The Art of Love

No More Secrets

More than 48 hours had passed since they landed on a small airstrip in the countryside. He had no idea how he had managed it but knowing the right people in the right places had come in handy more times than he could count. Right now he was grateful to have once befriended a very lonely man during one of his many trips to photograph wildlife around Europe. That man had turned out to be a very powerful business mogul who had fallen into great despair after the untimely death of his daughter to cancer. He had shrugged off the thousand dollar
shirts and multi thousand dollar suits and had taken himself off into the solitude of the forest of his native France. They met by the side of a cliff. As for him, he had been looking for the nesting place of the hawks he had hoped to photograph. The old man had discovered the cliff and found it the perfect place to take his own life. They talked for hours and they found themselves sharing their greatest fears and sadness and in that sharing they had formed a friendship that had eventually propelled him back into the abode of his family and had forced the old man to reconsider his outlook on life. They both had a lot to offer the world and a lot to discover about themselves. The man invited him to stay as long as he liked and for a while he stayed with the old man until they were both somewhat on solid ground. He had been just twenty-one years old with too much money, too much time on his hands too angry at the world. The old man had too much money, not enough time ahead of him and was so very sad and lonely. Together they managed to survive another day, until the days had turned to months and the months turned to years. They had remained in touch, with a few visits mixed in when he found himself traveling through Europe. The old man had even ventured out of his treausred Francia and visited Istanbul as his guest. When the man answered his call he had been happy to hear from his young dear friend but soon the conversation turned serious and the old man gave precise instructions to be followed to the tee. Now he was sitting in a French chateau, in the gorgeous French countryside, with his old friend. He had shared everything with him from the moment he met her. His heart felt ever memory they made together as he spoke. When he had finished he rose and checked on her once more only to find her yet asleep but so much more rested and relaxed. The best doctors had seen to her and he was assured that this was a case of exhaustion, stress and a concussion. Time would indeed heal her wounds. He sincerely hoped that it healed the wounds of her heart as well. The old man stood and placed a strong hand on his shoulder. " Don't worry dear friend.  Her body needs the rest it craves as does her mind. She will recover and then the both of you will need to make some decisions. You must lead with your heart if you want to win her trust and love back. The place was magical for my wife and family. I can only hope it still has enough magic to impart on you both". He left him to sit by her side once more like a sentry guarding her slumber.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she watched him fall to the ground. It was as if though her feet were encased in cement because she couldn't make her body move forward. His face was covered in blood as the man continued to pummel him. She screamed for him to stop but no words left her mouth. Every sinew in her body leapt up to take revenge at the cruelty inflicted on her love but nothing changed the vile attack unleashed on him. He had tried to save her and instead had become their target. When she finally moved, a tall angry man moved away from him and she caught a small glimpse of his face..... She gasped and tried to move but a strong hand pressed against her shoulder and kept her down. She blinked several times trying to make out who it was in the darkness but it was his presence and his scent that told her it was him. Soon his warm breath slid over her face as his hand stroked her cheek with such softness and tenderness it made her want to cry. She let out a slow mewling sound that she could hardly recognize as her own voice and soon she was gathered up in his arms as a wave of tears and emotions threatened to drown her. Her arms were folded up against her own chest and he held her to him and his voice, with its soft timber, spoke her name and endearments that made her tremble. When she finally calmed down enough to push away at him she looked up and searched his face. There was no blood, only a small gash above his eyebrow and bruising below a cheekbone. She reached up to gently touch his face and when he leaned into her she caught her breath and remained as still as a statue. This was no dream. He was real and so was she. And she could see him. He was as beautiful as she had ever seen him before. His lips skimmed her forehead gently as if he were afraid to hurt her. His eyes traveled over her face slowly and as they did she saw that they were brimming with tears. Her hand immediately went to his beard and she ran her fingers through it from his chin to his cheekbone where the skin was turning a sickly color of green and yellow. Her mouth opened and closed trying to find a word to utter that wouldn't break the spell they were under just now but he spoke first and what he said reminded her that words had always been troublesome for them. So she did the only thing she could do for them. She remained silent, and then she kissed him slowly and tenderly and prayed that if this was a dream she would never wake up again.