Poor fellow.Tatiana bided her time while the farewells finished and then gave him a smile she hoped would make up for all the cause for blushing. “If you’renot in a rush, we can let the girls play a bit more and visit.”
For the first time since they’d come upon his family, his shoulders relaxed. “That sounds perfect.”
EIGHT
THOUGH HE’D GOTTEN A GLIMPSEof her flat when he and Heidi came to pick them up earlier, Anders hadn’t been able to see enough of it then to know how very much like Tatiana it would feel. Now, though, as he trailed her into the kitchen after leaving their wet boots and snow-dusted coats and hats by the door, he could see that she’d made this place her home in a way he’d never really done with his own flat.
It was in the color choices, all bright and bold. It was in the bookshelves that didn’t just have books crammed in like his did, but were artfully arranged, with little knickknacks sharing the display room. It was in thebeautiful lamps and lingering scent of cinnamon and spice. It was in the art on her walls.
He froze a step from the kitchen, his gaze latched on the wall of her main room. On the framed watercolor hanging there.
The Lights Watchhe’d called it, even penciling the title onto the back when Valdi had commissioned him to paint it for him four years ago. He’d admit that he’d had Tatiana in mind as he painted it, knowing as he did that she’d so recently been living in Hellnar, which he’d painted in silhouette in the middle ground. Above the village danced the northern lights, in shades of green and pink. And there at the bottom, in the foreground, a snowy-white arctic fox paused with one front paw in the air, watching the display, two fox pups tumbling together behind her.
He’d thought Valdi had wanted the piece for himself, to remember the home of his youth. His boss had never once mentioned he’d commissioned it as a gift. If he’d known... well, he wouldn’t have done anything differently, really. He certainly wouldn’t have asked her how she liked it. Still, it was a bit odd, knowing that all this time, the painting he’d done with her in mind was in fact hanging in her home.
Tatiana moved back to his side, apparently noticing his distraction, and followed his gaze. Her lips turned up. “Valdi knew how much I admire your work. I’d confessed that I was saving up to buy a full-sized original but didn’t know when I’d have enough, and lo and behold, he gave me that for Christmas that year.”
He looked over, down into her beautiful face. “Had you mentioned to me that you wanted a painting, I’d have gladly made you one at no cost.”
She sent him a look that he had no trouble deciphering, as often as he earned it from his mother. It said,Don’t be silly, Anders.“I wasn’t going to go fishing for a gift. Besides, your work isworthpaying for. I’d have been honored to purchase one.”
“I...” He didn’t know exactly what he meant to say, so he shook his head and let her lead him into the kitchen, their nieces’ laughter floating in from wherever they’d gone. Presumably a bedroom, since they weren’t in the main room and the flat wasn’t that large. When she indicated the table and reached for the kettle, he sank to a seat. “To be quite honest, I’m not accustomed to people I know wanting my artwork.”
She set the kettle on the stove with a bit more clatter than he expected of her and spun to face him, eyes wide.“You’re kidding, right? I’ve seen them in the gallery you use—they go for proper money.”
“Yes, but... they go tostrangers.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I honestly thought my family had tossed out the paintings I’d done for them. I’ve never once seen them in their homes, and they never told me they’d hung them in their bedrooms.” Obviously he had no cause to venture into his mother’s or brothers’ private chambers. Laughing a bit at himself, he shook his head again. “I don’t know how you did it. Five minutes with my mother, and you’ve managed to rewrite my entire understanding of my family.”
His head was still swirling with it, his equilibrium smashed to pieces. They were beautiful pieces, yes, but still. It was discombobulating to have everything he’d thought he’d known—and mourned—tossed on its head with a few words between Tatiana and Mother.
Shecherishedthe painting he’d made of her and Father. So much that she’d hung it where she’d see it first and last thing every day. And had apparently mentioned it to his brothers’ wives, if they’d followed suit.
They’d discussed it... just not withhim. And Mother, she... she wasproudof him. Thought himcleverer than the rest of the family. Said she’d always known he’d do great things.
A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, alerting him to the fact that he’d squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to absorb it all. He hadn’t seen Tatiana move, but she stood now beside his chair, arm around him to rest that hand on his far shoulder. “You didn’t know how proud of you they are?”
Her tone said it was inconceivable. But the inconceivable part was that she’d gotten the truth from his mother and sister so effortlessly.
Orwasit the truth? Would Mother have lied, just to impress her?
No, that wasn’t like his mother at all. She was honest to a fault—blunt and strong and always of the mind that she must be the iron to sharpen her children’s iron. She’d never fudge the truth, just as she’d never coddled any of them.
To answer Tatiana, he said, “I... didn’t. They’ve never... none of them. None of them have ever praised my work. And my brothers, they outright mock me for being an indoors sort, not outside doing manly pursuits like fishing or hunting or farming.”
Her hand rubbed over his shoulder. Just a friendlygesture, meant to give comfort. Right? Yet the small gesture made electricity shoot straight through him, landing in his stomach. He looked over, up into her face. She, too, had said things to his mother she’d never said to him. Did she mean them? Not just that she’d always admired his work—that had nothing to do withhim, somehow. Not like... not likethis. The fact that she’d said she wasn’t going anywhere, intimated that she wasn’t opposed to making his mother’s assumptions true.
He could get lost in those blue-green eyes of hers. And when she smiled at him like that, in that slow, soft way, his tongue tied in so many knots he’d be lucky to regain use of it by the end of the day.
“Well,” she said, “perhaps they’re not good at expressing their feelings. It can be difficult—especially iftheyall think you’re cleverer than them. That could be a difficult thing for older brothers, don’t you think? To see you embracing a world they don’t view as their own? Perhaps they even feel like you’ve rejected the life they’ve chosen and judge it as inferior.”
“Inferior?” Well look at that, he could still speak after all. “They’ve always made it very clear that mine was the inferior pursuit, to their way of thinking.”
She lifted her brows. That was all. Just a graceful arch toward her golden hair. But it was all that was needed to make him hear his own words, and hers again. To combine them with Mother’s claim that they were simply teasing him as they did each other.
To remember all the times they harassed eachothertoo—and there were endless examples. Those three seemed to approach each day as a competition, and whoever came in last in whatever pursuits they were doing, he earned the mockery of the others.
Strange, though. Whenever he heard them making fun of each other, he could hear the joke in it. He could see, even, that the constant ribbing was what made them so close. Inseparable. Friends as well as brothers.
It had always made him feel more on the outside, since he wasn’t part of those daily contests. By his own choice, yes, but... but that was because he hadalwayscome in last. Always felt different. Never thought himself part of their trio. So when they’d turned those cutting words against him, they’d sliced.
