“Wait, what?” I frowned. “What do you mean you needed it?”
Knox grunted and set the bowl down hard onto the counter, dropping the spoon into the mixture and pressing his palmsagainst the marble on either side of the bowl. “What do you think?”
I exhaled slowly. Knox was staring at me with such intensity, like this was a test he already knew I was going to fail.
I swallowed. I couldn’t fail. I had to have an answer good enough for him, right?
“Um, what do I think?”
Knox rolled his eyes. “Yes. Why do you think I participated in that stupid fucking auction if not for the cash, huh?”
“I…don’t know. I don’t really know what the auction was about.”
Knox’s glare stayed on me, steady, like it was never going to falter. “Your dad went. And your sister.”
“Yeah, and not me,” I retorted, knowing I probably sounded petulant. “You showed up at my apartment.”
“I was invited,” Knox scoffed, but the tension in his shoulders was easing, even if just a little.
“I know,” I nodded, “my dad invited you. He wants me to finish the painting. You’re here so I don’t have an excuse not to.”
“What the hell does that mean?” But the darkness had left his eyes now, replaced with the same thoughtful curiosity as when he’d asked me about it two days prior.
I rubbed the back of my neck, averting my eyes from his intensity. “Nothing. Just a deadline for this exhibit thing.”
“You got into an art exhibit and you’re crying about it?” Knox’s voice was even, emotionless apart from disapproval, which just made me shrink further into myself.
“I’m not crying about it,” I crossed my arms and squeezed my elbows, needing the pressure. “It’s just hard. I’m trying to work through it.”
“You signed up for it.”
“He signed me up for it!” I snapped, my own gaze meeting his startled one.
I winced. “Sorry. Sorry. I should not be taking this out on you. I’m sorry.”
“Damn, say it one more time, will you.” He snorted, amusement tugging up his lip at the corner. “Chill, okay? I don’t need your ‘I’m sorries.’ I’ve got other things on my mind.”
Feeling dismissed, I turned and trudged back to my easel, where the pastel color swatches stared at me expectantly.
Even my own art was angry with me, but I couldn’t blame it. I was glaring at it, hating it with every part of my being because it wasn’t what I loved anymore. I wanted the abyss, with its dark tones swirling across the canvas like a melancholy Greek myth of the Underworld. I wanted to show the darker parts of a person, of their mind.
Surrealism had called to me, and once I embraced it and put brush to canvas that first time, I knew there was no going back. I knew that with each new painting, I would only fall further into that swell of my own emotions and of the characters I envisioned myself to be.
But that wasn’t very romantic, was it?
I was supposed to be painting a romantic piece, with bright colors, flower pearls, and something that evoked the smell of roses and chocolate. Mr. Vender had planned the exhibit for his wife, and I couldn’t disappoint with the main piece when I knew the painting was meant to be a gift for his wife for Valentine’s Day.
I sighed and popped another carrot into my mouth before raising my paintbrush again. “Just keep painting, Lucy.”
6
KNOX
“What do you mean?” Duke hissed through the phone as I shouldered my bag and jammed the key into the lock of Lucy’s door. “You can’t possibly know that you failed the interview. They’ll call you. I know it.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know that. I was there, remember? And they’re not interested. I’m fresh out of school, and I don’t have any experience further than that food truck I forced you to help me with in high school.”
And I’d had to sell that food truck when Nana had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Someone had to pay for her treatments because her insurance had royally fucked her over.
