Seductive Secrecy (Shadows series) (26 page)

My mind rushed and wandered. I couldn’t begin to think about how complicated this was getting because something in the middle
of the room had caught my attention. I didn’t know how I had
missed it earlier, how I hadn’t walked straight over to Cameron’s easel to see what he’d been working on when I’d first come in. I’d been far too distracted by everything else to even notice, but now I couldn’t pull my attention away from it. I didn’t feel like I was walking toward it; I just moved there automatically. I stopped inches from it as the tears came, matching the picture that stood in front of me.

“Holy fuck.” Ryder was at my side, his voice in my ear. “I’ve never seen him paint anything like this before.”

The only other time I’d seen something so real come from him
was when he’d painted us all those months ago, when I’d been
preparing to leave the mansion and flee the country. I’d come to his
studio to say good-bye and found him working on art that
resembled us, our bodies entwined, the love so prominent. But this wasn’t that.

“This is…you, Charlie. He painted you.”

The background was chocolate, the color of my hair. My face
took up the center: my bright green eyes pooled with water, my gently sloping nose slightly red at the tip, my lips raw as though I had been chewing them. My lids were heavily rimmed with liner that streaked down my cheeks, running toward my mouth.

I was sobbing.

Cameron had painted my pain.

Since Ryder had been here, I hadn’t allowed Cameron to see me cry. Maybe he’d heard it in passing, or maybe he assumed this was how I spent my nights before I fell asleep. He would have been right,
and he’d captured it on canvas. I was unveiled and wounded.
Tender. Conflicted. He’d painted all of those emotions so perfectly, in my expression, in the colors he had chosen for my skin, for my features, for my tears. In everything.

At the bottom of the canvas where those drops collected…was Cameron wiping them away? Or was he causing more?

Suddenly, I felt skin against mine. Ryder’s thumb had landed on my cheek, drying the tears that had fallen as I’d looked into the painted mirror of myself. My chest was rising and falling too fast.
“I…” Everything inside me was shaking. I wrapped my fingers
around his thumb and squeezed. He pulled closer as I met his eyes. He saw, and he knew.

He had mistaken my gesture.

I wasn’t giving him the okay. I was telling him good-bye.

I couldn’t do this. And more than that, I
wouldn’t
do this to
Cameron.

Not ever.

Cameron could cover my face in streaks of mascara, he could seal my lips with secrets and cast shadows over my eyes. Whatever he needed to see me as, he was allowed that. It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that I wouldn’t give up on him. I didn’t want him to be the reason I cried, or a source of my pain. But the fact that I’d shed tears over this man told me everything I needed to know—and finally, I
knew
it.

I loved him.

I said nothing to Ryder as I walked out of the studio and headed straight for our bedroom. I didn’t even glance over my shoulder. I didn’t need to. I knew who I wanted to be with.

And it wasn’t Ryder.

MY PHONE WOKE ME.
I reached for it roughly and swiped my
finger across the screen. “Hello?” I screeched.

Dallas’s voice greeted me. “You sound like hell.”

I didn’t feel much better.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Just past eleven. I just got home and saw all the missed calls from you. Everything all right?”

I sat up and turned on the lamp. The empty bottle of wine was directly next to it. I hadn’t even bothered to bring in a glass when I
had come to bed. I knew I was going to have a hangover in the
morning, but it was too early for that.

“Not really,” I replied. “Got a second?”

“I’ve got more than just one. What’s up?”

I pulled the blanket off me and walked into the bathroom,
shutting the door behind me. I didn’t really expect Cameron to come in, but I
didn’t want to take the chance. Once the lock clicked in place, I
turned on both faucets and tucked myself in the corner of the shower.

“Everything is so fucked right now,” I said in the lowest voice I
had.

“You feel like elaborating, or is that all you’re going to give me?”

I caught him up with everything that had happened since the last time we had spoken, how my father had sent me a cell phone and the words Ryder had said to me, and finally the painting I had found that Cameron had done of me. He wasn’t one to interrupt, and
he hadn’t. He let me get everything out before I turned completely
silent.

“Now I understand why you’ve been drinking,” he said.

“You can tell?”

He laughed. “Yeah…from the second you started talking. But honestly, I don’t blame you. This whole thing is…”

“Ugly.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not exactly sure how you should take that painting, but I think he was definitely trying to tell you something by leaving it out in plain sight.”

“Maybe…but he didn’t know I would be there to see it. I haven’t been spending any time in the studio.”

“Do you think he was going to show it to you?”

“Doubt it. We’re not talking—at all.” I glanced around the
shower. It was hard to believe things had gotten to this point that I needed to hide in my bathroom…but they had. “He’s portrayed his emotions in his art like this before,” I paused, thinking of the work that he had done of the two of us, “but that piece included us both, and we were intertwined. This one…well, I don’t know.”

“Talk to him.”

“I—“

“And forget Ryder.”

“That’s all you’ve got for me?” I asked.

He laughed again. “You expected more? I’m pretty sure you
knew I would say both of those things. And I didn’t need to wake you up to say them.”

I was glad he had, though.

“Goodnight, Dallas.”

“Talk to him,” he said once more before we both hung up.

I stepped out of the shower, turned off the faucets and unlocked the bathroom door. I wasn’t surprised to find an empty bedroom. But I couldn’t deny my disappointment when I walked in and Cameron wasn’t in our bed.

The covers had turned cold during my absence. I lifted them
over
my head as I slid into my spot, turning off the lamp before fully
plunging in. Despite still feeling a bit buzzed from the wine, sleep was far off. And there was only one thing that would bring me there. I closed my eyes and marched the pads of my fingers down my stomach.

It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was all I had.

“CHET HAS CALLED ME TWICE NOW
to tell me how much he
loves the piece you created for him,” Professor Freeman said.
“Sounds
like you have a new raving fan; he’s already sent you two clients
who would like to book appointments next week. Another three have requested the link to your portfolio.”

I sat in the chair across from him, my elbow resting on his desk, my palm holding my chin. Hearing feedback from any client was usually one of the best feelings, one that would have me wearing a
smile for the rest of the day. My work was becoming more in
demand and my name was spreading. I was gaining more clients, my fee had increased. I’d just begun selling prints of my originals on my own
website. Everything I wanted was finally happening…but I was so
far from happiness. I had such a hard time concentrating on anything
the Professor was saying. His words weren’t sinking in; they were
floating in the air around me like bubbles and every time I reached for one, it burst.

I hadn’t painted in over a week. My classes had ended for the
semester, and I’d decided to drop my summer term. I hadn’t told the
Professor about my lack of creativity or that I wasn’t enrolled in
school. I didn’t want the lecture that would come with it. The only words I wanted to hear were Cameron’s, and I wasn’t getting any of them.

“I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised by this.” He slid
an envelope in my direction. I opened it to find the check for Chet’s
piece. But the number was much higher than what we had agreed
upon.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s a bonus. A rather large one, as you can tell. Apparently
when someone makes him happy, he tips quite well.”

This amount of money would make anyone happy. I held the
check in my hands as my mind began calculating how many months of rent this would cover on a new apartment. I hadn’t found a place yet, but this would be more than enough for a security deposit—
and
first and last month’s rent if that’s what the landlord required.

I placed the envelope in my bag and stood to leave. “I’ll send him an email later and thank him for the bonus and the referrals. He’s been good to me.” Too good, I thought.

The Professor leaned back in his chair, pushing his glasses a little higher on his nose. “I think that’s a great idea.”

I waved silently and headed toward the door, but I hadn’t gotten more than a few feet before he called my name. “Charlie?” I turned
around again. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and
Cameron,” he said, “but good things are happening professionally for the both of you, and you’re too distracted to notice. I know my place in both
of your lives, personal and professional…and that’s why I’m
completely comfortable in saying you need to get it together. Both of you. Snap
the hell out of it, because I’m not going to tolerate it anymore.
You’ve worked too hard—and
I’ve
worked too hard—to have either of you lose what you’ve gained.”

I nodded.

“Figure it out, Charlie. I’ve told Cameron the same thing.”

“I will. I promise.”

I turned around again and put on my sunglasses to hide my welling eyes and made my way out of the art building. Since crying had become a regular thing for me, I now carried a pack of tissues in my bag. I pulled one out and dabbed my cheeks.

It was embarrassing that the Professor felt he’d needed to say what he’d said to me. But he was right: I
had
worked hard to get
here, and I was completely losing focus. It had been over a week
since I’d come across Cameron’s painting of me, and I still hadn’t talked to him about it. I hadn’t yet taken Dallas’s advice either. Part
of me didn’t know what to say to Cameron. And part hoped I
wouldn’t have to say anything because he’d come to me first. But he hadn’t. He was spending all his time in the studio, and I suspected he wasn’t sleeping in our bed during the day, either. It looked the same when I returned to it at night as it had when I left it in the morning.

I had to end this silence. I had to tell him how I felt. Even if he
didn’t want the same as I did anymore, at least we could start living again—separately, if need be.

Separately
.

The sound of that word made my tears fall even faster.

I didn’t want that to happen, but I had a feeling it would. He’d done nothing to change our situation. He’d stopped trying. He’d stopped being my lover, and my friend.

He’d abandoned me.

As much as I wanted to walk to help quell my anxiety, I wanted even more to get home as quickly as possible. I hailed a cab instead. Rush hour was over, so there wasn’t any traffic. I’d arrived at our building in minutes. I let the driver keep the change and rushed through the lobby, hitting the button for the studio as soon as I
entered the elevator. I didn’t know if Cameron would be there. He
may have been gone on one of his mystery evenings, as that had
become the norm for us. And I really hoped Ryder wouldn’t be there, either.

Once the door slid open, I heard laughter. Jealously tore through
me at the sound of it. It was a noise that hardly came from
Cameron’s lips…
I
wanted to be the one who inspired him to make that carefree expression. But it wasn’t me this time; it was Lora. Her laughter mingled with his and echoed through the studio.

He had brought her here…to our place.

He’d rather be here with her than me.

I moved past the entryway, down the middle aisle toward where Cameron’s easels were housed. His back was to me; I could see the brush in his hand, the colors on his palette, the canvas before him, and Lora standing several feet away. She was on a platform that he had designed specifically for models…which was exactly her role for him now. There was a fan blowing from the floor in front of her,
waving her long locks into the air and out of her well made-up,
overdone
face. Her hands were on her hips, and she had four-inch heels on her feet. Those leather shoes were the only things covering any part of
her.

The rest was completely naked.

Music played as their laughter continued to fill the room. They hadn’t heard the elevator or my feet tapping against the wood as I walked in, or my breathing as I realized what was happening. But I made sure they heard me and saw me when I came to a dead stop directly between the easel and platform. I turned my back to Lora; she didn’t matter to me in the least. But I tried to find the right tone
before I spoke. All that seemed to want to come from me were
screams and sobs. I let a few seconds pass, allowing my glare to speak for me instead. Finally, I asked, “This is how you spend your time now?”

He rested the palette and the brush on the table next to him and
moved out from behind the easel. But he didn’t take a single step
closer to me. “You’re saying that like I’m doing something wrong, Charlie.
You knew I created a piece for Lora and she wanted a few things
changed. That’s all this is.”