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Fuck.
My orgasm hits, and I spurt into her hot waiting mouth.
***
“I don’t know if my legs can carry me to the gallery,” Mila says as we leave the car.
I laugh softly. The laugh of a man who knows he has brought pleasure to his woman. I feel carefree. Lighter. As if the troubles of the world are something I hear about but have never experienced. “I’m here to rescue you if you fall,” I tell her.
I take her hand as we walk out of the basement. In the elevator up one floor, I pull her against me, and we kiss deeply, only stopping when it comes to a halt. We draw apart and hand in hand, we get off and head toward the gallery.
I can tell she loves it here. As soon as we enter the stark white interior, her eyes glaze over, and her attention is completely on the paintings. She stops in front of one large piece.
“This is the type of painting I was telling you about,” I whisper into her ear.
She laughs softly. We stand and take in the bold colors across the canvas. Then she starts speaking softly. “When I first look at it, I feel startled and disorganized, but the longer I stare, it begins to make sense. I feel a sense of order. The chaos disappears, and peace settles in my heart.”
Something happens as I look at it. The strokes of color settle, and I see random shapes, but they make perfect sense. A sigh escapes my lips.
“You see it too, don’t you?” Mila asks.
I’m in awe. I’ve never felt such strong emotions in an art gallery before. Granted, I usually whiz past the paintings, taking less than two minutes on each. “Yes, I definitely do,” I say, eager to move on to the next. It’s the same with every piece of work. The trick is to study the piece and give yourself time to figure out what the artist was trying to convey.
“That was an eye-opener,” I tell Mila two hours later as we make our way to the basement. “I’d really like to see some of your work.”
“It’s back home,” she says and shrugs.
I get the feeling that she doesn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to push her. It strikes me that someone who knows so much about art can’t have just a passing interest. It must be more. She probably just needs encouragement to pursue her dreams. I’m not ready for the day to end, and besides, we have a couple more hours before we have to pick up Isaac.
“How about a drink?” I ask her.
Being in the car reminds me of what transpired earlier. Mila brings out a side of me I thought was gone.
“I’d like that,” she says.
We smile at each other, and then I turn the ignition key.
Chapter 13
Mila
I like the pub that Brad has brought me to. It’s old-fashioned with dark paneling and wall to wall maroon carpeting. We get a nice private booth in the corner. Guilt floods me as I watch him buying our drinks from the counter.
I haven’t spent any money today, and I feel bad. Brad insists on paying for everything. He says he’s not paying me enough to enable me to buy drinks for someone else. I hate that I can’t tell him just how comfortably well off I am. If I do, this nanny gig won’t work. It’ll be difficult for him to understand how a financially comfortable person would be content to work as a nanny.
He returns with our drinks, a glass of wine for me and a beer for him.
“Do you come here a lot?” I ask him.
A far-off look comes over his features. “Not these days. Brenda and I used to come here a lot.”
Something akin to jealousy comes over me, and I catch myself. Why would I feel jealous over a part of Brad’s life that is over? The answer comes to me immediately. I feel jealous because Brenda had Brad in a way that I never will. She had his heart and devotion.
“What was she like?” I ask him.
He looks surprised by the question. “Who, Brenda?”
I nod.
“She had fiery red hair. That’s what caught my attention first. And green eyes that you could never really read into. But you’ve seen her picture in the house.”
“Yes, but I meant personality,” I say. A part of me would like to meet the person who had snared Brad’s heart.
As much as we have fun together, Brad keeps a part of himself locked away. I recognize it because I do the same. We both understand what our relationship is, and we don’t allow our hearts to get involved.
“Brenda was secretive,” Brad says. “If you asked her a question, she would hedge and haw and try first to know why you want to know. She always behaved like she had something to hide, which I suppose she did.”
