Sage snorts, seemingly unimpressed by my curt response. "Whoa, there, Mr. Cavanaugh. No need to get so defensive. You know, I'm not a therapist, but you might want to work on that temper."
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to snap at her again. "What are you even doing here? Do you work for some gossip magazine or something? You here to dig up celebrity secrets?"
She rolls her eyes, leaning back on her stool. "First off…” She cocks her head. “I think it’s cute you think you’re acelebrity.” My posture stiffens and she laughs. “Relax, Damon, not everyone is out to hurt you."
I rub my temples, a headache forming. "I don't need your insights, and I certainly don't need you psychoanalyzing me."
Sage shrugs, undeterred. "Maybe not, but itwouldn't hurt to let people in. Having a support circle is essential, you know? Someone you can trust."
I let out an exasperated sigh. "I have support."
"Oh, really?" Sage lifts a skeptical brow. "Who's your support, then?"
I scowl, irritated by her persistence. "That's none of your business."
Sage smirks. "Come on, it's not like I'm going to stalk them or anything. I'm just curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat," I mutter under my breath.
Sage forges ahead. "I bet it's that gorgeous woman who attended the Marquis Foundation event with you last year."
My jaw tenses at the mention of Emery.
Sage notices my reaction and pounces on it. "Oh no, is it unrequited love? That's almost as bad as death."
I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. Sage's assumptions are way off base. Emery is not some unrequited love interest. She's my life, my friend, my person, and I know she loves me, regardless of her public relationship with Quinton. It's complicated but it's our reality. Sage doesn’t have the slightest idea of what she’s talking about.
She leans in, studying my face. "Come on, Damon, spill it. Who's the mysterious support in your life?"
I glance at her, my tone firm. "None of your business,Sage."
She pouts playfully. "You're no fun.”
Thankfully, for the rest of the class, Sage’s mouth remains shut, and I lose myself in the art. I can’t believe her audacity. Who asks such invasive questions? She’sacting like we’re friends. Like I owe her answers. It’s ridiculous. Completely inappropriate.
I splatter paint on the canvas, sinking into a world of my own creation. It’s only me. The paint. And the canvas. They are me, and I am them. Together, we try to make sense of the chaos. Together, wetry.
Before I know it, Bella’s voice barrels through the borders of my isolated mind, and the class is over. Fucking finally.
As she walks around the room, a cheap commercial chocolate bar in hand, she hums and awes, her animated brows doing the talking for her. When she does a full circle, she stops near her desk and clears her throat.
“You all did a fabulous job today! Truly. However, there is one student who stood out from the rest.” Her cheery gaze floats in my direction and I freeze, almost unable to breathe. “Damon, dear. Your interpretation was by far my favorite this week. Congratulations!” She shuffles over to me, and her smile reminds me of Josephine. She hands me the chocolate bar, patting me on the shoulder. “I can’t wait to see what you create next week.”
I stare at her, unable to form an expression other than pure shock. “Th-Thanks.”
“Ayy,” Sage sings, elbowing me as Bella walks away. “Look at you go, Mr. Picasso.”
I roll my eyes, pocketing the chocolate bar as I stand up. “Have a good life, Sage.”
“I’ll see you next week!” She calls after me and Icringe, vowing to never step foot in this studio ever again.
Immediately, I take out my phone and call Emery.
“So? How was it?” she asks.
“I won a chocolate bar,” I say, deadpan. Her laughter crackles through the receiver. “I am never coming back here. I tried, and it’s not for me.”
Emery’s laughter dies out, her tone now serious. “Damon, it’s one class. You can’t give up after one class.”
