Belonging to the Iceman

Shantelle's Stonemasonry

A Week Later

The cool afternoon Paris breeze drifted through the city, rustling the trees.

Nicolas stepped out of his Aston Martin, a pair of his favourite expensive sunglasses shielding his eyes and a smile upon his face, for Shantelle was sitting in the front passenger seat, blindfolded with a black piece of silk.

"Nicolas Jean Prost!" She growled when he opened the door.

"Oui? Shantelle Alissa Jacobs?" He said back, as cunning as ever.

"What is with the blindfold?" She growled as he helped her out onto the footpath.

She clung to him, scared of falling.

"I will not let you fall, Mon Amour. Are you ready for my gift to you?" He said softly to her.

His voice made her go weak in the knees. It always did. She could be furious with him, and all he would have to do was whisper in her ear, and she would melt into him.

"Oui!" She said softly.

She felt his fingers at the back of her head, gently pulling the silk off, careful not to get any of her hair caught. He didn't want it to pull and hurt her.

"Cela est mon cadeau que vous, mon amour, mon Shantelle, je veux que vous soyez connu dans le monde entier pour votre votre taille de pierre, et ici, à Paris, vous aurez le monde au bout des doigts!" He said softly, grinning at her dumbfounded expression, he knew she would be speechless.

The biggest, most beautiful workshop she had ever seen towered above her. It was twice the size of her one back in Brisbane.

"Don't think I would let you give up YOUR dream Shantelle!" Nicolas said, to her as he held her.

Nicolas' family stood at the front of the workshop smiling at her.

Alain, Sacha, Victoria, Anne Marie, they were all there.

She turned to him "But, what if my work takes me all over the world, opposite to where and when you are racing?"

He just smiled "my Father said he will go with me to the races this year, and when you have weekends free, your presence and support will mean the world to me!" Nuzzling her forehead.

She smiled back "I will be there whenever I can, my Nicolas!"

The sign on the front of the large warehouse said in bold letters 'Taille de pierre de Shantelle'

"Shantelle's Stonemasonry?" She asked Nicolas

"Oui!" he said with a smile "Dad thought of that!"

"Come on, dear Shantelle," Alain said with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes "Time to see the rest of your dream!"

All her tools, drawings, sketches and blocks of sandstone, granite and different coloured marble were stored neatly inside the well-ventilated, spaced and lit workshop.

"These are from my workshop back in Australia!" She said, in awe.

Nicolas, with his arm around her gently rubbed her side.

"Of course mon amour! They are yours; they help you create these amazing stone miracles! Now if you need any chisels or tools, markers, rulers or stone, we have the details of a very well-known supplier!

Shantelle looked worried "But what if I tread on other stonemason's toes? What if what happened back in Brisbane happens here?"

"In Paris, Shantelle?" Sacha said, a look on his face "we aren't as 'rough' as Aussie men, this country always needs good stonemasons and with your works in Formula One, Ferrari, and not to mention the cathedrals and temples you have helped to restore in Japan and England! The average person cannot say that they have worked on Westminster Abbey!"