He swallowed hard and nodded. “And marry me.”
I rested my forehead against his. “Small steps maybe, okay?”
“Yes, but—” He took my hands in his, then warped his tentacles around my wrists. “But can I ask you again? Properly?”
“Yes.” I kissed him. “And I already know what I’ll say.”
Epilogue
Marin
Six months later.
I stood in the middle of the Muses & Peculiarities Art Gallery and took in the crowd of people. Everyone was decked out in coats that were expensive only because of the tag on them, looking down at my art over the rim of flutes of champagne they weren’t enjoying.
I searched for that feeling of euphoria that should surely hit at any moment now.
After working for eccentrics for years, I could differentiate between those who appreciated art and those who didn’t. I’d had a nerdy lawyer hug me with tears in his eyes after I turned the walls of his apartment into a work of art. He’d told me he neededthe place to be his sanctuary, and I’d filled it with murals and paintings in bright colors he’d never have had the guts to pick himself, making it the home he’d always dreamed of.
Then, a few weeks back, I’d been hired by a family with two children. The boy had asked for a magical forest in his room and the girl wanted to feel like she was in space. I’d studied the Amazon jungle and maps of the sky for three weeks during the project, and turned their rooms into vibrant landscapes. Both kids had cried with joy and the parents had taken an entire stack of my business cards to give to their friends.
Now, I was searching for the feeling in me I had when those people had first seen how I’d painted their house. It wasn’t there.
I loved seeing my art in a gallery. I wouldn’t lie. But I knew now that I couldn’t let go of my work as a painter and seeing genuine joy on people’s faces—when I turned their living spaces into a scene of their favorite movie or TV show, or that place the couple had visited on their honeymoon.
After I’d shown DeeDee my Kert paintings, she’d sent the pictures to the curator and organized the exhibit lickety-split, inviting everyone on her list. The turnout was way bigger than I’d expected, and people were still coming. My friends lingered in the periphery, letting me breathe after their initial greet, knowing how insanely stressful this event was for me.
Evelyn, or as Kert called her, ‘the hot ogre lady’, stood in front of the painting of Central Park in summer with Kert’s ass visible as he stretched on the grass. She crossed her massive arms and nodded.
The petite Rowena was holding her husband’s hand as they stood in front of another painting, the leash in her grip discreetly hidden in his sleeve. My kinky friends had come to support me, and the appreciation for Kert’s ass was palpable. Showing the art to the public turned out to be less awkward than I’d expected: I was proud of it, and Kert was feeding his exhibitionist streak.
“Are you okay?” Kert’s voice soothed me like a balm, and his touch on my tentacle let me release a sigh.
“Yeah. People love your ass and I don’t blame them.”
Kert preened. “They adore your paintings.”
“Maybe. I’m happy to share these with my friends, but it doesn’t make a huge difference that it’s in a gallery, to be fair.”
“It’s not what you expected?” Kert stroked my tentacle, gently playing with the suckers.
“You know what? Maybe it was, and that’s one reason I was reluctant to share these paintings. I feel like these people don’t appreciate your ass enough.” I pulled him to my side and kissed his horn.
He snorted. “But others will. When your exhibition becomes open to the public, legions will be inspired and awed by your art. With recognition comes pressure, but also a semblance of freedom. You’ll get to pick and choose what to share, when and where, reaching an audience that may have never seen paintings like yours before.”
“You’re right. Rowena said we should do art night at the BDSM club and have the paintings there as the first exhibit.” I took in Kert’s grin and gauged what he thought of the idea.
“I’m totally attending that naked.” He poked a sucker on my tentacle with a finger. “Wearing only your sucker marks.”
“Mmm… can’t wait.” I kissed his hair, inhaling the almondy-marzipan scent. “DeeDee said that quitting my other work and sticking to art on canvas would give more worth to my paintings, but I don’t care.”
“You’re still gonna paint that hospital in Wisconsin, huh?”
“Yup. And all the other ones I got the offers for. I’ll make time to finish painting our apartment too, I promise.”
“DeeDee offered good insight, but in the end, you need to go with your gut.” Kert leaned into my side, snuggling his slim body into my tentacles. I loved the way he gave me constant support,yet remained a voice of reason—the solid sounding board I needed.
Kert always knew the right answer. He’d moved to New York, where he wasn’t half as renowned as in Europe, and taken a job at a local college. He’d been offered the chance to do an art installation for the college’s yard, and the smaller sculptures he’d been doing in our flat had been displayed in several exhibits in the area. We’d turned the storage closet into a tiny art studio where he’d do the dirty clay work while I painted on canvas in the living room. Some days, we’d work side-by-side, others we’d use our bodies to roll around among the chaos of art supplies. We’d found a balance of sex and art at home, even if our life outside it was still in artistic disarray.
