Page 4 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
“That’s a good day,” I say approvingly.
“So, where are we going now?”
“Musée Rodin.”
I hide a smile as Tessa bites her lip again. I’m sure she’s been to the museum before, and maybe she’s disappointed, but I have a few tricks I keep in my tour-guide bag. Thiswason the list of places she and her friends wanted to visit.
“It’s a beautiful day,” I say. “Not too hot yet. We’ll enjoy the gardens and then go inside, and I have a surprise planned.”
Tessa pushes her lips to the side in thought. “You’re right. It is lovely out. And I do really enjoy the gardens. It’s been a while since I’ve been. Andthe Musée Rodin is my second favorite museum in Paris.” She smiles slyly.
“See? Perfect. And,” I lean closer and nudge her with my elbow, “the sculptures are sexy. Like...” I switch to English, “man candy?”
She laughs and then mutters in English, too, “Jade would just eat you up.”
“What?”
She waves me away. Then, to my pleasure, she flirts back. “You aren’t worried about being compared to an idealized male form?”
“Not at all,” I say and guide her around another corner. The museum entrance is in sight now, the alcove in the wall hiding the large entrance doors. “Besides, I can do many things that those statues cannot.” Tessa’s eyes widen in surprise as I wink at her and then greet the security guard.
Once inside, we wander the gardens. Or, I let Tessa wander and follow behind her. The manicured gardens equally hide and display Rodin’s works, and sometimes I forget how lovely it is to stumble upon these masterpieces.
Once or twice, at a nude male statue, I catch Tessa looking at me. I wonder if she’s thinking about what I said. From the way that the color rises on her cheeks and she looks away quickly, I think that, yes, she is. I try not to look too pleased with myself.
Tessa takes her time, especially when we get toThe Gates of Hell,and she leans close, looking at all the tiny details of the damnation.
She tilts her head and points. “Huh. Is thatThe Thinker?”
I follow her gaze up to the panel above the doors. “Yes, many of Rodin’s famous sculptures came fromThe Gates of Hell. They were enlarged and recast. The original plaster is in the Musée d'Orsay. Have you seen it?”
She frowns slightly. “I’m sure I have. It’s been a while, though. I can’t remember.”
I check my watch.
“Do we have somewhere we need to be?”
“We have an appointment inside in fifteen minutes. You’ll like it.”
She smiles and returns her gaze to the sculpture, but we move on shortly. We’re on time to meet my friend at the information desk, and I introduce him to Tessa.
“Maurice is an archivist who is working on an exhibit on Rodin in literature. He’s also a good friend of mine and was able to fit us in at the last minute.”
Tessa’s eyebrows raise in delight.
“See,” I say, teasing, “this is one of themanybenefits of a private tour guide.”
3
Tessa
I’ve lovedParis since I first visited as a kid, but this trip, and this tour with Luc, is making me think that I’d forgotten the best parts of it. I don’t want to elbow my way through the crowds to see theMona Lisaever again, but Paris is full of museums, many of them more specialized and with less foot traffic.
Part of the excitement of visiting with my best friends was that I would see Paris through fresh eyes. What I’m getting instead is Paris through the eyes of a local.
It was Jade who’d put the Rodin sculptures on our list for today. Maybe it was picturing Jade’s overt appreciation for the male form that had me admiring the artwork. I’m sure it was mostly that and not the cute tour guide.
The cute tour guide who arranged a very cool behind-the-scenes tour for me. Maurice, a Black man with a full head of gray hair, walks me through the staff-only areas for half an hour, showing me how the museum cares for the sculptures and how they are preparing for his exhibit and one showcasing a guest sculptor.
