Page 39 of Shades of Love
My cheeks warm instantly, and I shrug, trying to hidejusthow happy I am that he likes it. “I’m glad I chose a spot you approve of.”
He walks to his canvas, picking up a brush and looking around. He takes his time scanning the area, but his eyes ultimately land on me.
“Go sit over there, my muse.” He gestures toward the base of a tree, one that has a perfect nook for someone to sit.
I listen, settling in on my knees and looking at him through narrowed eyes. “You want to paint…me?”
He raises a brow at me, his lips curving downward. “Of course I do—now, turn slightly so your back is toward me, but look over your shoulder at me.”
Without debate, I get set up in his requested pose. He’s already painting, a deep purple covering the end of his brush as it peeks into view around the side of the canvas.
His brushstrokes are along the top of the canvas right now, so I’d guess he’s starting on a background. After a few minutes, he swaps brushes, this one covered in a dark gray.
The way he moves his arm, in long strokes, makes me believe he is still laying down some sort of base. My heart picks up at the idea of him beginning to paint me. This will be a portrait of me…so much more intense than my eyes that he painted before.
“Will you slide your jacket off your shoulders?” he asks, holding a clean brush up to his face as he stares at me. “I want more of your stunning complexion in view.”
I nod, sliding my jacket down so it acts more like a shawl. He resumes painting almost instantly, his focus rather adorable. His gaze is so intense as he works, the passion clear in every brief twitch of his face.
“Carson?” I say his name rather quietly, not sure if he’ll even hear it from this distance.
He stops painting, looking up at me with soft eyes. “Yes?”
I bite my lip. “Why do you want to paint me, and not the scenery?”
“Because…” he trails off, his face flushing red instantly. “I want to paint what I love.”
The world feels like it’s both frozen and spinning around me. My heart feels just about ready to burst. Does he mean that he loves…me?
Love, a concept that I never thought I would experience, but definitely feels accurate to everything I share with him.
“I love you, Orie,” he says, and I realize I’ve been rather quiet since his initial, subtler declaration.
The smile that takes over my face is uncontrollable, my cheeks hurting from the intensity. “And I you, my artist. I can’t imagine my life without you.”
We stay like this for a while, just staring into each other’s eyes—no, into each other’s souls—letting the moment settle. He loves me, and I him. If he truly is my fated mate, I am so lucky to have found him in this world.
I end up being the one to break the silence, asking him in a rather shaky voice, “What does tomorrow bring for us?”
“I have no idea.” He shrugs, smiling as he shakes his head. “All I know is that I will be doing tomorrow with you—and every tomorrow from this point on.”
That answer is enough for me, it’s actually the perfect response. There’s certainty in the uncertainty—no matter what tomorrow brings, he will be by my side, and I will remain by his.
As he gets back to painting, I relax into the life that I see unfolding ahead of me. A life with him.
The life of an artist and his muse.
A human and a demon.
Two souls that were meant to find eachother, and did.
