks, to rebuild the trust. I have Arwen’s paintings and a few others, but I wasn’t ready to face the crowd.

A week later I sit on the red chair, scrolling through the contacts on my phone, trying to reflect on everything I’ve done. Arwen is not answering her phone. I have been trying to reach her for the past three days. I asked for some time, but I’m beginning to think that maybe I haven’t handled this whole thing the way I should.

She is probably upset and angry with me. I’m worried about her. Something is wrong, and after another unanswered voicemail, I decide to pay her a visit. My phone hasn’t stopped ringing all week and I’m fed up with people. All of a sudden everyone wants to give me advice on what I should do. I’m done with worrying about my son or Bethany. They are important to me, but this is my life, my feelings.

I park the car and walk outside her building, glancing around. I’m nervous, going over and over in my head what I’m going to say to her. The reporters are gone and Arwen’s window is dark. She is probably not in. After a silent a moment of contemplation, I walk upstairs and knock. Her roommate opens the door, looking at me, tense and apprehensive.

“May I speak to Arwen?”

Maja—I think that’s her name—doesn’t look too happy that I’m here.
 

“Please come in.”

“Thank you.”

I look around, hoping to spot her in the kitchen.

“Arwen isn’t here,” says her roommate. “She went back to Saint-Malo last week.”

I exhale deeply, feeling my pulse kicking into a rampage. Maja is staring at me with an odd mix of anger and sadness. Maybe she feels that I’m like my son, Colin. I asked Arwen for some time and she went back to France. I don’t know what I was expecting.

“Did she say when she’s coming back?” I ask.

Maja rubs her neck a little, looking away. “No, she didn’t, but she left another painting for you in her room. I thought you would show up last week, you know, before the exhibition.”

Right, so she hasn’t been here for a while. I’m confused and worried. Now I regret the way I spoke to her when I asked her for some time. I treated her like a child.

“The exhibition has been postponed. I was away abroad. I’ve tried calling Arwen a number of times, but her phone is switched off.”

Maja is silent, chewing on her bottom lip.

“She told me that you guys broke up. She didn’t want to stay here after that,” she finally says.

A sharp razor of pain slices through me. Of course, that’s what she’s been thinking all this time. I haven’t spoken to her since that day, after the scandal broke. I told her that I needed time. I want to punch myself for not thinking straight. Arwen’s feelings are so fragile. She’s been searching for affection most of her life. How could I be so stupid as to believe that she wouldn’t take anything I said out of context?

Maja is staring back at me with some sort of anger and I guess I owe her an explanation.

“We didn’t break up. I think she must have misunderstood me.”

“She was pretty upset when she left a week ago.”

“Right.”

“I don’t think she wants to come back at all, Ethan. Colin caught up with her at uni and I don’t know, but I think he must have said something to her.”

I inhale the air, but it seems that my lungs aren’t working right. My son—he got involved again, making sure that he finished what he started.

“Of course. He probably convinced her that she was just another Lucy,” I say. “I’ll fix this, but I have to go.”

“She doesn’t want to see you. She thinks that you don’t love her,” Maja says, and when I stop at the door and turn around, she blushes.

“Do you have her address?” I ask, ignoring her statement.
 

“Yes, I think so. Hold on a second.”

This girl is a good person, a good friend to Arwen.

“Thanks. It looks like I’m going on a trip.”

She nods and I’m so glad that Arwen has such an amazing friend. How could she just take off, thinking that I didn’t want her? Of course, idiotically, I never told her how I felt.

I run to the car, clearly knowing what I have to do to get her back. I jump in and speed over the roads to get to my apartment as soon as possible. There I keep trying her phone over and over, but it only rings. This is absurd, but I have only me to blame for this, no one else. Within minutes I find a flight to France. Fortunately, there is one leaving late at ten o’clock. I don’t want to waste anymore time and so I book it straight away.

Close to eight Arwen switches her phone on, so I leave her a couple of messages, but she still isn’t answering. I start getting ready, packing clothes into my bag. I can’t lose her, not after what’s happened between us. Business is important, but Arwen is the love of my life and if I have to get a job in order to support myself, then I’m ready for it.

The passport control at the airport takes too long and I’m getting impatient. I booked the hotel in Saint-Malo. Arwen stays with her mother, so it’s crucial that I make this right the first time around. The plane leaves the Brussels airport delayed by around twenty minutes. The flight to France is short and by midnight I’m in Saint-Malo.
 

I try Arwen’s phone again, but it’s the voicemail that picks it up. I already know she doesn’t want to see me, but she has to know that she has always been the one. There has never been anyone like her in my life.

“This address, please,” I say to the taxi driver. It’s very late when I get to my hotel. It’s an old school, typical French boutique hotel with a beautiful staircase. After the lengthy check-in, I head straight to bed. I’m exhausted and tomorrow is an important day, so I fall asleep straight away.
 

In the morning, after a quick shower and breakfast, I try Arwen’s phone again, but I’m getting nowhere. It looks like she’s doing everything in her power to avoid a conversation with me. I Google the address of her mother that Maja had given me. My hotel is located in the centre of town, but it looks like her mother lives slightly on the outskirts.

I locate a taxi driver and twenty minutes later I find myself standing in a front of a pretty, yellow detached house. The neighbourhood seems pleasant enough. I pay the fare and for a short period of time I stand there, taking shallow breaths until I’m calm enough to knock.

A short, very pretty woman answers the door. She looks like she might be my age. I recognise some of Arwen’s features in her, but her expression remains wary. This doesn’t look good for me.

“I know who you are. Come on in before I change my mind,” she says sharply, gesturing for me to step inside. Straight to the point. People like that intimidate me at times, but it’s crucial that I make a very good first impression, so I only nod.

The house is impressive, painted in magnolia. There is a man sitting on the sofa watching TV.

“Francois, please give us a minute,” the woman asks.

“Carmen, he could be her father. You can’t possibly be accepting it so lightly,” says the man, looking at me with his piercing grey eyes. He is clearly not happy, but he’s not the one that I have to convince. It’s obvious that Arwen’s mother has the final say.

“Francois,” she warns him.

“Fine, fine, I’ll be in the study, but don’t tell me that I haven’t warned you. She’s like my daughter too,” he adds and then disappears, leaving us alone.
 

“Have a seat, Mr. Rivera.”

“Ethan, please. I prefer if you call me Ethan,” I quickly say.

She raises her left eyebrow, eyeing me intensely. “Arwen isn’t here,” she says. My pulse speeds up.

“I would like to speak to her if that’s all right with you, Mrs. West.”

“We are on a first name basis, Ethan, so just call me Carmen,” she says. “Arwen came back very upset; she seemed broken because of you. She hasn’t been herself all week. I was really worried, you see. I have never seen her crying over a man.”
 

“Carmen, I never intended to hurt your daughter. When our story was leaked to the papers, I told her that we shouldn’t see each other in order to protect her. I wasn’t clear and I think she misunderstood me. I don’t want to lose her. It’s probably hard for you to imagine me with her. After all, there is a significant age difference between us–”

“Cut this whole speech, Ethan. I love my daughter deeply and I made many mistakes when I was young. She lost her father and that affected her badly, so all I need to know is—do you love her?”
 

“She’s the love of my life. This has always been real. My own son hates me for it, but I don’t regret anything. I would have done it entirely the same way, never changing a thing if I had to do it all over again.”

Carmen’s expression softens and I know that this is part of the process of getting her back.

“There have been stories in the Belgian papers, Ethan. The press insinuated that you’re just repeating history.”

“Arwen isn’t just another woman or girl. Yes, I made a big mistake in the past; I had an affair with a younger woman who was never more than a bit of fun. It destroyed my marriage and harmed my relationship with my son. I hurt people that I care about. I heavily paid the price for that. My relationship with Arwen has always been an honest one. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, if she will let me.”

 
“I see,” mutters Carmen. “Has Arwen ever told you that she tried to kill herself three years ago, that she has to take medication every day, that she suffers from severe depression?”

I part my lips, staring at Arwen’s mother in shock. Depression? She can’t be talking about my Arwen. “A suicide? What? No, that’s impossible. She is so strong,” I manage to say. Carmen keeps staring at me with reservation. How could I not know about this? The low self-esteem, the doubts—of course. Now all of this makes sense.

“Of course, she hasn’t told you.”

I start to tangle my hair. How could I be so stupid? She is so fragile and sensitive.

“No, she didn’t say anything. I knew that she had problems with her self-esteem, but I never thought … oh God.”

“Mr. Rivera. I respect you for what you have done for my daughter. She told me everything, including the details of your search for the painting, but I need to protect her. She has been through enough. The doctor had decreased her daily intake of antidepressants, but depression doesn’t just go away, it only ever sleeps. She is on the right path, but we always have to be so vigilant.”

“Carmen, I’m older and probably not the ideal candidate to be with your daughter, but I’ll look after her. She is incredible and I know that I have unintentionally hurt her, but I love her. I loved her from the moment I saw her in the gallery.”
 

“She has changed. It took a few days to notice it. She isn’t the same girl that left two months ago. She’s never allowed me to see anything she painted until a few days ago. Arwen is broken because she loves you, but she is tougher and wiser in so many ways. Right now she’s in the gallery in town, painting.”

I get up abruptly and run my hand through my hair. “Thank you, Carmen. I appreciate this.”

“My daughter is stubborn and she has many reasons not to listen to you. Ethan … you have to take your time with her. This won’t be easy.”

“I’m aware of that, Carmen.”