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“Do you understand, little painter? I love you. That’s why I have to let you go. You can’t be with a man like me.” I acquired her for selfish reasons. For sex reasons. Maybe even love reasons, but it’s real now. I care about her more than myself, more than my need for control. I love her enough to give her back her freedom–even if it means never seeing her again.
Tears cling to her lashes. “That doesn’t make any sense. If you love me, then we should be together.”
Our time runs out. Sooner than I expected. Sooner than I wanted, but the impending disaster would have arrived at some point. This was only ever temporary, as much as I wanted to believe otherwise. I always loved her enough to let her go.
I press a kiss to her forehead. Another one to her lips.
We both reach for my wetsuit at the same time.
It’s a scramble to get it on. Her hands are deft on the zipper. Tears run down her face, but she’s steady. Focused. “I’ll make sure no one touches your paintings.”
“It’s not the paintings I’m worried about. It’s you. They’re going to assume I’m still inside with you. They’re going to be ready to shoot. You won’t have much time to explain.” I press the burner phone into her hand. “You call first. If you don’t, they’ll storm the house. Upstairs. Quickly.”
Daphne hesitates. “Please come back.”
“You won’t be here,” I say. “You’re going to stay far away from me, where it’s safe. I’m no good for you, little painter. No good for anyone, but especially you. I wish you could see yourself.” Her cheeks are tearstained, her lips trembling. She’s a mess. A beautiful mess. “You’re a work of art. My favorite piece. I’ll remember it forever.”
