“What? Where?” she says, eyeing me with suspicion.
“I’m bored and I need air. A different view from the mansion,” I say, knowing what she’s feeling.
“A different view does sound pretty good,” she sighs, but her eyes are still rich with suspicion.
“Come on, I’m leaving in ten minutes. Or if you don’t want to join me, that’s fine, too. I’m happy to go alone,” I say, hoping she’ll take the bait as I turn to leave.
“No, wait for me. I’ll just grab my shoes,” she says, turning to run towards her room.
I smile, then go back downstairs to wait for her.
***
“I think he could have diversified the color palette,” she remarks, scrunching her nose at the painting as she leans closer to it. “I do like how he mixed the oils together, though. People often mix oil paints when it’s so much nicer to have the colors sort of squished together like that.”
“Squished?” I laugh. “You were sounding so professional until you said squished,” I tease.
She snubs her nose at me, then scrunches it in that cute way that I am really starting to love. So much attitude for such a tiny little pixie.
“Why are you taking me to all of these galleries?” she asks, making sure that I’m still fully aware of her suspicion.
“These are some of my favorite places,” I remark, gesturing around. There is a wide variety of unique art around us. Sculptures, paintings, mixed media on oddly shaped canvases.
In the corner, there is a life-sized ceramic orange parking cone, splattered with graffiti in neon colors.
“Okay, so this is about you?” she says.
“Actually, I thought you might want to pick something out. Anything. Your choice.”
“You mean I might want to buy some art?” she asks. “This work is clearly some of the most expensive art in the city. You just casually brought me here to buy a few pieces?” she scoffs.
“I’m not blind, Izabel. I’ve seen you enjoying the artwork at home. I know you have an eye and an appreciation for it.”
I cock my head to the side. If she knew the truth, that I had stalked every aspect of her life, that I had gone through her browser history and her gallery and her sketches and notes…
She might appreciate the effort I’ve made for her.
Then again, she might call me a creep.
Izabel lets out a sharp, annoyed breath and folds her arms across her chest. She shoots me a stern look of disapproval.
“You can’t win me over by manipulating me with things I like,” she huffs. “It has never worked on me before, and it won’t work on me now.”
“What do you mean? Worked on you before?” I walk quickly to follow her as she storms off, further into the gallery. Reaching out, I take her arm and turn her to face me. “Hey, answer me. What do you mean? I wasn’t trying to manipulate anything.”
Okay, to be fair, I was. I was trying to get her to be more receptive to me.
“Buying me things doesn’t make me happy. It doesn’t impress me. What impresses me is when people see me for who I am and not who they want me to be. I’m the type of person you win over by being genuine with me, holding a real conversation, not throwing money around,” she snaps.
There is a moment of silence, and I realize I’m still holding on to her arm. I let my fingers drop away and she takes a small step back, rubbing her hand over what I'd gripped her a moment ago.
I clench my jaw, closing my eyes for a moment and realizing my mistake. Her brother funds everything. He showers her in money, taking care of every financial need, but he doesn’t give her the one thing she craves—freedom to be herself without his influence and control. He doesn’t let her justbe,and one would probably find that all of their conversations revolve around him demanding things from her instead of asking herhow she’s doing and what she’s been up to. Or what her dreams are.
“Look, I’m sorry if it came across that way. It’s not what I intended.”
She rolls her eyes, not convinced.
“I brought you here because this place, and the other galleries we’ve been browsing today, are all special places to me.”
