BASHing Trinity novel Chapter 37

(*) Flashback

TRINITY

Experts said when someone is depressed, he should involve himself with aspiring things and makes time for the things that makes him feels better.

I spent every day in this street market since I arrived here in Paris. The entire city has a lot to offer, but art makes me feel better—it gives me a little happiness and diverts me from my sorrows.

I found time to visit some historic places; museums, restaurants, and of course, art galleries.

I remember Bash told me that once you’re an artist, you will always be an artist. When I grab the paintbrush, start mixing colors on my palette, and brush my canvass, it feels like I did this for years and have never stopped.

When Bash gave me a set of art supplies on my sixteenth birthday, I started to paint since then. I still love to sketch, though, when I didn't want to get messy with paints.

It feels natural for me. This is what I love doing after all. Either sketching or painting with watercolor, oil but mostly with acrylics because it dries quickly.

I just did a painting for the lovely couple. I can see how happy they were while I painted them. It shows in their eyes, and I feel a pang in my chest when Bash visits my thoughts. I wish he's here with me in this beautiful city.

They offer me money as their payment, but I can’t take it. Seeing them happy and contented with what I did is enough payment for me.

I place another empty canvass to my easel. I want to start painting before the sunset when I hear a familiar voice behind me. My heart leaps, and I freeze in my place.

What is he doing here? Is this a coincidence? Isn't he supposed to be in London?

I swallow before I face him. "I do it for free,” I answer though it comes out a whisper but enough for him to hear.

His red lips spread to a smile—a smile that I’ve seen a thousand times, a smile that swells my heart.

“Good, then. Let’s start. Where should I sit or stand?” he asks with enthusiasm.

Why is it so easy for him to act as if nothing happened between us? Does this mean he doesn’t care about me anymore? Or his way of torturing me?

“U-um, j-just sit on that stool,” I stutter, pointing my trembling finger to the empty stool where the couple used before him.

He carries the stool closer to where I set the easel. His smile never left his face, and his eyes twinkle. Even I don't have to look at him, I know and I can feel that his gaze never leaves me.

My heartbeat never calms down. I blow a breath before I squeeze paint tubes on the pallette and ignore his scrutinizing gaze, watching every move I make.

“Um, how do you like? A whole body, a half-length portrait?” I don’t know why I even ask.

“Up to you,” he replies and smiles, showing me his dimples.

“Um, could you fix your coat? Let your scarf in a little bit, and collar out.” I gesture to his neck.

“I need a little help in here, please?” he asks, raising his brow.

What’s with him, his smile, and all these?

I rise from my seat, place my things on the stool, and move closer to him. Before my hands reach his collar, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer to him.

A squeal slips from my lips. “Bash!”

He releases his hands around me and grabs my head. “Enough of this painter-model play role.” He crushes his lips against mine, kisses me hungrily, punishes me in every move of his lips, and slips his tongue into my mouth—a French kiss in France. My fingers grip his hair for support.

A moan slips from my throat, and I hear an applaud around us. I pull myself away when I realize we are in a public place. I bite my lip as heat creeps on my cheeks.

“Thanks, everyone!” Bash waves his hands as if he enjoys the attention he gets. Then he looks at me. “Will you marry me tonight?”

My lips parted. Is he freaking kidding me? I swallow hard. “W-why tonight? W-why s-such in a rush?” I’m overwhelmed, and I can’t even process. Is this some kind of joke?

“I want to marry you here, Trinity. It’s our chance. We can get married again when we’re back in New York. I promise you with my life, I’ll give you the wedding you like, just tell me how you like it. I will make everything possible,” he says, his eyes sparkling with happiness and full of promises.

“How can we get married tonight? I think we have to get a license from the French government, and we should at least stay here for a month before they will approve it.”

“You worry too much. It’s been taken care of, baby.”

“How?” I ask, my hands still are on his head. I completely forget my heartaches and my sorrows. Am I really considering this?

“Money. So, are you gonna marry me tonight?”

“How about the—um?” I ask cautiously.

“Dana? My ex? Married to her childhood sweetheart, and they’re having a baby?” he answers, looking amused.

“Don’t we have to go to City Hall to get married?” I inquire.

“You ask too much. Are you gonna marry me or not?” His eyes narrowed.

“Is it legal?”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, it is.”

***

I don’t want to know how Bash made everything possible, or he planned for this too? We're going to get married at the Bateaux Parisiens River Cruise he rented throughout the night.

What shocked me most is our guests, I was expecting we only have witnessed and an officiant to marry us.

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