“Does he know when he’ll know?” Lawson asks.
“Anytime,” Bane says.
“We should talk about it later,” Hunter says softly.
“Food,” Remy says, placing a plate in front of me. They are hoping to distract me. It works, but I file away their conversation to ask about later.
“This smells delicious,” I say, grinning over my shoulder at him.
“Hopefully it tastes just as good,” Remy says, tugging on my hair before moving away.
“He’s always hoping for compliments,” Lawson says.
“He deserves it,” Rylee says, pressing her hands together as food is served to her. “I’ve eaten plenty of times at his restaurant. His place is fancy, but not the kind of fancy that you don’t know what the hell you're eating. This…” She points her joined hands toward the plate. “Is steak. It looks like steak, and you will not doubt it when you take a bite.”
“How long have you been a chef?” I ask, picking up my fork and knife.
“Professionally?” he asks, and I nod. Moving around the table, he serves his brothers. “Five years. I’ve cooked most of my life.” His jaw hardens, and he pauses before serving himself. “I worked in several restaurants as a waiter and saved enough to take classes. I eventually became a sous chef. I wasn’t a fan of working for someone else, so I decided to open my place.” I moan as I taste the first bite. “Good?”
“That’s amazing. I’ve had plenty of steak, but nothing like this,” I say, and he lifts a shoulder.
“I like food. I really enjoy feeding others.” He looks around the table and settles his attention on me. “It means more taking care of people I care about.” I lick my lips, and his eyes flicker.
“It shows.” I take a bite of the potatoes. They are rich and fluffy, yet still elegant. I'll never go hungry again.
“Do you show your art?” Lawson asks.
“Like an art show?” I ask, and continue savoring the steak.
“Yeah.”
“No.” I keep my eyes on my plate. “I paint for myself.”
“You should.” I look up quickly, meeting Bane’s eyes. “You’re talented as fuck.”
“Eloquent,” Remy says, shaking his head. He grins at Bane.
“Always,” Bane replies, his lips twitching.
“She’s always been gifted,” Rylee says, pointing her knife at me. “Painting has come naturally. I’ve been telling her she needs to share them with the world.”
“It’s not about attention,” I say, twirling my fork. “I don’t mind if people see them. I’m not seeking recognition, but peace.”
“Peace?” Lawson turns toward me.
“So much of my life has been out of my control. When I sit down to paint, it’s about what I feel and my actions with a brush. I can make whatever I want, and there won’t be any judgment if I color outside the lines. The paints reflect my emotions. I choose the colors and the direction I take it.” I shift on my seat, uncomfortable with their intense focus on me. If I want them to open up to me, I need to reveal more about things I have tried to forget. “My mom died when I was ten. She had cancer.”
“Fuck, Princess,” Hunter rumbles, sliding his hand on my thigh.
“I watched her wither away. She loved me desperately. I would sit on her bed with her, and she would tell me about all the places she traveled before she met Father. She loved to paint and documented the places she’d seen. All of her art was displayed in one of the rooms in the house. We spent hours sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, admiring the bright colors. Even after she got sick, she demanded we still do it. We would pile blankets and pillows. Father was so angry. He thought she needed to stay in bed, not entertain me.” I laugh softly. “Mom gave him a stern look and told him, ‘She’s still my Princess. I want to share my world.’"I glance at Hunter. His nickname means something more than what he meant it to. “Father didn’tunderstand. I'll remember those moments forever. Instead of Mom brushing and braiding my hair, I did hers. She complained that there was no need because she didn’t have much left. It was thin, but I knew it made her feel like everything was normal.” I meet Rylee’s eyes. I told her about my mom years ago, so none of this is a surprise to her. “The cancer spread quickly, and nothing helped. She caught it too late. She passed away beside me on the floor, holding my hand, surrounded by her art.”
“Jesus, baby,” Bane whispers.
“Haven,” Remy says. Lawson bows his head and covers my hand on the table with his.
“I was destroyed,” I say roughly. “But it was beautiful. She died with the loves of her life around her. After she was gone, I wanted to follow in her footsteps and take some painting classes. Father refused. He wasn’t always such a bitter man. He loved her and treated her well. Honestly, I think he loved her more than she did him. When she was alive, she was the one in control. She could say a few words and calm him down. Once he was alone, there was no one to hold him back. He didn’t want any reminder of her in the house, so painting was out of the question.”
“Do you look like your mom?” Hunter asks.
