She guides me down another hallway, darker than the previous one. There’s no windows here. The only light comes from the small bulbs casting their glow from the bottom of the floor.
Liv stops in front of an old painting with a gold frame. “This is one of my favorites.”
Bursts of golden yellow—sunflowers—are painted across the canvas. Some are wilting, while others don’t have any petals on them at all. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever seen, but art isn’t something I’ve ever taken an interest in.
Liv? I have a vested interest in her.
“Tell me why this is your favorite.”
Liv studies the painting, crossing her arms as she stares it, teeth worrying her bottom lip. “I don’t know. It always felt hopeful to me.”
“Hopeful? Hopeful about what?”
Aside from a few comments about her parents, I haven’t gotten much out of her about her past.
“It felt like sunshine when things got to be too much.”
“What was too much?” I step behind her, letting her know I’m there with my presence. For once, I don’t touch her. It seems if I do, she might shut down on me.
“The weight of being perfect,” she confesses.
“Who says you have to be perfect?”
“It always felt like there was an immense weight that I had to be perfect. Not a hair out of place. Not a paper that didn’t receive perfect marks. A piano recital practiced to perfection.”
“Really?”
Liv tilts her head to look at me before looking back at the painting. “Growing up wasn’t easy for me. If I wanted my parents’ attention, I had to be perfect. Anything less than that, and I wouldn’t get it.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else I can tell her. “Are you close with your parents?”
She shakes her head as she moves on to another painting. “Not as close as I want to be.”
Her shoulders hang heavy with her confession as she moves down the dark hall. Fuck. I hate that anyone would ever make this woman feel an ounce of pain. Liv is probably the most perfect person on the planet, and she doesn’t even have to try. At least not in my book.
“This is another one of my favorites.”
We stop in front of an old painting of a table with people surrounding it. Fruit is heaped on the table.
Breads.
Wine.
It looks like a party of sorts. Having just heard her confession earlier, I can see why she likes this one. Love and happiness ooze from the painting. The sweet woman Ilove yearned for something she never got from the people that were supposed to love her unconditionally.
“Do you come here often?” I ask her.
“Not as often anymore. When I moved here for uni, I came all the time. It’s an easy place to get lost.”
Clutching her by the shoulder, I take her into my arms. She clings to me as we stand in this dark hallway with people moving around us.
“If you ever get lost again, find me. I won’t let that happen. Ever.”
She squeezes me tighter. Nothing else needs to be said. I would do anything to protect the woman in my arms. She is precious in every way.
Would I feel this way about her if we hadn’t met that first weekend in London? I don’t know, but I am so fucking thankful that Alfie invited me out.
“Thanks for bringing me here today.” I press a kiss to the crown of her head.
