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It took me nearly a week to try to paint him—or something that resembled him—but three weeks to finally pick the weather I wanted to paint. I decided to mix the days together. Only a couple of clouds in the sky—that way the sun could cast a light on his face, revealing his features.
The way his face brightened when I gave him the painting, he looked so shocked, as if I’d just handed him the Mona Lisa. And I don’t even know how to describe his excitement when I handed him the painting set.
It was such a small encounter every day, but he is the reason I still paint today. Because of him, I found a way to let out my emotions without harming anyone’s feelings.
I found my outlet.
The picture I took of my sister at the altar with Carlo on their wedding day will be the best one-year anniversary gift for them next year. It would have been great to give it to them for the wedding present, but there is no way in hell I’ll be able to paint all the details in less than a week.
I look up on the shelf, trying to find my box of watercolors. After pushing a couple of books out of the way I find it covered in dust. For months I’ve only used acrylic, so I hope I don’t mess this painting up.
I grab the box off the shelf.
“I can help get that for you,” an all too familiar voice says in the corner of the room. The books come tumbling down on top of me, hitting me in the face.
“Merde!”I shout, pressing the palm of my hand to my nose. I look down at my feet and see Giovanni sitting in the chair.
“You scared me,” I say, trying to catch my breath. I could have sworn I was alone.
“Not what my intentions were.” He swirls the alcohol around in his glass.
“And what were those intentions?” I don’t know why I’m trying to have a conversation with this man. I think he and I can both agree that we are anything but civil with one another.
“I was in here first.” He flashes his straight white teeth at me.
“This is my house.”
“Mine too.” He brushes nonexistent crumbs off his expensive black suit. “We are family now, remember?”
I cringe at his words.Family. I don’t want to consider him a part of my family, because it feels like he isn’t. His cousin married my sister, not him.
Screw family relations.
I roll my eyes at him and start to pick up the books that hit me on the head.
“What’re you painting?” he asks in a deep, interested voice.
“What does it look like to you?” I sound like I’m mocking him, but I truly just want to see if he can figure out what it is. I only have the main details sketched out so far: the willow tree behind the archway, and a couple of chairs on the right of the canvas.
“Carlo’s wedding?”
“Yep.” My breath is cut in half when I feel his body only inches away from mine. The warmth radiating from his body sends chills down my arms.
“You just going to stand there all day?” I want him to back away from me. I don’t know how much of his company I can stand anymore.
He inches closer to my ear. “I’ll do what I want, Nina.” My name flows softly off his tongue. A deep Italian accent, deeper than I have heard anyone say my name before.
I can’t deny it, Giovanni is very easy on the eyes. But I can’t think like that.
I am supposed to marry another man.
“And . . .”—my voice sounds shaky—“what is it that you want?” I press my lips together, forcing myself to shut up.
His fingers lace through the tank top string, making it fall down my arm. My lungs fill fast and empty faster. His fingers trace my collarbone. I look down and notice just how many tattoos have been inked into his fingers. A year is displayed across four of his fingers.
2004.
He grabs the string and pulls it back into place. “A little revealing for you, no?”
