“Does this mean we can go shopping?” Mia claps her hands. “Neiman Marcus is calling me.”
We laugh, and Knox releases me.
“Yes, Mia. We can go shopping.”
She yelps, jumping up and down with delight. “I can’t wait to get there.”
I glance back at Knox. “Thank you for treating us. And for…everything.”
His mouth curves. “My pleasure, love.”
I didn’t think it was possible to fall any harder for this man.
But, God… I was wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Isla
André Nebruski’sstudio sits on the corner of an old, converted factory in the Garment District.
The building has four stories of exposed brick, giant steel-framed windows, and a vintage freight elevator. Exactly the kind of place I always imagined the creative heart of the Lyceum Theatre would use.
Knox dropped me off earlier with a kiss for luck, one he insisted I didn’t need.
Then André’s assistant met me in the lobby and whisked me upstairs.
The moment I walked into the studio, I stopped breathing.
My portfolio—my paintings, my sketches, pieces of my heart—was arranged throughout the space on individual display easels. Like an exhibition. Like I was someone worth showcasing.
Then André came out to greet me, and I nearly passed out.
Dressed in a black silk shirt with a peacock-colored cravat around his neck, he looked every bit the artist. And his personality matched.
That’s how my interview began.
For the last hour, I’ve followed him from painting to painting while he studies my work with the intensity of a surgeon and the soul of a poet. Every now and then, he murmurs something to himself—usually in French—and gestures for me to explain whathefeels.
Not whatIintended.
Not what I think it should mean.
Whathefeels.
And every time I answer, I find myself unraveling truths I didn’t even know I’d hidden inside the painting.
Finally, we reach the last canvas.
I smile to myself. It’s the painting I was working on the night Knox came to pick me up at my apartment.
Somehow, it turned out different from the others. Darker and moodier, something between a nightmare and a fairytale.
My mind was all over the place that night, but the chaos poured straight into the brush until it became one of my best pieces.
The finished result is a twisted forest under a crescent moon, with skeletal branches reaching toward a horizon washed in silver and deep reds.
It’s Sleepy Hollow meets Neo-Noir.
