The silence stretches on.
“Relax, Louis.” She gestures at me with the brush. “You went from relaxed to whatever this is.”
I hold her gaze. She’s not as unaffected as she wants me to believe, and the realization sends heat across my skin.
“You should keep painting,” I say.
“You should stop eye-fucking me.”
This makes me chuckle. “Please.”
She points the brush at me. “Behave.”
“And if I don’t?”
She’s fighting a smile, and that small crack in her composure undoes me. “You know what I appreciate about you the most?”
“Tell me.”
“You’re the epitome of controlled chaos. You balance both so well.”
A brow lifts. “I’m well practiced.”
“Fuckboy, heartbreaker bullshit,” she mutters.
“Oh, please. Like you’re any different, Little Miss Was Proposed to Twelve Times.”
She drops the paintbrush, quickly picks it up, then grabs a rag to clean up the mess. “Who told you that?”
I smirk. “I’ve learned a lot about you, Addison. Did you forget who I am?”
She scoffs. “Un-fucking-believable. But also, I’d love to see the file you were able to get pulled on me.”
“On paper, you’re perfect.”Almost, I think to myself.
“And in person?”
“That’s a conversation for another day.” I stop where this is going, knowing I have to take back control of this situation because we’re tumbling into dangerous territory.
She watches me for a moment, then returns to the canvas without pushing. The session continues in silence, but it’s not comfortable anymore. It’s full of tension, soft and gazing eyes, and patience.
“Regal,” she whispers with a side smile, focusing on her canvas.
I think I could sit here for the rest of the night, watching her work. When she concentrates, she bites the corner of her lip. Every brushstroke feels personal, like she is stealing my soul.
When the light shifts to gold, she steps back and stretches on her tiptoes.
“Okay, we’re done for today.”
I stand and move toward the easel. She sidesteps to block me, and suddenly, we’re close enough that I can see the faint sheen of sweat at her temples.
“No peeking.” She shakes her head. “Not until it’s finished.”
“And if I demand it?”
“Too damn bad.” She tilts her chin up. “Your princely rules end at the edge of my canvas, Your Highness.”
I narrow my eyes. “When will you show me?”
