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Consensual stalking.
I clarified, hoping to God she'd sense the twisted honor in my offer.
You'll never see me unless you want to, but you'll feel me there. Watching. Waiting. It's your call, Little Shadow.
My heart thrummed a chaotic rhythm, each beat a drumroll for the mayhem I might unleash. I hit 'send' before my conscience could catch up, the click echoing like a gunshot in the quiet diner.
And then I waited.
Chapter 3
Celeste
The goddamn frames were heavy, more so with each step toward the gallery that loomed ahead. Aria's voice was a persistent buzz in my ear, nagging about how I needed to "get back out there" and dip my toes into the cesspool of the dating world again.
"Shit, Aria, can we not do this now?" I huffed, shifting the canvas in my arms. "I'm about to be elbow-deep in art snobs and fake compliments. I need to focus on not decking someone for calling my work 'interesting.'"
Aria laughed, the sound bright and annoyingly undeterred. "That's exactly why you need a good lay, Celeste. You're wound tighter than a two-dollar watch."
"Fuck watches," I muttered, "and fuck dating." Sidestepping a crack in the sidewalk, I fantasized about the paintings magically flying to their spots on the wall – because telekinesis would be less draining than another round of 'why Celeste should put herself out there.'
We reached the entrance of the gallery, and I let out a breath. Inside these walls, my art would speak for me, telling all the lies I couldn't voice myself—lies of strength, of indifference, of a woman unbroken by betrayal.
"Last chance," Aria sing-songed as we stepped into the cool air of the gallery, our footsteps echoing off the polished floor.
"Go to hell," I replied with a smirk, knowing full well the only date I'd have tonight was with a bottle of red and the glow of my laptop screen, where I could lose myself in a world where desire was raw, and hearts were never on the line.
The clatter of easels and the muffled thud of canvas against wall accompanied my clumsy entrance. The weight of my latest collection bore down on me like the oppressive Chicago heat in mid-July. A figure stepped into my path, jostling me sideways.
"Shit," I hissed, nearly toppling over.
"Whoa there," a smooth voice cut through my irritation. "You need an extra set of hands?"
I straightened up to face Gavin St. James, the art gallery owner, with his infuriatingly perfect smile and those hazel eyes that seemed to glint with secret knowledge. His short brown hair looked carelessly tousled, like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times today.
"Depends," I retorted, trying to regain my balance and composure. "Are they attached to someone who can tell the difference between Baroque and bullshit?"
"Guilty as charged," he replied, reaching for the larger of the frames. "But I promise to handle your work with the care of a Renaissance sculptor."
"Let's hope you're less handsy than most of them," I shot back, finally relinquishing the painting.
"Only where art is concerned," Gavin quipped, his tone light but suggestive.
As we carried the remaining pieces inside, Gavin's proximity was disarming. He moved with a grace that contradicted his size, somehow making the cramped space between packed boxes feel expansive. And damn him, he smelled good—like cedarwood and something darker, more primal.
"Nice turnout tonight," he observed, gesturing at the growing crowd milling around my paintings. "Your work has a way of drawing people in."
"Like flies to a carcass," I said, unable to resist the lure of sarcasm.
"There's something... visceral about your art. It's raw. Unapologetic." He countered.
"Unapologetic" was one way to describe the mess of emotions I splattered across each canvas, sure. But hearing it fall so easily from Gavin's lips made my skin prickle with a mix of pride and annoyance.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," I said dryly, even as I felt the corner of my mouth tug upward.
"Is that an invitation?" Gavin asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Keep dreaming, Picasso," I snarked, though I had to admit, his charm was as persistent as it was annoying.
