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I’m wholly lost in the process as the scene continues to take on a life of its own. My whole body moving in rhythm with the canvas as I feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth.
Until I suddenly become aware of another’s presence.
Turning to look over my shoulder, I let out a startled cry as I find Cyprian leaning in the open doorway.
“How long have you been there?” I ask.
“A while. Please, don’t stop on my account.”
I hesitate before placing a few shaky strokes on the canvas. Glancing back at Cyprian, his eyes remain soft as he meets my gaze. He offers me a small smile that only serves to put me further on edge.
Did I give him the wrong impression earlier?
How is he even here? Only Father and I have keys to this workshop, not even Merelda was allowed one.
So, how is it that he’s come to be here?
Belatedly, I realize that in my eagerness to paint again, I’d forgotten to lock the door. He must have seen the light from the open window and …
“Why are you here?” I suddenly blurt out, relieved that my voice comes out frosty enough to take Cyprian by surprise.
He blinks, but doesn’t answer. Despite the way I narrow my eyes at him, he pushes away from the doorway and takes a step inside.
My heart races as his eyes move across the room, taking everything in before finally landing on my own work. I’m half tempted to shield my painting from him as he cocks his head to the side to get a better look.
And yet, I don’t.
He moves further into the room, coming to stand just behind my shoulder as he quietly looks at my art.
“It’s not finished—”
“It’s stunning.”
I blink in surprise. I’m not sure what to make of his words, let alone whether or not to believe them. His voice is gentle, but I can’t help feeling wary of trusting him. Not after everything his family has put me through.
Even after what he told me earlier.
Could this all be some kind of trick? Some means of getting me to put my guard down?
I watch him warily as he leans over me to study the painting closer, the heat of his body so close to my own making me shift uncomfortably on my feet. This sudden change in our dynamic is unsettling, to say the least.
Not that I don’t prefer whateverthisis compared to his usual detachment or his brother’s downright cruelty. Still, I keep a wary eye on him as he reaches around me to lift my art up into the light, careful to avoid touching the wet paint.
His body is all but pressed up against me from behind, the thundering of my heart only drowned out by the sudden sound of heavy footsteps just outside the workshop.
Cyprian lets out a low curse as he sets my painting back down on the easel. Before I have a chance to react, he’s already spun me around to face him, his hands wrapping around my upper arms as his jaw hardens.
Gone is the softness I’ve recently glimpsed in him, replaced with the cold aloofness I’ve come to expect of him.
“Cyprian,” I hiss, just as Amadeus suddenly appears in the doorway behind us. His eyes narrow on us as he takes in the scene. Then, the corner of his mouth twitches, his lip curling up in sneer as he steps wordlessly into my father’s workshop.
My stomach twists as he closes the door behind him, sealing me in here alone with the two of them …
“I’m impressed, brother,” Amadeus says, his eyebrow arching. “You actually managed to corner the little mouse ... And in the one place that Mother won’t think to look. Well done, indeed.”
Fear fills me as I glance from Amadeus to Cyprian.
His eyes have grown dark, trained on his brother, and it’s only now that I realize what a fool I’ve been.
