He looked around. “You think these are all by the sameperson?”
“I think so. Look at the detail, the way the bodiesare formed, it’s all in the same style. It’s an installation by one artist. Ijust don’t recognize any of the pieces.”
“You’re really into art then?” Jesse asked, soundingsurprised. “Do you paint too? Or just appreciate?”
We moved over to the next painting. Another woman, herface only partially covered this time. I blinked at it for a long moment. Thewoman seemed familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but there was somethingabout her face that I recognized.
“I just appreciate,” I finally answered Jesse’squestion. “I mean, I’ve definitely tried my hand at painting before. Like whenI was younger. But I struggled to come up with my own voice.”
“What do you mean?”
I tore my eyes from the woman half submerged in thesame lake from the last painting. This time her hood had slipped back, onlycovering her eyes, as she tipped her head back and gasped for one last breath.
Focusing on Jesse, so I could give him my fullattention and stop being so rude, I said, “I just never found that originalvoice inside me, that unique story I had to tell. I got good at copying otherartists, replicating what had already been done. But I could never seem topaint something original.”
“I find that really hard to believe. You’re so…comfortable in your own skin.”
My cheeks heated faintly. “Do you mean weird?”
He chuckled. “No, that is not at all what I meant. Imean, you’re so confident. So completely sure of who you are. I can’t pictureyou struggling to know yourself. Even in painting.”
His compliments soothed some of my old insecuritiesthat I hadn’t realized had surfaced until now. “I was younger,” I explained.“And truthfully, I didn’t really know myself. I’ve grown up a lot since comingto Colorado. Having a kid will do that to you, I suppose.”
“What brought you to Frisco?” His question was sonatural that I couldn’t even blame him for it.
I had been the one to bring up my move. I hadbasically opened the door for him. But I still didn’t want to answer it. Noteven to someone like Jesse who I mostly trusted.
Taking a sip of mojito to stall, I turned back to thepainting. This was why I shouldn’t date. This reason right here. Where couldthis even go?
I should have played this out better. I should havethought of every scenario, of every possible outcome. Where was my duediligence?
Sure, I could make this up as I went. I could answerevery one of his questions with a lie. But then that would be our relationship—astorybook of lies and half-truths. I could maybe even remember them all andkeep them straight, but then Jesse would never fall for me. He’d fall in lovewith the girl I told him I was, the girl I made up to give him pretty answersthat wouldn’t get him killed.
I couldn’t even get naked in front of him withouthaving to explain the orthodox cross tattooed over my right breast or the pussin boots on my left hip. Symbols of my old life, of my old position as a thief.I wasbratva. I wasbratok,a soldier. I was not Russian by blood, but in every other sense I was onehundred percentVolkov.
But I hadn’t played this all the way through because Inever thought I’d actually say yes to this man. The fact that not only had Isaid yes to a date, but also managed not to think about what would happen beyondit said I was seriously losing my touch.
Goddamn, Caro.
It wasn’t like I could keep seeing him. I could neverbe the girlfriend he wanted, expected. I would never open up to him and tellhim about my past or what brought me to Colorado or why I had a go-bag stashedin the trunk of my car and cash hidden all over my apartment. I couldn’t even answereasy questions honestly, like where were my parents? And why did we never govisit them? Or stupid questions, like, where did you go to elementary school?Do you have Facebook?
I licked dry lips and mumbled the inane excuse I’dgiven Maggie once upon a time. “I just needed a change of scenery.”
He stepped closer, no doubt struggling to hear me.“Really? That’s why you moved here?”
I should have known a flippant, canned responsewouldn’t be enough for Jesse. He wanted a peek into who I really was and whatmade me make life altering decisions. He wanted to know me,reallyknow me. But he could never knowthe truth. And not just because I was afraid of scaring him or that he wouldcall the police or even that he would judge me. He could never know about mypast for his sake. For his protection.
Meeting his gaze again, I threw myself into the lie,the con, the game I could play so easily. He wanted more from me. Well, herewas more. “I fell in love with the mountains. It was like love at first sightfor me. I wanted to live somewhere with depth and soul and… personality. Ithought, why the heck not? I asked Francesca if she wanted to come with me,which of course she did. We threw everything into my car and headed out here. It’sbeen the best decision I’ve ever made.”
His lips stretched into a sweet smile. He believed me.“I agree.”
Something about his blind trust took a dig at myheart, tore away at the hard layers I’d built around my callous outlook on life.It made me hate how convincing I was, how good at the game I’d always been.Jesse Hasting was so much better than me. He was the kind of good I would neverbe. It wasn’t fair of me to hold his attraction. He deserved better than me.
A waitresswalked by and I latched onto the opportunity to change the subject. “Excuseme.” I touched her shoulder before she could speed away. When she turned to me,I gestured at the painting. “Who is the artist? I can’t seem to find a nameanywhere.”
She smiled the same kind of adoring smile Cass had atthe bar. “He’s one of the owners,” she explained. “He and his partner wanted toopen with his installment.”
Awe swelled inside my chest as I took that in.
