Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
But soon, it’s nearly complete, and my dread grows with each brush stroke. It takes some effort to identify the feeling, but soon it’s clear that I’m afraid to be done, because once I’m done, I won’t have anything left to distract me.
Day and night, I’m obsessing. The floor, the chair, the strange map thing hanging on the wall. The frills, the cloaks. The glove dangling from the husband’s hand. His pointy little chin hair. Until one morning, I step back after an entire night of doing fine details, my eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, my hair a mess, paint caking my fingertips, sick from putting on the little finishing touches to make it look as real as possible—emulating brushstrokes, reproducing small mistakes—until I realize there’s nothing else to do.
It’s like a chasm opens under my feet.
There’s a loud knock then the door to my studio opens.
I jump and turn, heart racing.
Erick stands on the threshold. He’s carrying a tray with tea and toast. “I brought this. Tony said you haven’t slept.” He puts it down on the work table and stares at the painting, stopping short. “Is that it? Are you finished?”
I follow his gaze, chewing on my lip. I want to lie and say no, it needs more, but there’s nothing else, and I’m sick of keeping things from him. No more lies. No more holding back.
“That’s it. I’m done.”
“Incredible.” He steps up beside me. I’m overwhelmed by his presence and shocked that I can still feel like this, even after everything we’ve been through. Tall, athletic, muscular. His usual spicy scent makes me dizzy. His eyes squint in concentration, and I love that look, those lips, the small dimple on his chin. Even his thin, scruffy beard. I want him close, I yearn for his nearness, and his heat is like a salve for all my pain.
“I think it’s good.” I don’t know why I’m nervous. “I mean, I hope it’s good.”
“It’s more than good. God, I can’t tell the difference.” He laughs softly and looks at me. “You’re a marvel. You really are.”
I pour myself some tea and take a few big sips. “I’m glad you’re happy with my work.”
My tone seems to knock him back into the room. He shakes his head, turning away from the painting, and meets my gaze.
“Congratulations, Hellie. I am extremely proud of you.”
“I thought you hated me. I thought I betrayed you.”
“You did. But no, I never hated you. And I realized something over the last few days. I realized you had a good reason for what you did, even if I wish you had gone about it a different way.”
“Did you find the email?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
“It took a while, not as long as you thought it would, but yes.”
I clutch the teacup tightly. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand. You were protecting him. I get it, even if I wish you could’ve been honest with me.”
His tone makes me flinch. “I couldn’t tell you. He’s my dad.”
“Family matters. I understand that.”
“It was never about escaping you.” No, because I wanted to be with Erick more than anything. It’s sick, but I still do.
“I believe you, my devil girl.”
I shiver at the nickname. When I first came here, I hated it. Now, hearing that name on his lips again, it’s like I’m waking up from a bad dream.
“Now what?” I ask, afraid of the answer, but desperate for something.
He gestures toward the door. “Your father would like to talk to you.”
I stare, trying to make sense of the words, but they don’t click into my brain, like they’re all jumbled up. “My father… wants to speak with me?”
“Yes, he’d like that very much.”
“How?”
“He’s waiting downstairs.”
Then it clicks like a mountain cracking in half.
Dad’s here. He’s here, in this house, because Erick used the information in that email to find him.
I double over. I drop the tea cup and it crashes onto the floor. Suddenly, my night of no sleep hits me, and I think I might pass out.
He’s there. Erick catches me and guides me to a chair. Big, strong hands, a soft, soothing voice. I’m too weak to fight him. I lean forward, face between my knees.
“Did you hurt him?” I whisper.
Erick crouches by my side, one hand on my thigh. “No. I promise. You can ask him yourself.”
“Why not? I mean, why didn’t you just hand him over? I don’t get it.”
“You’ll see. Come talk to him, Hellie.”
“I’m nervous this is another trap.” I lift my head, staring into his eyes. He looks so beautiful. So sincere, like he really does give a damn about me.
“No games. No tests. This is just me and you.” His fingers dig into my thigh. “I should’ve believed you from the start. We should have talked about it, and I’m sorry we didn’t. But it’s okay now. Come downstairs.”