The rest of the afternoon, I go back to my canvas—my escape, my medicine, my confessional. For this piece, I pick the colors deliberately: Red for passion, desire, everything I can’t say out loud. Yellow for energy, the kind I fake every day. Blue for authority, and the trust I broke. Orange for ambition, for what we could’ve had. Black for elegance… and for the darkness that lingers no matter how much I pretend it doesn’t.
I step back to look. It’s not finished. But it hums. It buzzes with tension, with feeling. My hands tingle with the adrenaline of it. Because I see him in it. His eyes. His pain. His ghosts. And whether I want to admit it or not… I seebetrayal,too. I know I broke the trust between us. He doesn’t know why I did it—why I had to. That I did it for him.
That was the most selfless thing I’ve ever done.
Today we’re celebrating one year together, and we’ve started planning our future.
The plan is perfect: I’ll sell my art to all those snobby collectors who think they’ve just discovered the next big thing, and Luca said he’ll work part-time doing whatever, assuming his dad cuts him off entirely for the decision we’ve made. With that money, we can get by until we finish college and finally head out into the world. Maybe we’ll even travel—both of us want to see Europe. He says he wants to go to the capital of philosophy, Athens, and walk the same ground Aristotle once walked.
If it means seeing him happy, I’d do absolutely anything.
Simple as that.
Now I’m waiting outside my house for Luca. He said he wants to celebrate our first anniversary—one of many to come. So I tried to dress up a little. Not a dress or anything, just a pair of jeans, a soft pink blouse, and my hair down.
When he pulls up, I’m already standing at the curb, buzzing with excitement. I always feel this way when I see him—likebutterflies on caffeine. Passionate, a little violent. The best kind of nerves.
“You look beautiful,” he says, smiling as he steps out of the car. His mouth lands on mine, and for a second, we both disappear into a kiss that tastes like promises.
He’s way overdressed—crisp white shirt, tailored slacks, and a ridiculously expensive cologne that smellsverymale. Sometimes I forget he comes from serious money. It’s easy to forget—he never flaunts it. But moments like these? They’re a reality check.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, glancing at his outfit and instantly second-guessing mine.
“You’ll see.”
On the way to this mysterious destination, we talk about our lives—about everything happening lately. Luca applied to my university, and I got my acceptance letter this week. We have plenty to celebrate.
“We’re here,” he says, parking near the museum.
“Luca!” I squeal. “This is where?—”
“Our first date was. Yeah, I know. Unforgettable.”
We walk in hand in hand, just like that day when I told him that busy streets made me anxious. This time, he doesn’t even ask; he just leads us around the chaos. The sun is setting, and the streets are full of people trying to get home.
But for us, the night is just beginning.
“Doesn’t it close at six?” I ask, pausing at the door.
“It does. But I made arrangements with the restaurant. We’ve got a few hours.”
I stop, blinking. “That must’ve cost a fortune.”
He just smiles, gently pulling me toward the entrance. “My dad’s treating. Don’t worry.”
I know this museum like the back of my hand. I come here often, sometimes alone—to study technique, catch free talks, orjust stare at art until my soul resets. The space is silent, only our footsteps echoing through the sanctuary of creation. I tighten my hand around Luca’s, unable to contain the bubbling in my stomach.
In the center of the modern art wing, there’s a small square table, set with a black cloth, elegant dishware, and flickering candles.
“Luca! I can’t believe this!” I laugh, actually bouncing where I stand.
We sit across from each other, and Luca is grinning like a boy with a secret.
A server in a suit arrives with silver trays, laying them before us like we’re royalty.
“Thanks, Murray,” Luca says warmly.
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
