Page 40 of Stroke of Luck

I've done it. I’m at NIU going for my fine arts degree and will be graduating this year. I see pictures of the paintings and other artwork I’ve done through the years and am blown away at how far I’ve come. It seems as though I have my own website to sell my custom pieces, and I’m making a pretty penny on it. This is everything I’ve hoped for since graduating high school. Somehow I’ve managed to pull it off and stay out from under my parents’ control.

Someone steps behind me and wraps me up in a hug as tears roll down my cheeks and fall on the papers.

“Stellina, why are you crying? Does it say something bad?” Giorgi asks, kissing my temple.

“No, just the opposite,” I answer, taking a shaky breath. “It’s everything I ever wanted to do.”

Giorgi hums, his head resting on mine, giving me all the comfort he can. “If that’s the case, then I think it’s time we show you your surprise.”

We all get up from the table, and they lead me up to the third floor. Well, the rooftop garden and patio is more like it. It’s beautiful, and during the summer I can see myself spending a lot of time out here enjoying the sun and the view of the city around me. There is a building of sorts off in the right hand corner that they head towards. Othello unlocks the industrial looking door on wheeled hinges and slides it open, showing me inside. I gasp as I enter the space, stopping to turn in a circle to take it all in. The wall with the door and the connecting left wall are solid blank white walls with some cabinets and counter space, but the other two facing the city are glass, letting in all the natural light and giving me the feel of being outside.

In the center of the room is an easel with a blank canvas waiting on it and a stool for me to sit on. I head for the cabinets, opening them to find every kind of supply I could possibly need and some I’ve never had the chance to use. There is even a sink for me to use to clean up my brushes and such. If I hadn’t already been crying downstairs in the kitchen, I’d be bawling at this moment.

“Is this for me?” I ask hesitantly, for fear they’ll tell me no.

“Seeing as none of us know what to do with the stuff, I sure hope so.” Enzo smirks. “Skittles, why are you so surprised? You asked for this in the contract, and it was agreed that we would all do whatever was needed to make sure you have everything you need for your art. Plus, Othello hopes that with a space you can make your own, you might leave the rest of the house alone, but I think that’s wishful thinking on his part.”

Othello growls at Enzo before turning back to me. “I have no problem making some changes to the house within reason, but here you can make it everything you want.”

I run over and jump into Othello’s arms first, and he catches me without even blinking. Reaching up, I grab his face and squish his cheeks before I plant a kiss right on his fish lips. “Thank you so much for this, it’s perfect!”

Othello cups the back of my neck and kisses me for real, causing me to squirm in his arms as I feel him harden in his pants.

God, what is it about these men that can turn me on in a second?

“As much as I want to take credit for this, all the others did help make this happen,” Othello informs me as he sets me down. “I’m glad you are pleased with it though. I figure this is the perfect space, and we don’t really use it for much.”

Moving over to Giorgi, I give him a hug and kiss, continuing to move down the line until I reach Remo. He lifts me up without me even having to ask so that I can kiss him properly, seeing as he is the tallest next to Othello.

“You men sure know how to treat a lady.” I grin, looking over at them as Remo releases me.

“Don’t ever ask our exes if they agree with you. See, we’ve just been saving it up for the right woman,” Paolo teases, giving me a wink. “Sadly, we must leave you for now to get some work done.”

I pout, but I know I’ve derailed their lives enough the past few days.

“Now, now, don’t be like that, stellina. Othello will be home so you won’t be all alone,” Giorgi scolds, but the smile on his face tells me he isn’t close to being serious.

Giving them a sigh, I shoo them out of my new space. “Off with you then. Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

They smile at me, each giving me a kiss before they leave me to my own devices.

“Baby girl, I’ll be down in my office if you need anything. Otherwise, this is your house now too, and you are welcome to everything in it,” Othello assures me, giving me a bruising kiss before he too heads off to work.

I know he tells me this so I’ll feel comfortable here, but all it does is flip the switch in my brain that has me plotting what sort of trouble I might be able to get into while left unsupervised. Turning on my heel, I go through the cabinet again, taking stock of everything I have and what I might need for the idea brewing. Pulling open random drawers, I find a pad and some pencils, then I settle against the wall to sketch out my vision.

* * *

After taking a few trips to gather everything I need, I think I’m ready to start. Now I just have to pray that no one will feel the need to come find me before I can at least get going. Staring at the blank wall of the staircase that encases the elevator, I try to map it out in my head but know that I’m going to need a ladder for sure. Sneaking downstairs, I head to the garage, because where else do you find something like that? Thankfully, I find one that isn’t too large, so I can manage it myself. Back at the landing between the first floor and the second, I set the ladder up and get to work penciling out the rough outline of the image.

I have no idea how much time passes, but I’ve gotten the black outline done with paint, making me stand back and grin at it. The guys are either going to love it or be furious with me when they see it, but I did do them the favor of not putting it on the wall you look at from the first floor. You have to be heading upstairs to see this, and if what they told me is true, then they won’t allow anyone this far.

One of the household staff appears at the foot of the stairs, shocked to see me there. “Oh, ah, Master Lastra is looking for you, Madam.”

“Please don’t call me that, my name is Skyler,” I greet, holding out a hand that is covered in dry paint.

The woman seems nice enough, dressed in a simple black skirt and white button-down blouse. She looks at my hand and gives me a tight smile, as if she wants to be anywhere else but here.

“I’m sorry Madam, but we are not allowed to address you any other way per Master Lastra’s orders,” she explains.