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Except, I can’t sleep.
There’s far too much on my mind, and I keep wondering if Knight is home. It unnerves me to think we’re in the same house, even if we’re rooms or wings away.
By the time midnight approaches, I’m even more awake than I was when I first tried to sleep.
Realizing sleep is a lost cause tonight, I get up and do what I often do when I have bad spells like this—head outside for a walk.
As my apartment was right near Central Park, it wasn’t uncommon for me to find a coffee shop that was open and hang out for a few hours with some hot chocolate. I started having more nights like that when I first realized what Rachel was doing to screw with me.
Cautiously and quietly, I leave my room and make my way down the stairs.
The house is as quiet as a church during prayer time. There’s absolutely no one around. Even if Knight is here, he’s not near.
With that reasoning, I head outside, walk through the gardens, and continue down to the beach.
It was beautiful to look at during the day, but with the bright full moon in the background and the silver light shimmering down on the surface of the water, it looks like something out of a fantasy.
The cool air and the sight of the waves inhaling and exhaling by the shoreline soothe me. I stay for an hour before I make my way back, but I choose to take the longer route instead. This passes the woodland area and the swimming pool.
Nearby are Knight’s private quarters.
I stop when I get there and look at the large section that’s almost big enough to be a separate house. In fact, most people would say it was, although the doors are similar to that of a barn.
I stare at it, wondering what’s inside and how anyone would think it was reasonable to get married to someone—for business or love—and not be able to enter various sections of their home.
It’s a little ridiculous to me, and right now, I feel like I’m being presented with two options.
Keep heading to the left and go back inside the house or
Go inside and check out the place.
As curiosity is practically begging me to select option B, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. To be fair, I wasn’t specifically told I couldn’t go in there.
I’m moving toward the door before doubt can take fruition in my mind.
I try the handle, and I’m surprised when it turns and the door unlocks.
I slip inside, and the automatic lights come on, brightening the entire room and revealing… a workspace?
A workspace with oil paintings of landscapes and sketches of angels on easels, and art supplies everywhere.
My imagination was filling this room with all sorts of things, from dead bodies to drug dealers, but I never expected to find this. I walk in and gravitate toward the nearest table, which has all sorts of art tools laid out on it and stacks of sketchpads.
I move deeper inside and through another set of doors, where I’m stunned to the core when my gaze lands on a collection of breathtaking figurative bronze sculptures.
There are twelve of them—a portion of a face rising from the ground with roots crawling up to the eyes, a beautiful mermaid with long flowing hair and her breasts exposed, a ballerina standing on pointe, an angel riding a winged horse, and the rest are of the same girl.
The largest is of her walking through the waves of the sea, carrying a rose with the petals falling off. The rest are of her in different poses, each with a rose in her hand.
There’s something gripping about the largest. The girl looks so real, I expect her to come over and talk to me or hand me the rose.
I’m having a hard time believing she won’t. I get closer, and the artistic effect is so potent, goose bumps erupt all over my skin.
Who did these?
Surely not Knight. He doesn’t look like the kind of person who would have the patience to create something like this. Or like he’d be this in tune with the world of art.
But maybe he is.
