Authors: Julie Ortolon
A steady love would be so much better than the pain and drama Marguerite and Jack had suffered. She could imagine much too clearly the agony Marguerite felt all those years, staring out into this cove, longing for Jack Kingsley to sail into port just so they could look into each other’s eyes. Chloe couldn’t believe fear of Henri was the only thing that had held Marguerite back. Considering how many times Marguerite had been used from the day she’d been born, surely she’d feared being used yet again.
According to the legend, though, Marguerite had finally taken a chance and revealed her feelings, only to discover Jack loved her back with equal intensity. Chloe tried to imagine that moment when Marguerite found the courage to say the words, and had them returned. Honestly returned. It had cost both her and Jack their lives, but maybe the sacrifice had been worth it to experience a love like that for even a little while.
“Oh, Marguerite,” she whispered into the wind. “What gave you the courage to take that chance?”
Footsteps sounded on the pier behind her, making the boards creak.
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find that Allison or Aurora had followed her.
No one was there.
Could it be…?
The hair on the back of Chloe’s neck stood on end, until the boards creaked again when the mounting waves hit the pilings. The storm, she realized with a prick of disappointment. Not Marguerite or Jack. Nothing but the storm.
She started to turn back, until she spotted Luc standing at the top of the hill, watching her.
Hope flared, but her cautious side tamped it down. Just because he’d come back didn’t mean he wanted to make things right between them. He might have returned simply to show her the proof he’d promised.
Even so, her pulse raced as he started down the trail. She tried to imagine what he’d say, knew what she wanted to hear.
The necklace means nothing compared to you. Yes, it’s why I came to Galveston, but once I saw you, it didn’t matter as much as being with you. That’s why I didn’t say anything.
Was it selfish to want to mean that much to someone?
As he got closer, she saw he carried some kind of notepad in one hand. The wind buffeted his shirt against his body as he stepped onto the pier and walked toward her.
By the time he reached her, her heart pounded with a blend of longing, renewed hurt, and also painful embarrassment at how much of herself she’d revealed to him that morning. She lifted her chin, forced herself to look at him calmly. What she saw in his eyes, however, gave her pause. He almost looked as if… as if he wanted her. Not physically, but emotionally. Wanted her in a way that tore him up at the thought of losing her.
She squelched that thought, refusing to give it life until she knew why he’d returned.
“You’re back,” she said evenly when he remained silent.
“Yes, I—” He looked on the verge of saying everything she wanted to hear. Then he sighed and the moment vanished. He glanced down at what he carried, then raised guarded eyes to meet hers. “I brought proof that the necklace belongs to my grandmother.”
Disappointment pierced her hope, but she hid it with practiced discipline.
“Okay. Let’s see it.” Even though she already knew the truth, she wanted to hear what he had to say.
“It’s in here.” He held up the notebook he’d brought and she realized it was an artist’s sketchpad, like the one she’d seen him drawing in so many times when they were kids. “This was my idea book when I was first scripting Vortal. I brought it with me because it contains drawings I did of the necklace.” He’d marked a place with his finger and opened to that spot. “Here’s the one we used as the basis for the portal. I couldn’t have drawn this when I was a teenager if the necklace had been sitting at the bottom of the cove here.”
She braced herself, reluctant to look down. Not looking felt stupid, though, so she forced her gaze downward—and saw a beautifully detailed pencil drawing. Unlike the animated graphic she’d seen earlier, this drawing matched the pendant exactly, including every nick and scratch.
She reached out to take the pad so she could look more closely. To her surprise, he didn’t let go. She looked up, questioning him with her eyes.
“You don’t need to see anything else,” he said, sounding oddly nervous. “The rest are just unrelated drawings.”
Suspicion tingled along her spine. Unrelated drawings, she wondered, or blank pages? “How do I know you didn’t do this drawing today? After leaving here, you could have gone to an art supply store and bought the pad.”
“Does it look like I bought it today?” He showed her the front of the beat up pad with the stained and creased cover.
“Old can be faked,” she told him. “Ask any antiques dealer. Now, let me see it.” She tugged. When he tightened his grip, her suspicions mounted. “You said you wanted my help getting the necklace back, right?”
“I do.” He gave her an anguished look. “But—”
“Then let me see.” She jerked harder. This time he let go. He stood tensely before her, as if poised to snatch it back. Turning the pages, she found a series of drawings of life in Jackson Square, musicians, artists, the horses waiting to draw carriages full of tourists, paddle wheelers moored at the dock. The drawings were exquisite, capturing light in a way she hadn’t realized a pencil sketch could.
Why had he wanted to hide these from her? Glancing up, she saw worry lining his face, and felt an instant connection. How many times had she built up the guts to show her photographs in workshops, only to have other, more experienced photographers point out all the things she could have done better? Everyone on Pearl Island kept telling her she had talent, but that didn’t make the criticism easier to hear.
Did Luc feel that way about his drawings?
“Luc,” she said. “These are… amazing.”
“Thank you.” His cheeks flushed.
Seeing it, her heart softened. She was right back at Chez Lafitte, watching him struggle with the awkwardness he clearly felt being on a date. Right back to listening to him talk about Vortal and admiring his passion.
Turning another page, she found a drawing of an older woman with a paisley scarf tied around her head, dangling earrings, and an enigmatic smile. Then she noticed the woman was wearing the necklace.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“Mémère.” The love he felt for the woman sounded in his voice. “My grandmother.”
“I thought your grandmother was Cajun, not French.”
“She is, but Mawmaw doesn’t fit her.”
“Is she a fortuneteller?”
“She was,” he said sadly. His body grew taught, as if gathering for an effort that needed strength. “One of the best in New Orleans. Until she lost the necklace. It was her talisman. Looking into the mirror helped clarify her natural gift of sight. That’s why getting it back for her is so important.”
“I see,” Chloe said, wanting to cling to the familiar safety of mistrust, but a frightening crack had formed in that wall. Empathy filled her as she imagined how this woman staring back at her from Luc’s sketchpad had felt losing her ability to tell fortunes. Losing her livelihood.
“Mémère is convinced the necklace sought you out.” He shifted with ill ease as he closed his hands over the sketchpad to take it back, but she wasn’t ready to let go. “If she’s right, then what you felt that day, that you were meant to find it, is true.”
“Except it has nothing to do with Marguerite and Jack.” The thought left her feeling hollow.
“I’m so sorry.” Regret filled his eyes. He let go of the pad with one hand so he could tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You have no idea how truly sorry I am.”
Looking up at him, seeing the raw emotions in his eyes, she felt an uncomfortable lump rise in her throat. She wanted to nestle her cheek into his palm, close her eyes, and savor his touch.
Instead, she glanced down at the sketchpad and turned one more page.
She found her own face looking back at her. Everything inside her stilled.
“What’s this?” she asked, surprised.
“Uh—” He stiffened as he looked down. His hand dropped from her hair to the sketchpad. “You don’t need to see that. It’s just something I did one day when I saw you in Jackson Square.”
“No, I want to see.” Looking at the drawing, she felt as if she’d just caught a reflection in a window of herself at a younger age. His skillful use of shading gave her eyes life. The moment looked so candid, as if she’d just glanced over her shoulder, seen someone she knew, and lit up with joy. “You made me look so beautiful.”
“You were beautiful.”
“No, I was a tomboy with an intentionally horrible wardrobe. You know, ticking off my elders and all that.” She smiled for the first time since that morning. “This, though, is incredible. Did you do it from a photograph?”
“I never draw from photos. I just…” He shrugged. “I draw what I see in my head. I used to see you a lot in Jackson Square.”
“I take it you spent a lot of time there.”
He nodded. “Mémère watched me after school. My parents worked in night clubs, so they slept during the day. Since Mémère told fortunes in the back room of a voodoo shop, she let me hang out in the park so she could keep an eye on me between appointments. Drawing you was no big deal,” he shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “Just part of the overall scene.”
“Why does it embarrass you?” she asked. Then understanding dawned. “Did you have a crush on me?”
The color in his cheeks flooded his whole face. “Maybe. Yeah. A bit of one.”
“Oh, Luc.” She softened further as she remembered his awkwardness after saving AJ. He hadn’t even known how to ask her out. “I wish I’d known back then.”
“Right.” A scoffing laugh escaped him. “Like you would have gone out with me.”
“I didn’t go out with any boys back then,” she told him softly.
“What are you saying? You had tons of boyfriends.”
“Friends who were boys. Not boyfriends.” She smiled at him. “You could have been one of them.”
“I was totally beneath your notice,” he insisted.
“You’re lumping me in with other girls again,” she chided gently.
He cocked his head, studying her with a look of bewilderment. “You’re right,” he said, as disbelief gave way to wonder. “I think I sensed even then that you were nothing like the other girls.”
“And you were nothing like any of the jock-heads I hung out with.”
“No kidding.” His mouth twisted wryly.
“Hey.” She dipped her head to see into his eyes. “That was a compliment. I like the fact that you’re nothing like them. They talked about the girls they dated as if they were conquests. That’s why I didn’t go out with any of them. I decided I’d rather be one of the guys than a sex object to be won and then tossed aside when it was time to move on to the next victory.”
“God, Chloe,” he sighed as if she overwhelmed him. “I would never have treated you that way.”
“I think I believe you,” she said. The earnest way he looked at her made her want to let go of her distrust.
As she stood staring into his eyes, thunder rumbled in the distance. He leaned forward, hesitantly, as if wanting to kiss her, but fearing rejection. She closed the distance for him.
Relief washed through Luc at the first touch of Chloe’s lips against his. Slanting his head, he took the kiss deeper, starved for the taste of her. While the wind swirled around them, he pulled her closer, into the shelter of his arms. She went willingly, pressing against his chest. His heart raced with joy, realizing he hadn’t lost his chance with her.
Ending the kiss, he looked into her eyes, amazed to see her smiling up at him.
“So,” she said teasingly, “is this why you didn’t tell me right away?” She lifted the sketchpad. “You didn’t want me to see the drawing and figure out you had a crush on me in school?”
Panic speared through him as he remembered the sketchpad she held. And the other drawings in it. Thank God, she hadn’t turned any more pages.
“Uh, yeah, I guess, maybe.” Pulse racing, he tried to ease the pad out of her hand.
“Luc,” she laughed as she looked back at the drawing of her. “It’s okay. I understand how hard it can be to show your work to someone else, but you have nothing to worry about. You’re a wonderful artist.” She started to turn the page.
“No!” He slapped the pad closed between his hands.
Her eyes narrowed at the alarm in his voice. He could see her wariness creeping back. “Luc? What are you hiding in here?”
“Nothing!” he insisted too quickly. “Just some character sketches for Vortal.”
“If it’s nothing, then why don’t you want me to see?”
“I-I—” His mind went blank.
Suspicion flared in her eyes an instant before she jerked the pad out of his hands.
“Chloe, wait!” He tried to reach for it, but she turned her back, blocking him with the skill of a basketball player. “I can explain!”