“He could’ve tried better.” Dave chuckled and sank his teeth into a big piece of carnitas filling. He always knew all the worst sides of her boyfriends. But he seemed to always forget good things. Vince was a creative soul. He was an artist. And people around him were the same - they were either painters or actors. Rain fell into thinking about that morning Cecile and her text. What could it mean? Except for the most obvious thing - she was his model and he was going to pain her... in aquarelle. This night.
“What is it this time?” Dave noticed her hesitation and gave her a worried look. Okay, she could tell him. He was her best friend, wasn’t he? Rain pulled her phone out of the purse and held it in her hand.
“I found some messages on Vince’s phone.”
“A poem in french.” She said fancifully and moved aside her plate with untouched vegetables. “I forwarded one of them to myself...”
Darren H. Pryce
“And you thought he wouldn’t notice?” She did! Rain shrugged her shoulders. She saw that message for a reason. Vince’s teachers would’ve said the same thing if he asked them! And the reason couldn’t be for her to see it but not understand it. Rain put her phone on the table and turned it to Dave so he could read the text.
“I had no idea he is a poet too...” Rain wrinkled her nose.
Dave looked at her phone for a few seconds and burst into laugh.
“I guess, Baudelaire reincarnated in Vince along with Klimt. See,” he read the message out loud:
“Ces robes folles sont l'emblème
De ton esprit bariolé ;
Folle dont je suis affolé,
Je te hais autant que je t'aime!"
"It’s Charles Baudelaire. Oh, good lord... who else reincarnated in this guy?