Page 69 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
“I get it. You want to carry that shit without letting it define you.” He nods gruffly. “Same with your art. You want it to be you, your emotions, your history. No one else’s.”
Speechless.
I can’t believe he gets it.
We sit a while longer, watching the film while my face turns into a cherry tomato. And it’s not just what’s playing in front of us, though that’snothelping.
Holy shit, why did the art films of the 1970s have to insert a ten-minute sex scene?
It’s almost worse that Holden keeps watching me more than the debauchery flickering on the screen.
I’m so flushed and I don’t dare look at him.
I’m not a shy girl with sex. But I am withhim.
I just can’t take the light and shadows dancing across his smug face right now while bikers groan away. There’s too much contrast there. So many hard lines. So many unreadable thoughts.
If I start trying to guess at what that means… yeah, this won’t end well. Wouldn’t that be a shame when we’re having a decent time?
Minus the unexpected porno movie, I mean.
I idly wonder if charcoal will do a Holden Verity portrait justice after all. Maybe he needs harder lines—hard, but still messy, rough like the scruff on his jaw and the black starlight in his eyes.
The thought makes my fingers itch, eager to try.
Once this egg run blows over, if we’re still on decent terms, I might throw it together and ship it back to him as a thank-you.
“I don’t know everything, you know. Leonidas never said much about his nephew when he wasn’t ranting,” he says after a long moment.
I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding in.
“I don’t think Gramps liked to dwell on disappointments. He had enough of that with Elvira and Scott. It’s really sad how much went sour in this family.” I shake my head. “If you listen to Dad tell his version, he’ll make it sound like PopPop threw him on the street and never gave him a dime.”
“Mr. Blackthorn tried to make it up to his grandkids after so much got fucked up with more immediate family. You, Margot, and Ethan were all he had.”
“And I’m so glad he had us. Even if I was the baby and a third or fourth wheel sometimes,” I murmur.
Holden stretches, pressing his knee against mine for a split second before his leg shifts away.
“It was different with you,” he whispers. “To him, you were his granddaughter, no matter what the family tree said. You stuck around longer. You had more time alone with him once life got busy for Ethan and Margot. He loved you to hell and back, Cleo.”
Oh, my eyes.
I smile painfully, pinning my eyes to the screen until my face hurts. I’ve never been so happy to see a scene change back to creepy skulls and guys in leather with Grizzlies MC patches dancing around.
“Gramps tried to patch the holes in the family quilt, I think. The people he lost, and I don’t blame him one bit. I’m glad I could be there for him.”
“He cared about the people who mattered, the ones who stayed and loved him,” Holden says warmly.
“He didn’t give a crap about anything that went against what he wanted, that’s for sure. He was tough.”
“Yeah. Whatever he thought was best for the folks he cared about.” He sighs fondly. “I’ll always respect that. The man carried his baggage quietly, accepted what he couldn’t fix, and just kept living.”
I wonder at the pride and envy in his voice.
But what is happening?
Are we having a freaking moment? Is Holden Verity showing meempathy?
