The Liberation of Nina Fontaine (Awakening Book 3) Read online

  The Liberation of Nina Fontaine

  Awakening Series Book Three

  Michelle St. James

  Blackthorn Press

  Contents

  The Liberation of Nina Fontaine

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Links

  Also by Michelle St. James

  The Liberation of Nina Fontaine

  Awakening Book Three

  Michelle Zink

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2018 by Michelle St. James aka Michelle Zink

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Isabel Robalo

  1

  Nina placed the last photograph on the wall and stood back, her eyes combing the framed images, assessing the spacing between them, the flow of one into the next. The excitement that had been slowly building during the past week finally bubbled over.

  The photographs were special.

  She’d known it since the moment she saw the first one, taped to a light post in Washington Square Park. Stumbling upon the photograph had felt like magic, and emotion had blossomed in her chest as she’d looked at the image of the woman leaning against a tree, reading a book whose title was hidden by her bent knee.

  There had been others — a redhead walking, the photograph taken from behind, a woman with perfectly coiffed hair sitting alone on a bench, also taken from behind, and on and on it went. The pictures had been scattered throughout the park, taped to light posts and benches and trash cans, an homage to women and solitude that Nina had felt in her gut.

  It had taken her weeks to get up the courage to leave notes for the photographer throughout the park. Nina had taped them to each place she’d found a picture, hoping the photographer would find the notes and contact her.

  In the beginning, she had wanted only to show the work at the Stockholm Gallery in Brooklyn where she worked as a manager. It would be the first show featuring one of her artists, but despite her lack of formal photographic training, she’d known the images of New York City’s women would resonate with the gallery’s clientele.

  But when Nina had finally met Judith Chambers, a wealthy New York widow, she’d been so intrigued that her desire to show Judith’s photographs had fallen by the wayside in favor of a brief but meaningful friendship that had only ended when Judith suddenly passed away.

  No one had been more surprised than Nina when a package from Judith had arrived at the gallery. Inside had been all of her photographs — every one Nina had asked Judith to let her show when she’d been alive — plus a letter from Judith giving her permission to show the photographs.

  I’ve decided you were right after all. The women of our shared city deserve to see themselves as I see them, and so do you. I’ve left the pictures to you. Do with them as you see fit. I ask only that you not price them overly high. They were never meant to make anyone a mint. I’d rather they have good homes.

  The letter was tucked away in her nightstand drawer, already worn from all the times Nina had reread it before bed, Judith’s final lines echoing through her mind, reminding her as she fell asleep to have faith and take chances, to love and live big.

  My life has been marvelous. It’s been exciting and terrifying and beautiful and sometimes downright horrendous! Most of all, it’s been interesting. What more could anyone ask of a life?

  Nina looked over as Moni — aka Edmonia Burns, the gallery’s owner and one of Nina’s dearest friends — put her arm on Nina’s shoulder.

  “It looks great.”

  “You think?” Nina asked.

  “Definitely.” Moni’s brilliant green dress hugged her curvaceous body, the color highlighting her perfect brown skin and dark eyes, her striking features framed by full natural hair. She was one of the most beautiful women Nina had ever met. “Perfect for your first show.”

  Nina scanned the photos a final time, unshed tears stinging her eyes. “I wish she was here.”

  “Me too.”

  Moni hadn’t known Judith, but Nina had spoken of her so often that bringing her work to the public had become their shared mission. Now Nina wondered what Judith would think if she were alive. Would she have come to the opening? Would she have enjoyed the attention showered on her private work, or been embarrassed by it?

  “Would she be happy?” Nina asked.

  Moni nodded. “She’d be happy.”

  Nina sighed. “I need to call Tracy and confirm everything for tomorrow night.”

  It was a habit Nina had formed back when her obsession with Jack Morgan and their experimental sex life had caused her to neglect her work at the gallery, culminating in a major mistake on the menu for Morris LaGrange’s show. It had all worked out in the end, but the incident had been one of many indications that Nina was in over her head with Jack, that she was losing herself in the boundary-pushing sex that had brought her body back to life after her divorce from Peter.

  Now she triple-checked everything and took pride in the fact that she was distraction-free. She’d ended her relationship with Jack and had spent the last five months focused on herself and her budding career.

  “Anything I can do?” Moni asked.

  Nina started for the glassed-in area that served as their office at the back of the gallery. “You’re the boss. Enjoy having an underling to stress for you.”

  “You’re hardly an underling these days,” Moni said.

  Nina smiled as she slid her arms into her coat. “That’s nice of you to say, but I still have tons to learn.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  “I’ll call Tracy on my way to Amy’s,” Nina said. “You sure you can’t lock the girls in Angela’s room for the night so you can join us?”

  Moni laughed. “Don’t tempt me.”

  Nina and her friends — including Moni — had group potlucks every couple of weeks, but this week Moni’s daughter Angela was having an epic sleepover for her twelfth birthday.

  “We’ll miss you.” Nina picked up her bag. “Tell Angela I hope she has a great party.”

  Nina had been touched to be included in the small group of family and close friends Moni had hosted the week before to celebrate Angela’s actual birthday. Two years earlier, she couldn’t have imagined that stumbling into the Stockholm Gallery would result in a new job, a new passion, and one of the best friends she’d ever had.

  “Will do. Have an extra glass of wine for me,” Moni said.

  “You don’t need to twist my arm on that one,” Nina said. “See you tomorrow.”

  She pushed open the gallery door and stepped onto the street, the cold February air a rude awakening after the warmth of the gallery. She tucked her face into her scarf and ducked her head, her hand reaching automatically into her bag, fingers wrapping around the old Leica camera Judith had left Nina along with the photographs on the wall
at the gallery.

  She’d gotten used to the feel of the vintage camera in her hands over the past few months, had gotten used to pulling it out, overcome with the urge to memorialize seemingly unimportant moments. It had become second nature to throw the camera into her bag whenever she left her apartment, to walk with her hand covering it like the little old ladies on the Upper West Side who caressed their tiny dogs in luxury carriers that looked like fancy handbags.

  She descended to the subway and stood on the platform, crowded with Friday night commuters. Five months ago, right after she’d broken things off with Jack and spotted Liam on the street, she’d had to work not to search every crowd for his blond head, his broad shoulders rising above the rest of the crowd. She’d slowly gotten used to the idea that they occupied the same city again.

  He’d spent most of the year after their breakup in Africa, working as a freelance photographer. The details had been sketchy — she’d wanted them that way — but one afternoon she was desperate for news of him and had made the mistake of turning to the internet only to find him smiling into the camera with a pretty blond woman.

  At the time, in spite of her feverish relationship with Jack, Liam's face had hit her like a punch in the stomach. She’d thought about him often: when she caught a particularly powerful image with the Leica, when she looked at the picture he’d sent to her apartment after their breakup, a photograph that had been the beginning of her job at the gallery and her relationship with Liam.

  But she’d made peace with it. The months she’d spent with Jack — circling the drain around her sexual obsession, letting him gag her and tie her up, losing sleep and forgetting to eat for the sexual fantasies that occupied her brain, wanting to go further and further and further — had scared her. She knew she was lost when she’d let him dress her in an uncharacteristically revealing dress and take her to a country bar upstate, when he’d gotten her drunk and arranged for a stranger to watch them have sex in a filthy public bathroom.

  When she hadn’t cared because all she’d wanted was for him to fuck her.

  Shame lingered around her memories of the incident. She knew it was irrational. She was a grown woman, entitled to do whatever she wanted with her body with whomever she wanted to do it with, but societal norms and expectations were hard to shake, especially when you’d spent nearly fifty years with one set of them.

  Moni mentioned Liam occasionally — they’d been friends before Nina started working at the gallery — but Nina could never tell if it was an opening or just casual conversation.

  It didn’t matter. Nina was busy with her own life. The last thing she needed was to get caught up in someone again. Of all the damage her relationship with Jack had done, her loss of self-control was the most lasting. She had it back now, but there was always a voice in the back of her head, reminding her how easy it had been to lose herself.

  Reminding herself of the cost if she let it happen again.

  2

  A half hour later she stood on Amy’s stoop, the sound of her friends laughing and talking seeping out of the house when the door was opened by Moira, Amy’s wife.

  The sound of their camaraderie brought a smile to Nina’s lips. She hadn’t realized how isolated she’d been in the suburbs until she’d moved to the city and been taken into their fold. Now she couldn’t imagine her life with their support, commiseration, and humor.

  “Hey, you!” Moira leaned in to give Nina a hug. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head, her tall slender body wrapped in a catsuit and topped with a long kimono-style robe. She was the polar opposite of Amy, a ruthless investment banker who managed several young traders, but somehow the pairing worked.

  Nina stepped into the foyer. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

  “There is no late for these things, you know that." Moira led her into the living room that adjoined the gourmet kitchen she used to experiment with recipes for the restaurant where she was head chef. “It’s come as you are and come when you can.”

  “That’s what she said!” Karen shouted from the kitchen. A round of laughter erupted from around the island where everyone was standing, wine glasses in hand. Karen came around to kiss Nina’s cheek and hand her a glass of wine. She looked perfect, as usual, her red hair falling in perfectly blown out waves around her meticulously made-up face. “Finally! Now we can eat!”

  Nina set down the flourless chocolate cake she’d bought from The Chocolate Room for the occasion. “I didn’t have time to make anything. Sorry.”

  “Poor thing,” Robin said, her smile sympathetic. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  Nina loved all of her friends, but she had a special kind of admiration for Robin, who spent part of every year traveling with an NGO whose primary work was educating the citizens of third world countries about hygiene and providing access to clean water. Robin maintained a tiny apartment in Soho when she was in the city and at various times had a handful of lovers all over the world. She was the group’s voice of reason, of wholehearted support, of adventure.

  “I think I’m good,” Nina said. “I called the caterer on the way here and it sounds like everything’s all set for the food, and I took a last look at the layout before I left the gallery.”

  “I’m sure it’s going to be lovely,” Robin said. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  Nina scanned the cheese plate on the island and reached for a piece of gruyere. “You guys really don’t have to come. It’s just a work thing.”

  Karen scowled. “No, it’s not. It’s your work thing, and we know how much it means to you. Besides, I miss browsing. Doug has a curator who sends him pictures when she thinks Doug would be interested in a piece.”

  “Fancy,” Amy said, setting a stack of bowls and salad plates on the island. She obviously hadn’t had time to change since she got home from work: her feet were bare, but she still wore the tailored trousers and silk blouse that was one version of her work uniform.

  Karen sighed. “He is kind of fancy.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Among other things.”

  After years of fly-by-night relationships with fly-by-night men and years professing that was how she liked it, it seemed Karen had finally met a compelling match in Douglas Shaw, a wealthy real estate developer. Unlike many of Karen’s former lovers, Doug wasn’t younger than Karen, but five years older.

  “Still with the lovesick sigh,” Robin said approvingly.

  “I know,” Karen said. “I can’t believe it. It’s been three months and I’m not even close to being bored. And you know what’s crazy? He doesn’t seem bored either.”

  Moira set a steaming pot of soup on the island. “Are you kidding? It would be more crazy if he were bored.”

  Karen laughed. “You’re sweet, but that’s like having your mom tell you you’re pretty.”

  “Let’s eat here,” Amy suggested. “It’ll be easier with the soup.”

  They circled the island and filled their bowls with a creamy orange soup Moira identified as Thai Carrot Sweet Potato, piling their plates with a cucumber pear salad brought by Karen and crumbly rosemary olive oil bread made by Robin.

  Nina settled onto one of the stools at the island and bent to smell the steam rising off the soup. “This smells amazing.”

  “It’s something I’m experimenting with for the restaurant,” Moira said. “You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

  “She’s been cooking up a storm,” Amy said. “Says it helps with the baby stress.”

  “No bun in the oven yet?” Karen asked, taking a sip of her soup. “My god, this is fantastic.”

  Moira smiled. “Thanks. Do you taste the almond butter?”

  “Just a little,” Karen said. “It’s an accent. It’s perfect.”

  Moira nodded and Nina had the sense that she was making mental notes. “To answer your question, no bun in the oven this time.”

  Amy and Moira were trying for another baby with IVF and a sperm donor, a saga the group had been following for the past four mo
nths.

  “I’m sorry,” Robin said.

  “It’s okay,” Amy said. “It’s early yet. We’ve only done two rounds. It took four with Ruth.”

  “And worth every injection and every minute in stirrups,” Moira said.

  “Plus there’s always adoption,” Amy said. “It’ll be a longer process, but we’re totally open to it.”

  “Any kid would be lucky to have you both for parents,” Karen said.

  Murmured agreement erupted around the table.

  “Speaking of babies, where is Ruth?” Nina asked. The trials and tribulations of getting Ruth to bed were legendary now that she was in a toddler bed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to appear several times during their dinners at Amy and Moira’s asking for another story, a drink of water, or help in the bathroom.

  “Would you believe she’s asleep?” Moira asked.

  “No!” Karen, Robin, and Nina said in unison.

  Amy laughed. “We’ve been trying to figure out if it’s a growth spurt or the fact that it gets dark so early now, but she’s been konked out by seven every night this week.”

  “Don’t question it,” Robin advised. “Just enjoy it.”

  Karen raised a hand. “I agree with Robin. Alex was a bear when it came to sleeping.”

  Robin had two grown daughters, and Alex was Karen’s son, now in his second year of college at UConn. They were the voice of experience in the group. Nina had never been able to have children.