I hate how easy it is to slip into that feeling with him. And how this isn’t the first time I’ve felt the urge to let go of. everything and just return to what was once our ‘normal‘, as if that’s even possible.
The third painting is ‘Provider‘–the woman in the slashed gown, clutching the fabric to her chest, her face red with shame. I hesitate before speaking, the memory of the thrift store stinging like a fresh cut.
“This one is… personal,” I finally say, looking away from him. “It’s about feeling exposed against my will.”
That’s all I can manage.
To my surprise, Arthur still doesn’t say anything, just looks at the painting quietly. This is the first painting we’ve just gazed at without words, without questions or statements or even jokes.
And it’s now that I realize he hasn’t interrupted once so far he’s just listened, asking little things that show he’s really paying attention.
It’s disarming.
I expect him to make crude comments, to look confused or maybe even try to twist the narratives of the paintings –such as the ladder painting, which clearly has connotations that involve both of us–to try and get me to get back together with him.
And he could, too. He could easily tell me that I’m clearly not over our relationship, that I’m hurting, that we could have our old life back.
But he doesn’t. Somehow, the man who used arrest and legal jargon to bend me to his will isn’t doing any of that
now.
He’s just… observing.
We keep moving after that, my voice filling the space between us as I describe the last couple of paintings. We talk about other things, too: the outfits of the other guests, the food, the drinks, the gallery space itself.
And for a while, it’s… nice. Comfortable. Easy.
At one point, as we shift to the final painting, his hand brushes mine–covert and fleeting, the barest graze of his fingers against my knuckles. But a jolt shoots through me nonetheless, hot flares sparking beneath my skin, and I nearly stumble over my words.
I glance at him, but he’s looking at the canvas, and his expression is unreadable. My heart thuds a little too loudly in my chest for comfort, and I swallow hard, forcing myself to tear my gaze away from him.
Finally, we stop in front of the bar, and I’m a little breathless from talking for so long. My cheeks are flushed and my pulse is fluttering more than I’d like to admit, and in a strange way, I hate the thought that this might be the end of our night.
Arthur suddenly turns to me. “I’d like to buy ‘Provider‘. For my office.”
I freeze, my fingers tightening around my glass. “Why?” I blurt out without meaning to. I expect this to be some sort of manipulation tactic–perhaps using the money to keep me under his thumb, just as he’s tried to do before.
But Arthur blinks. “I just like it.”
For a moment, I just stare at him. I narrow my eyes, trying to discern what his real angle is. But his gaze betrays nothing, and even though his face is obscured by the mask, I feel like I can see sincerity in his expression.
“I…” I bite my lip, weighing it. I do need the money, but if accept, will this impact our situation? And more
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Chapter 77
importantly, will it go against everything I’ve stood for so far? After all, I’ve refused his money on multiple occasions now. If I accept now, I’ll just seem weak and desperate.
Suddenly, before I have to make a decision, a shadow falls across us. I turn to see Ezra rushing over, his face pale. My stomach drops instantly. Something is wrong.
“Iris, Arthur,” he says. “Miles ran away.”
Chapter 78
+25 BONUS
Chapter 78
