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ELEVEN
LILLIAN
Lillian's body hummed the whole day after the masquerade. It had been a long time since she’d had such spectacular sex. The kind where she actually had multiple orgasms, and with a complete stranger, no less.
It was supernatural the way he managed to pick up what she liked after getting her naked. He prowled around her mind as she relaxed in her apartment, daydreaming about the hulking man and all the ways he could pleasure her body with his ferocity.
She continuously checked her phone as she prepared herself for a day of work. Making dinner and sitting around in front of the TV, her heart nearly punching out her chest every time her phone dinged. But it was only her friends who were messaging her, looking for all the dirty details.
Oliver … Even his name was thrilling. She couldn’t wait to see him again. Hopefully, that opportunity would come again soon.
Lillian tried to let go of fantasies as much as she could as she arrived at work the next day. The gallery was closed, but she had her own key.
Oliver hadn’t texted, of course. You fuck a guy three times, and he gets back to you nearly immediately? Only in the movies, honey.
Lillian, not a brooder, wasn’t going to let his lack of communication sour the day. As an artist, she tried to allow grace for the full spectrum of her emotions. It was inspiring and far more interesting than getting bummed that some hot guy didn’t get back to her.
Lillian yanked at the door absentmindedly and nearly dropped her cup of coffee when it opened. She frowned and checked the time. The gallery owner, Berline Tika, wasn’t set to be in until noon. It was just past nine.
Lillian thought nothing of it. She went inside, locked the door behind her, and walked across the gallery floors. Paintings upon paintings lined the dark rooms. She climbed the stairs to her studio.
She was lost in thought as she walked into the room, a prime space with gothic-style ceilings and a long window that gazed over the city. A woman sat on a stool next to the latest piece she was working on, a large impressionist sketch of the moon and a cascading waterfall.
She seemed to be lost in a trance, looking over the painting. It was a rough piece, a mere shell of an idea.
Lillian stopped in her tracks, more intrigued than intimidated. “Can I help you?”
The woman turned, her long, flowing, black hair swaying. Her smile was broad and sunny.
“Hi, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, still smiling. “Your boss was already in, and I asked her if I could meet you here. I hope that is all right."
Lillian forced a smile. She should have known that Berline had to have come in early when she noticed the unlocked door.
“It’s no problem,” Lillian said, brushing her hair out of her face and putting her purse down. “What can I do for you?”
The woman motioned at the painting she’d lost herself in.
“This is beautiful. What do you call it?”
Lillian wrinkled her nose. It was a gesture she barely noticed that occurred when she felt intruded upon, especially when it came to her art. And even more so when that art was incomplete.
“No name yet. I just explore an image roughly and see where it goes. Then, I start again.”
The woman nodded. Something about her seemed naturally appealing and familiar.
She then held out her hand, and Lillian shook it. Firm but not too firm, though Lillian had a feeling that if she wanted to shrink her bones to dust she easily could.
“My name is Ronnetta Renault. I’m a friend of Oliver Ursus.”
Lillian felt pinpricks of warmth rise in her cheeks.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“Yes, he asked me to keep you company for a while. I hope you don’t mind. I would love to watch you work.”
Lillian folded her arms, then tilted her head. Some stray hair was unraveling from beneath her headband. She narrowed her eyes at Ronnetta, then flashed a crooked smile.
“Come on. We both know that’s a crock. Tell me why you’re really here.”
