Page 13 of Blue Eyes & Paris Vibes

“I don’t think so.” He does that sexy chin scratch again. “The balconies were still there of course, but I think they got rid of the curtains.”

I sigh as I take another long look at the painting. Then we slowly make our way further into the room and my eyes wander around the others on the opposite wall.

“Oh, that one!” I point to our left. It shows a young man lying on clouds, reaching out toward a glowing woman floating over him, who is wearing a light, flowing dress and seems to shine with soft, golden light. Her arms are stretched toward him, like she’s trying to lift him up or take him with her. It looks warm and magical and makes me stop dead in my tracks to take a closer look.

“Pierre-Narcisse Guérin. Aurora and Cephalus.” He takes a long and hard look at the painting. “Aurora is the Greek goddess of sunrise. She fell in love with Cephalus, a very skilled mortal hunter. I’m not really sure what exactly the painting depicts, but in the myth, Cephalus rejected Aurora as he was already married. In some retellings, it is said that she took him anyway and bore him a child. His wife, however, figured something was up and followed him to the woods one day to spy on him. She made a sound and out of reflex, he threw his spear and killed her.”

“Wow, that’s so tragic,” I whisper. “That poor woman.”

“That poor woman,” he agrees. “And that poor man. Imagine living with the knowledge that you killed your wife who you rejected an actual goddess for.”

“He really must have loved her,” I whisper, eyes dancing over the painting. That gives the painting a whole new perspective, way more tragic than I initially thought. “It is beautiful though. I really like the light in it. It definitely stands out against all the dark paintings of naked people.

“Look, there’s another one.” I step closer. The picture shows an unconscious woman, held under her shoulders by a guy with a rather glorious beard in a brown robe, while another man with a desperate expression on his face hugs her legs as his hair drapes over her thighs. It looks… passionate. Looking at the man tugs at my heart. “The burial of Atala,” I read the badge out loud. “The native American Chactas buries his Christian fiancée Atala who has poisoned herself to preserve her vow of chastity.Oh wow. Why are all of these so tragic?”

“The painter is Girodet. He also did the painting over there.” Reed points somewhere behind me and I follow his eyes to another painting with beautiful light. “That one is ‘Sleep of Endymion.’ Bright moonlight is kind of his thing. And so are tragic stories.”

“Why? What’s Endymion's story?” I ask, already making my way across the room to take a closer look at that painting.

“Endymion was a human shepherd who was considered extremely handsome—like the perfect example of male beauty. The moon goddess fell in love with him and asked Zeus to put him into an eternal sleep, so he wouldn’t leave her and his beauty would be preserved. According to the myth, she went on to have fifty children with him.”

“So basically sleeping beauty, the Grimm version,” I mumble.

“Basically,” he agrees with a nod. “Just male and he never woke up. The moonlight represents the Goddess Diana who’s visiting him at night, drawn by his beauty.”

“That’s kind of sad. Imagine just sleeping your life away.”

“The horror,” he says, deadpan, and I grin.

“Okay, I can get behind the sleep, but forever? In the wild? And naked?” I shudder. “No thank you.”

“You make a point.” He chuckles and lays his hand on the small of my back to lead me to the next painting. I bite my lip to hide my grin, quite enjoying the warmth of his hand.

“Well, I think I’ve seen enough drawn genitalia for today,” I say as we walk down the stairs, his hand still resting against my back.

“I don’t want to disillusion you, but if we go to the statues, you’re going to see alotmore of those.”

“At least you didn’t offer to show me yours.” I roll my eyes when I hear his low chuckle. “Seriously, how can there be so many naked people for such tragic stories?”

“Tragic, but also full of love,” he points out, but I shake my head.

“From what I’ve seen here, love causes you nothing but problems, death, and tragedy,” I point out and sigh when I see another staircase. “It makes me think I’m better off not dating after all,” I say under my breath, barely above a whisper.

I see him look at me for a long moment from the corner of my eyes.

“Such a shame,” he whispers, and I glance at him, heart beating into my throat. Did he really say that?

Maybe I’ve imagined it. His presence does things to me, like butterflies racing in my stomach and a constant blush gracing my cheeks. Auditory hallucinations don’t seem out of the question. So I pretend like I didn’t hear it.

We walk through exhibitions of Roman, Greek, and Egyptian artifacts and statues until we reach the final wing of the museum.

“Okay,” I whisper, drawing out the ending of the word as I slowly turn around myself and take in the room. “That’s… different.”

“Different how?” He laughs. I shake my head and gesture around the very off-looking room.

“I mean look at it! A marble room with naked people in every corner? VeryNight at the Museumif you ask me, only they have orgies when they come to life, not bash in each other's heads.” He shakes his head at me but I’m not done. “And trees! Why the hell are there trees in here?”

“Now that you say it,” he agrees and tilts his head, trying to see the room from the perspective of someone who’s never been here. “You’re right. It’s kind of weird. I never noticed.”

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