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“I just don’t want to lose them or fight about it if they do have a problem with it.” I sigh.
“It’s one of those things you have to take a gamble on. It’s hard to tell how people will react to something like this but at least ask them to hear you out.” Sara rubs my hand and I nod.
I still felt just as lost about telling Ellie and Morgan but I know I won’t be telling my family anytime soon. Even telling Reagan feels like I am exposing myself to the world. Who knows how she’ll react and then to ask her to keep that from the family? I can’t ask her to do that. I will keep this to myself and Sara for the time being and eventually tell my friends. Maybe in a few months when I am already doing the job for a while and it is clear I am going to continue it.
* * *
Sitting at my easel,I try to tune out everything around me. I want to paint and not think about anything else but it is proving difficult. Sara isn’t home, which makes it a little easier and I have my music blasting but I am still thinking, well overthinking about Dylan instead of painting. It is like I have artist’s block. I am completely blocked when it comes to anything artistic. It is clear what I want to draw about. Dylan is the only thing on my mind. So I ignore all my better judgment and I draw her.
I paint the angle of her nose, her dark eyes, and how beautiful she looks. It’s better than any of my recent pieces, but I know her features better than I care to admit. It is a half body portrait, getting just to her waist, drawing her in a dress I’ve seen her in before. Black, silk, and off the shoulder spaghetti strapped laces. She is a vision to the normal eye, and to me she is beautiful. But forbidden. I try to not think of her as anything more than a client but it is proving to be difficult.
I’m still working on the painting by the time Sara comes home and she stands behind me, ogling at it. I know she doesn’t know Dylan so there’s no chance she’ll guess who it is. But to my surprise she guesses on the second try.
“How the hell did you know?”
“You have a tendency to only paint people that you know personally. Never have I seen you painting a celebrity or something. So I just guessed,” she says with a shrug.
“I couldn’t get her out of my head,” I admit.
“Uh oh, someone’s crushing on the client,” Sara says, wide eyed.
“That’s bad, isn’t it?”
“It’s not bad, it’s normal. It’s happened to me once or twice but you have to stop it before you cross any boundaries.”
“Okay.” I nod. I am not the type to typically cross any, anyway.
“Madame Angelica is quite strict about things like that, she would fire your ass before you finished explaining yourself.”
“Shit.” I don’t want to lose this job.
“I say that kindly, as a friend who doesn’t want you to lose their job.”
“I know.” I nod.
“What are you going to do?”
“Pretend that I don’t have any feelings for her. It shouldn’t be a problem, this is the smallest crush I’ve ever had. I just need to get rid of it before it blooms into anything more.”
“I understand.”
Of course, it is easier said than done. But I know if I want to keep my job, I need to keep Dylan off my mind. So I pick up the canvas, thankful that it is almost dry, and begin painting over it. I need a fresh perspective, so I paint the entire canvas black so I can paint something over it. It isn’t a fresh start, but it will do. I pick up my paints and begin making something more abstract, closing my eyes at some points, just to feel the painting instead of overthinking it. By the end, I look at it in shock. This one looked even more like Dylan than the other one had, if possible. It is like my subconscious is just as obsessed with Dylan’s face as I am.
I pick up the canvas, put the entire thing in the garbage, and pick up a new one. Placing it on my easel and then calling it a day. It is enough art therapy for me today. I don’t need to make a third painting of someone I am supposed to be forgetting about. Sighing, I retreat to the shower to get all the paint off me and cleanse my body of Dylan. No matter how much she pops into my head, I know I need to push her out. So that is exactly what I do. Convincing myself that Dylan is no more than just a client to me.
Chapter8
Dylan
“What do you mean you’re not going tonight?” I moan as Lucy tells me she’s not coming to the work party this month. I don’t know why I’m surprised, it’s not like she ever goes, but I was hopeful she’d come this month.
“I don’t have a nanny yet so there’s no one to watch Noel.” She sighs.
“Can’t you bring him?” I ask, but I already know the answer. A place with an open bar is no place for a kid.
“No, and you know that.” She smiles.
“I was going to introduce you to someone,” I admit.
