Beautiful Lies (21 page)

“No, gosh, you sound like Clarise. I’m not crazy, Jen, I know what I saw.”

“I believe you, I was just making sure.”

Liv is watching me.

“So, what now?” She asks when Jen stops speaking.

“We’re just...I don’t know...getting to know each other. He’s picking me up at seven, tonight, actually.”

I see Jen smile but Liv doesn’t seem as excited.

“And you trust him?” Liv questions.

“He hasn’t given me a reason not to. I’ve already been alone with him and I felt perfectly safe.”

“He could be some crazy stalker who is just taking advantage of you,” she says in frustration.

“Liv, how could he know all of those things about the dreams and everything? For him to make up that whole story he’d literally have to be inside my head. It’s not a normal lie, is it? I sound crazy as it is.”

“She does have a point,” Jen agrees.

“I guess,” Liv replies.

“It sounds like a movie! Maybe he’s your soulmate or something? This is just mental,” Jen beams, smiling at me.

“I know. He’s so different...I like him.”

“What about Rick?” Liv asks. She’s always the practical one.

“Rick left. I still love him but let’s face it; I’ve always loved Taylor more, even when I didn’t think that he was real.”

“Does he know that you feel this way?” She asks.

“We haven’t really discussed it like that. We’re just taking it slow, Liv. This is a lot to take in. Neither of us could have prepared for something that we didn’t think was possible.”

“I know. I don’t want you to think that I’m not happy for you. I just want you to be careful.” Liv says softly.

“I know, and that’s why I’m telling you guys, so that you know what is happening, but I trust my instincts. I know what I’m doing, I promise you.” I smile at her.

“Then I support whatever decision you make,” she says, smiling at me.

“I second that,” Jen says.

“Thank you. You don’t know what it means to hear you both say that.”

“Oh come on...group hug!” Jen squeals, making us both laugh. They rise to their feet and wrap their arms around me tightly. I return the hug and feel happy.

“Right...now you both need to go so I can get ready,” I laugh.

“Wait, we’re not getting to meet Mr. Hunk?”Jen groans.

“Nope.”

“Oh come on, I’m with Jenna on this one. All these sexy dreams and no introduction? I wanted to know if he was as sexy in reality,” Liv giggles.

“He’s even better,” I say, raising an eyebrow. Both of their eyes widen.

“And you’re keeping him all to yourself?” Jen adds.

“Absolutely.”

“This doesn’t sound like a fair deal to me. I was under the impression that sisters share everything?” Liv challenges.

“That’s biological
and
friends that have become sisters, may I add.” Jen says making Liv laugh.

“There are some things that not even sisters can share. Now get out, both of you,” I laugh.

“You are so mean,” Jen says, sticking out her bottom lip as I push them in the direction of the door.

“That’s just life, my dear,” I tease.

They finally walk out the front door, giggling and complaining. I say my goodbyes, and Jen walks ahead while Liv falls back slightly. She turns to me and smiles.

“I’m happy for you, Paige. Be careful and you know where I am if you need me. I’m just a phone call away.”

“I know, sis. Thank you. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she says as she winks at me. I watch as she walks away, before closing the door to my apartment and going to get ready.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PAIGE’S STORY

T
onight feels more relaxed. Taylor arrives on time which means that I manage to avoid sitting around nervously. We are currently cruising down the road at an even pace. We haven’t stopped talking since I stepped into the car and it feels nice. Strangely, I feel like I have known him my entire life. He still doesn’t feel like the Taylor from my dreams. It feels too early to say, but he feels better.

“Ok, so are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask excitedly. He glances at me for less than a second and taps one finger against the steering wheel with a smile on his face.

“My place.” That’s all he says. I feel even more excited. He’s taking me to his house. He wants me to see it? I feel strangely honored and I can’t wipe the stupid grin off my face. “You’re smiling again,” he points out.

“I am.”

“Why?” He chuckles.

“Does a girl need a reason to smile?” I ask.

“Well, she doesn’t, but it might make her seem a little less crazy if she has one.”

“So, I tell you that I have been dreaming about you and building a life with you for an entire year and it’s me sitting and smiling for no reason that brings you to the conclusion that I am crazy?”

“Good point,” he laughs. I like him like this. He looks happy. It makes him seem like a different man to the one that creates the paintings. That man seems so tortured.

“Did you bring your change of clothes?” He asks.

“I did, you still haven’t explained why I need them.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he smirks.

“Are you always this mysterious?”

“It depends. Do you like it?” He glances at me.

“It has a certain appeal, I guess.”

“Then yes, I’m always this mysterious.”

We both laugh.

“About tonight...it’s not really something I can tell you, I have to show you,” he says more seriously.

“Sounds interesting.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you have any paintings of me?” I’m not sure why I ask. His face becomes more serious and he clears his throat nervously.

“A few...yes.”

“Can I see them?”

“Maybe another night.”

“Right,” I sound disappointed but I can’t help it.

“Remember when I said that I would never lie to you but I wouldn’t tell you everything either?”

“I do.”

“Well, the paintings that I have of you, they just remind me of something that I’m not ready to share with you...yet.”

“Ok.”

“I would love to paint you now.”

“What?” He catches me completely off guard.

“I want to paint you, the way you look now. In fact I will. I’ll show you that one when I do it,” he says excitedly.

“I’d like that.” I smile.

“So would I.”

We arrive at his home, ten minutes later. It is beautiful. I step out of the car in awe. The house is like several 3D rectangle boxes all combined. It’s a mix of white walls, dark wooden panels and glass. The driveway is white in color. The outside is decorated with dark green trees, large white stones, and two sets of cube lights decorate the pathway to the door. “It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

“Thank you. I designed it myself, well, I knew what I wanted and told the architect.”

“It’s like a modern piece of art.”

“Yes, it is. Would you like to see inside?”

“I would.”

He takes my hand in his and leads us up the pathway. My hand tingles everywhere that he touches and I feel hot. My fingers slip between his so easily. He takes a set of keys out of his back pocket and unlocks the door. He pulls me inside, deactivates an alarm code and switches on the lights. I slip free of his grasp and just stare. The inside is just as beautiful as the outside. The floors are all white tiles and the walls are painted white as well. There’s a lot of dark wood around and everything feels so fresh. He has black leather seats and glass tables. It’s like a show home. It doesn’t quite look like it is lived in.

“So, this is what being an artist is all about then?”

“It’s just a house. Art is a feeling bursting to escape and a release when you set it free.”

“Yeah.” I agree, turning to look at him.

“Would you like a drink?”

“No, I’m good thanks.” I just want to know what tonight is all about. I’m excited.

“Come on,” he takes my hand again and leads me through the back of the house. We walk outside into the cool night air. Everything is so still and peaceful. I can see why he lives here. I look around and see a beautiful rectangular shaped swimming pool in the middle of a white floor, surrounded by beautiful green grass. Behind the pool is a smaller version of his home. It’s like a separate world. It’s rectangular in shape again and has a set of wooden doors. There are a couple of windows but I cannot see inside from where I am standing. He pulls me toward the mini house and I follow excitedly. Once inside I look around. There are a couple of huge canvas’ that covers the walls. They look like they can be taken down. The first has on a painting of a woman in a blue dress, dancing in the rain. She is smiling and seems so happy. The second is of a beautiful landscape. Green grass, trees, leaves...it’s stunning. The strange thing is that it doesn’t seem like his usual style of painting. These seem carefree and happy. What makes them so interesting is that they are made up of small dots and lines. I step closer to inspect them further.

“Finger painting,” he says.

“What?”

“The style, it’s called finger painting. I came across an artist once who uses nothing but her finger tips to paint. Isla Reymond, very talented.” I take note of the name. “It’s an amazing technique. You end up with a mesh of dots and curves that eventually create one whole picture. It’s very fascinating.”

“It is,” I agree. “You painted these?”

“I did.”

“With just your finger tips?”

“Yes.”

“They are so...happy.” I hear him laugh.

“I’m not all doom and gloom, Paige.”

“I guess you’re not,” I chuckle.

“Look,” he points toward the empty canvas that is hanging on the wall. I go to ask why he is pointing at it but then I understand.

“You don’t expect me to do that?” I say, pointing at the other two paintings on the wall.

“We’re going to do it together,” he laughs.

“Taylor, I can’t even draw stick men,” my eyes are wide and I’m still trying to figure out if he is joking. He laughs, loudly.

“It’ll be fun. No one will ever know.”

“You will,” I cringe.

“Well, I’m not judging you,” he says more seriously.

“Wait till you see me painting,” I mumble which only makes him laugh more.

“Go and get changed, I’ll set out the paints. The bathroom is the first door on your left once you get back inside.”

“Ok.” I say nervously. He just smiles and starts sorting out the paints.

I disappear in the direction that he sent me and try not to let nerves get the better of me. The bathroom is just as beautiful as the rest of the house. The shower is huge...it could easily fit four people in it and it has sprays from every direction. I change pretty quickly. I look at myself in the mirror and the nerves kick in. I have on a black tank top and an old pair of grey sweats. I stare at my reflection and wonder if Marie looked in this same mirror. Where is she now? What did she do to hurt him so bad?

I push away the thoughts in my mind. When I get back, he is wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue sweats. I stop at the door and just stare in admiration. It’s rude but I can’t help it. His body is beautiful. His abs create hills that my fingers so desperately want to climb.

“Ready?” He asks, interrupting my trance.

“Erm...yep.”

I step forward and look at all the paints that he has laid out.

“So, how do we do this?” I ask.

“First we decide what we want to paint. Then we pick the main colors in that image and start with that.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I scoff. He laughs at my comment.

“So what do you want to paint?” He asks.

“I don’t know. You pick.”

“Ok. Let’s do something simple.”

“Simple sounds good,” I agree.

“What about a tree, blowing in the wind in a field?”

“Sounds simple enough, I think.”

“We’ll create the tree first and then everything in the background. We need to start with some browns for the trunk and greens for the leaves.”

“You’re the boss,” I tease.

He ignores my comment and seems to have his concentration face on. He looks down at the tubes of paint lying on the floor before his eyes light up with excitement. “That one,” he says before bending down and picking up a dark brown tube. “Give me your hand,” he says. I step forward and stretch my hand out. He squirts a small amount of paint onto two of my finger tips, and then places his hands on my hips and slowly turns me around. It’s hard to concentrate with his hands touching me but I try to push that to the back of my mind and focus on what he is telling me.

“Right, first we just start with gentle strokes,” he whispers into my ear. His hand slides up the length of my arm until he is controlling the movements of my hand with his. He spreads the brown paint near the bottom of the canvas and then starts moving my fingers so that they produce a group of overlapping curves and dots. I can’t see how it is going to make a tree yet, but I continue anyway. “Not so hard, just gentle strokes otherwise we lose the details,” he says when my hand moves a little faster. I slow down and try to go the speed he instructed. His hand is still on mine but I am leading the movement now. This continues for a while. Him giving me more paint and me creating patterns on the canvas.