“I’m sorry, Mother.” I turn my eyes down, clasping my hands in front of me. “I thought…I really thought they would be the ones.”
“It’s no matter.” Her dismissive tone has me looking back up at her. Maybe she’s not as angry as she usually is because she already has Pack Caruso lined up. “Go get cleaned up. I’ve had Freida put two acceptable outfits in your closet.”
My lips tighten into a line as I nod once. “Yes, Mother.”
She disappears out of my room without a second glance at me, shutting the door behind her. My shoulders slump, and I look at the painting I just finished before reaching behind it and carefully pulling at the tape holding the top layer of canvas in place.
Bright splashes of color peek from behind my decoy painting, swirling and dancing around a portrait of a woman. Her expression is fixed mid-scream as her hands claw at her hair. It’s beautiful but haunting.
I’m just about to cover it back up when there’s a quick tap on the glass double doors that lead to my balcony. My heart rate picks up, and I resist the urge to check my hair in the mirror. Teddy’s seen me at my worst, he won’t care if my braid is messy.
After we met a year ago, Teddy became my best friend. My confidant. My…well, my everything. He holds me when I cry, listens when I’m mad, and always,alwayssupports me.
How the hell was I supposed tonotfall in love with him?
But…he’s never crossed that line. I’ve never even kissed anyone, so I don’t even know where I would start if I tried to cross the line from friendship into something more.
Then there’s the fact I have no idea if he even feels remotely the same way, or if he’s just really sympathetic towards pathetic omegas locked up in their father’s mansions. There’s no way I’m going to put it all on the line and potentially fuck up the only friendship I’ve ever had.
Quickly, I lock my bedroom and turn to the balcony doors. Then, just like it does every single time I see the very British beta who found me mid-panic attack in a dark alley, my heart rate doubles.
Weirdly, it has nothing to do with my social anxiety and everything to do with my stupid, unrequited crush on him.
I still have no idea how he manages to sneak on and off my parents property with the amount of guards and security cameras we have. But he’s never been caught. Whenever I’ve asked, he’s only winked and told me that he “knows a guy”.
Teddy gives me a lazy grin and a little wave from outside. If I hadn’t met Teddy when he was in uniform, I might have been too afraid to talk to him in his usual outfit choice. Black combat boots, skinny jeans, a white tank top under a denim vest covered in patches, and a pair of drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket.
Between his clothing, the tattoos that cover literally every inch of skin that I can see besides his face, and his nose piercing, I definitely would have been too intimidated to say even a single word.
Now, though, it’s like I have my very own punk-rock Romeo to perform sonnets in my name.
Or, you know, deliver my profits from the underground sales of my paintings.
Though, as I reach over and unlock the door to my balcony, I feel a little uneasy. He doesn’t normally come to me until the day after the sale goes through. Didsomething happen?
Turning the handle and opening the door, I try my best to seem calm. “Hey,” my voice does this stupid breathy thing when there’s not a pane of glass between us, “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“Not ‘appy to see me, Dove?” He grins, stepping forward and making a beeline for my painting—the one that’s half covered by the decoy canvas.
“I’m never not happy to see you,” I say honestly as he studies the face of the woman I created. “I’m just…confused? You don’t normally come by until the day after an auction.”
It’s not safe to solicit private buyers, so Teddy takes them to auctions for me. My paintings sell under the pseudonym Sylvia Bloom—nobody knows they’re actually buying from a hidden mafia princess plotting her escape.
He grins, turning back to face me. “There’s nuthin’ normal ‘bout this sale though. I came straight from the auction ’ouse.”
“What does that mean?” My heart rate picks up. Normally my paintings go for a few hundred at most. One time, I had one sell for close to a thousand.
“It means,” he drawls, reaching into the inside of his vest, “you’re free, Wren.” He pulls a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills out, and my mouth drops open.
“Teddy…” I swallow, my gaze jumping from the cash in his hand to his face. “What did you do?”
“I di’nt do anythin’, Dove. This was all you.” He pushes the money at me, and my fingers shake as I count through it.
Twenty-five.
That’stwenty-five hundreddollars.
“And that’s only ‘alf,” Teddy says proudly. “They want your next piece too, and they’ll pay another twen’y-five for it.”
