She hangs in the same place she always has. Mother and child, gold halo catching the light, blue robes that seem to glow even in the dimness. Serene. Unreachable. The kind of beauty that makes your chest ache if you look too long, like she’s holding something you’ll never have and never lose at the same time
I stand in front of her, arms loose at my sides, breathing in the quiet. Like if I stay still long enough, I might borrow a little of her calm, her strength.
Then I hear him enter.
“Avoiding me?”
I don’t turn around. “Trying to.”
“And yet here you are.” His footsteps approach. Stop too close behind me. “In my my gallery.”
“You make it difficult,” I say. “The trying.”
“Good.” His voice is low. Rough. “That’s the point.”
I should step forward. Put distance between us. But my feet won’t move.
He’s changed since lunch. White shirt now, sleeves rolled to his elbows, top buttons undone like he’s finally let go of some of the armor he wears all day. The hollow of his throat catches the light, shadowed and open. Chest hair dark against olive skin, a few strands just above where the fabric parts. And something else. Ink curling along his collarbone, black lines twisting and disappearing beneath the white linen.
Tattoos.
He has tattoos. All this time, under his pristine, pressed linen…
He didn’t have them in my dream.
Stop looking stop looking stop?—
He reaches for my face.
“Don’t.” I try to pull away. He catches my chin anyway.
His grip is firm. Controlling. Not asking permission.
“You recoiled this morning,” he states as his thumb brushes along my jaw. “Why?”
“Because you’re a psycho.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Not anger. Something darker. Hungrier.
“Your pupils dilate when I’m near.” His voice drops lower, dripping with intimacy. “Your breathing changes. And your nipples?—”
I try to pull away. His other hand grips my waist, holds me still. The heat of his palm searing through thin fabric.
“I’m tired of your games, Violet.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Let go.”
“I don’t know what you’re?—”
“Look down,tesoro.”
I keep my eyes on his. Defiant.
“Look.”
Something in his voice makes me obey.
I look down.
My nipples are hard. Straining against the thin fabric. Visible. Obvious. Betraying me again.
