Not that I want to be alone with someone who clearly can’tstand me. But I’ll take the work and the money.
“Then why don’t we both get our portraits done? Together,” Colin argues.
“Because I don’t want to be in it,” Pierce replies. “But I might want to watch,” he adds with a mischievous wink.
My cheeks grow hot as I silently watch them argue. I have to admit, Pierce does seem enraptured by Colin. He’s always admiring him, touching him, smiling at him as if he’s thinking of devious and filthy things he’d like to do to him.
For some reason, it makes me despise Pierce even more. He’s arrogant and obnoxious. There was a time when I was myself both arrogant and obnoxious. But things have changed.
“What do you say, Barclay?” he asks, and by the look on his face, I can tell he would never expect me to deny him.
“Of course,” I say without expression. “I could make it work. Perhaps tonight…after the party.”
I watch the movement in Colin’s throat as he swallows.
Then, I spot a hint of mischief in Pierce’s expression that has my eyes narrowing and my spine stiffening. Something about him has my suspicions raised, but I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.
“We should really get back inside to check on the caterers,” my sister says, tugging gently on my arm.
“Yes, of course,” Pierce says with a charismatic smile. “Thank you for everything you both have done.”
Colin doesn’t say anything as Anna and I move away from the party, but I feel his eyes following me. We’re barely out of earshot when my sister starts.
“I don’t feel right about this,” she mumbles under her breath. “There’s something strange about him.”
I shrug it off as I pick up the pace. I agree with her, but I won’t voice it. I won’t let Pierce’s peculiar behavior get in the way of this wedding and my future.
Besides, their relationship is none of my business. No matterhow uncomfortable it makes me.
* * *
It turns out running a wedding is bloody exhausting. Sometime after working out table assignments and making flower arrangements, I pass out on the chaise lounge in my studio. I skipped dinner altogether, so when I hear someone calling my name and wake up to see the windows are now dark, it takes me a moment to figure out if it’s very early or very late.
Then I recognize the blond figure standing over me with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Oh hey, Shakespeare,” I say groggily as I force myself to sit up.
“I’m going to tell him you’re too busy to do this,” he says in a flat tone.
“Too busy for what?” I ask.
“The painting, Declan.”
“Oh shit… Yeah, I forgot about that.”
“We’re not doing it,” he says coldly. “I’ll make up an excuse.”
I stand from the couch and run a hand through my long messy hair. “What are you talking about?” I ask. “You’re here. I said I’d do it, so I’ll do it.”
I keep a coffee press in the corner, so while I prepare myself a caffeine pick-me-up, I feel Colin standing like a statue behind me.
“Have a seat,” I say over my shoulder.
He doesn’t listen, which isn’t like him. I watch him skeptically from the corner of my eye as he starts to wander around my studio. When I notice him approaching the large chest in the corner, I tense, ready to pounce if he tries to open it.
My studio is a mess, still half in boxes and packaged-up old paintings. It has been my studio for as long as I can remember. Although it was never my bedroom growing up, I slept in here more often than not. I have a memory of my mother making my dad carry up an old mattress because she was tired of finding me sleeping on the dusty floor. It’s not the same one that’s up herenow, but it’s in the same place.
It’s an incredibly large room, so there’s space for the couch, a few tables, and heaps of boxes. I think it was once meant to be a nursery for children—ironically, it now belongs to a very immature grown man.
