“But also, if there were anyone else here I wouldn’t be able to do this …” He supports the back of my head and dips me backwards like they do in the movies for a long hard kiss. When he brings me upright, he runs a hand down over the curve of my waist and squeezes my ass, groaning into my mouth.
“I could get lost in you, Ari,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” My already pink cheeks heat even further and I look away, but his hand comes up to cup my chin, “Arianna, don’t be shy, not around me, not ever. You. Are. Beautiful. And I will tell you every day, ten times a day so you believe me.”
My heart doesn’t stand a chance. It’s exposed and bare for Denham to do with it what he will. I smile shyly at him, and he strokes my cheek gently with his thumb, kissing me softly on the lips.
“And as much as I would love to stay here and kiss every inch of your beautiful skin, I have some things I need to see to.”
“Sure,” I say softly. It’ll give me time to get my head out of the spin that it’s in and think straight. Not that I think I will feel any differently. It’s a feeling I could get very used to. But so many things have happened that I just need time to process it and put it all in order.
“I’ll be two hours, max.”
He makes for the door, my hand slipping from his and letting go of my fingertips at the last minute.
“Denham,” I call after him. “I think you may want to get changed into some dry clothes first.” I giggle.
He gives me a wink and a flash of that cute dimple I’m becoming very fond of, before leaving me standing here feeling like a schoolgirl with a grin on my face the size of the ocean.
Time on my own is good. I love to have the freedom and space to do as I please. As much as I enjoy Denham’s company, I need to keep my head and build my independence once again. I’ve spent a long time being stamped down and overruled.
Life as it was three days ago is finished. I feel a jumble of emotions, and I’m not sure which one to deal with first. I’m devastated. I didn’t want it to be over like this. I feel guilty. Not because he came here looking for me. No, I feel guilty for being relieved. I’m so damn relieved that I can put 'Natalie Jamesson' to bed and move on from that part of my life. And the guilt for feeling that way is making me sick. I also still have no information about how Aaron is doing. I can’t cope with it. I can’t deal with it right now.
I flick on some music as a distraction. I need all the answers and I need closure on everything before I can undo the jumble, but I don’t have the capacity to do that right now, so I strip out of my wet clothes and take a quick shower before dressing in a robe and sitting in the middle of the huge bed.
I take the opportunity to look over my past designs and pull every sketch out of my treasured folder. It is worn and tattered around the edges, but it has come everywhere with me for the last five or six years. There are years of visions transferred to paper and there is so much of me invested in the kaleidoscope of designs. If there was one thing I would save in a fire it would be this. It’s been my saving grace, my focus, my passion. It might have sat in a bottom drawer for many years while I lived with Jonny, but just knowing it was there, knowing that I could pick up the soft lead pencil and loose myself in flowing lines and stunning angles was a huge comfort.
When real life was tough to take, I would picture ideas and visions in my head—a ballroom full of possibilities, and fantasize about having my one dimensional visions brought to life.One day.That is how I detached from even the darkest of days and found a light.
One day.
Just a quick glance through and I feel myself inwardly smiling. There are only a couple of blank pieces of paper left, but I have so many ideas bouncing around in my head that I can’t wait. I can feel every little grain in the paper as the pencil that feels so comfortable in my hand works over the page. Everything I’ve ever gained inspiration from is stored in a compartment in my brain, safely tucked away for future use. I get lost in creation, in a page of black and white soft lines and curves.
I get lost in the one thing that makes my heart happy.
A little noise breaks me out of my bubble and I naturally whip my head up toward the doorway. When I lock eyes with Denham, I smile. “How long have you been standing there?” I ask, then frown. “And how did you get in?”
“I knocked, you didn’t answer. I thought I had better come and make sure you were okay.” He shrugs.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you knock. I was—”
“Busy drawing?”
“Sketching. It’s nothing really, just a hobby.” I try and brush him off like it’s no big deal, but he starts to walk toward me, so I scoop up all the papers and start to tuck them into my folder.
“Wait.” He holds his hand out to me. “Let me see…I want to see.”
“I’ve never shown anyone…”
I’m holding most of the designs tightly to my chest. There are still a few strewn around the bed that I haven’t picked up yet, so Denham reaches forward and picks up one of my older designs. It’s a favorite of mine—a beautiful silk ball gown inspired by adesigner that I was lucky enough to meet when I was in LA. I can hardly believe I designed it.
“Arianna …”
Self-doubt overcomes me, and even though I love it, I’m nervous about letting others see. “You don’t have to say you like it.” I reach up and try to take it from him, but he turns his body from me so I can’t reach. “Denham—”
“Will you stop it, woman? I’m trying to look.” He chuckles and I sit back on the bed cross-legged and nervous.
Why am I nervous? Why do I care what he even thinks?
“You did all of these?” He gestures to the remaining few pieces on the bed.
