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“Oh, hell, Julianna,” I say with sympathy, “come here.” I don’t know why, but her apology was the last thing I expected. I didn’t wait all this time to be with her, only for her to feel guilty and wind up putting a damper on our evening. I wrap her tightly in my arms, reassuring her with soft words. “All is forgiven, love. Please don’t cry. I want us to have a nice evening together.” I hear her breath hitch, and my gut tightens. I pull back and gently guide her chin up so I can meet her soft eyes. “I want to see you laugh, not cry, understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispers.
A small smile creases the corners of my lips. “As sweet as that sounds coming from your lips, I want you to call me Nick. I want you to be yourself around me. Save the ‘Sir’ for bedroom play,” I tease. “In the meantime, I don’t want you kneeling on floors, nor evading eye contact with me. Can you handle that?”
She shrinks back in surprise, and I watch as her features mix with fear and confusion. I tilt my head, studying her reaction. Yes, she’s scared witless. She most likely thinks I’m going to take a crack at her, just like Travis did. I won’t deny I wanted to beat her ass raw on her birthday; I had planned on doing exactly that until Travis caught me heading her way. I could hear her caterwauling all the way down the hall, sounding like a dying cat in a hail storm. Travis informed me he took her most prized possession, the inscribed medallion her father gave her. He thought by taking the family heirloom away from her, it would help her see things in a new light, and judging by her current behavior, I believe he was right.
“This isn’t a test, love.” I rub across her worried eyebrows, smoothing out the wrinkles. “We keep getting off on the wrong foot, and butting heads. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to start getting along.” She still looks uncertain, so I change the subject to something I know will relax her, and hopefully help her unwind and start her talking.
I slowly turn her around, encasing her in my arms from behind, giving her delicate shoulder a quick kiss before I rest my cheek against hers and gaze at the large painting hanging on the wall before us. We both stare at this colorful piece in silence for a moment, studying it. For some reason, she has always been captivated by this piece.
I had contacted the artist personally about a year ago asking her to name her price for recreating a large-scaled replica of what Julianna had hanging in her dorm room. “Exquisite piece, isn’t it, Princess?”
Her arm stretches out, and I watch as her long, graceful fingertip touches the protective glass, tracing along the water’s edge. “Yes, it is,” she whispers. “I’ve always enjoyed artwork that moves beyond the paint. I love the mixed media art as it creates such a unique diversity.” She pauses in thought for a few seconds, and then continues, “It’s an amazing process; when I start in one direction, I have a vision of what I want to make, and then the media suddenly shifts, transforming itself into something totally unexpected.”
“Totally unexpected, stunning, and unique, just like you,” I huskily whisper into her ear.
“Art is my life. I can’t breathe if I can’t express myself. It unlocks the stagnant doors in my mind, it gives me freedom, and it’s self-gratifying, because it’s something I created with my very own hands.” She turns her head briefly, holding eye contact with me, explaining, “I’d sometimes paint for hours on end, losing all track of time. I’ve even been known to skip meals.”
She speaks as if she’s in a trance, in another world. She’s in her element talking about art, and her shoulders relax as she shares a part of her world with me. This is the most she’s talked to me without spitting out venom and anger. “This is where I’m most happy,” she taps the clear glass covering the painting with her forefinger, “right here in this world, where every outside force surrounding me fades away, allowing me to capture pure peace and tranquility.”
She slowly twists her upper body in my arms, meeting my stare. “Thank you for having this made for me. I’ve found so much comfort in it over the past couple of weeks.” Her gratitude catches me off-guard as she’s gone from destroying cakes to saying thank you in a matter of days. I will personally have to thank Travis for his procedural modalities. My eyes flick over hers as I search for an inkling of deception, but I can plainly see she’s being genuine. I run my fingers through the ends of a curled section of her hair, mesmerized.
