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“Do you know where Griffin is?” I edge forward on my heels. They’re too tight. I thought I’d be able to kick them off and slide into bed with Griffin as soon as I got here.
“At the office. He had a late meeting with a client.” He moves closer to the framed sketch. “Griffin told me that you’ve been teaching him how to draw.”
I laugh. “I’m trying to teach him how to draw.”
“So that talent doesn’t run in the family?”
I pause to take in his words. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
He looks over at me, his gaze softening. “You don’t know, do you?”
Apparently not since I’m lost back where he said that talent doesn’t run in Griffin’s family. I stare blankly at him.
“Come with me, Piper.” He holds out his hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I slide my hand into his, trusting in his kind eyes and my need to know more about the man I’m falling in love with.
***
Tears stream down my face as I stare at the walls of Griffin’s home office. I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s intense and compelling.
I look to my side at Sebastian. “Are there more like this?”
“Dozens.” His hand rests on his chin. “These are the ones that mean the most to Griffin. The rest are packed away in a room at his partner’s home. Dylan Colt’s place. Griffin goes there sometimes to look at them.”
I move closer to the center of the room and turn slowly on my heel, taking it all in. My heart hammers in my chest as I study each brush stroke, every tender detail and the haunting pain that jumps out from each canvas.
“Why didn’t he tell me about this? About the person who painted these?”
Sebastian’s hand falls to the center of his chest. “It’s too painful. There’s a story here that’s not mine to tell, Piper. I just wanted you to see these so you can understand more about Griffin. I can tell that you care about him. I know he cares about you.”
As I scan the paintings again, my eye catches on a square silver frame sitting atop a counter. I squint as I look at the photograph inside of it.
It’s a black and white capture of a beautiful light-haired woman. Her hair is blowing in the wind, partially masking her face, but I can see her smile.
I approach the frame, wanting to know who she is and if these haunting beautiful masterpieces are a product of her hand.
I knew instantly when I walked into the room that it wasn’t Griffin who created these. The artist is tortured, their inner pain so apparent that it drips from each canvas.
“Who is she?” I skim my fingers over the edge of the frame. “Is she the artist?”
“No,” Griffin’s strangled voice catches me by surprise.
I turn to see him in the doorway of the room, his hands fisted at his sides, his face devoid of expression.
“Get out, Sebastian.” He doesn’t look at his friend. “Get the hell out of my house.”
“I love you like a brother,” Sebastian says calmly. “You need to let her in, Griffin. Let her in.”
“Leave,” Griffin barks out. “Now.”
Sebastian looks to me before he makes his way to the door. He doesn’t turn back and when I hear his footsteps fade I turn to face Griffin.
“Who painted these?” I rub my forehead. “Who painted them, Griffin?”
He lowers his head in silence.
“I can see that this is painful,” I say softly. “Help me understand.”
