Page 66 of Jinx

Buy out the lease on my sublet apartment, cancel my classes at the college, turn in notice to the library, and give up a dream job at the club—after one shift. One freaking shift! How was that fair? It didn’t matter that a small part of me was trying to insist that none of those places felt safe anymore.

Alaric’s thumb moved in a soothing swipe across my cheek, but he saw too much. He always did. So I blocked him out, closing my eyes and forcing a deep breath. This isn’t what I wanted. Not even close. Obviously I didn’t want to be alone for the rest of my life either; I just didn’t expect this to be the price I’d have to pay.

“Okay.” I swallowed back the tears I refused to shed and strained my lips into some semblance of a tight smile. There would be a time and place for breaking down, but this wasn’t it. Not in front of them. “I guess I’d better start packing. Are there dorms or something at this academy?”

Alaric frowned at my easy acceptance. He wasn’t an idiot. “I own a private residence near campus.”

“Why do you have so much money?” I snapped before my brain could catch up with my mouth.

A muscle fluttered in his jaw as he clenched and released it. “An inheritance that was wisely invested.”

“From who?” I regretted the question as soon as it jumped out, and felt even worse when he answered.

“My mother.”

My face burned with shame, anger turning to smoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

“I know. It’s alright.” Ric stood and offered me a hand. “I also sell paintings.”

“What, like an artist?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Like an artist.”

I was still far too embarrassed to resist, so I let him pull me up, and he twined our fingers together. His hand was warm, his touch soothing some of my frayed edges. The others remained at the table while he led me into the living room off the kitchen. Sunlight beamed through tall Palladian windows that looked out over the deck and warmed the wood floor under my bare feet. Alaric stopped us in front of the large painting of the woman that I’d been admiring the other day.

“You did this?” I asked, tracing the lines of her figure with my eyes. “It’s incredible.” Close up, I could see that the feather in her hair was edged with silver.

“It’s you.”

I startled and looked up at him. “What?”

The gold flecks in his hazel eyes glittered with amusement. “It’s you.”

I turned back to the painting and my breath slipped out in a surprised puff. Sure, she had long waves of hair done in dark blue paint, but now that he’d said it, I could see the rest. The birthmark on the outside of my thigh that he’d always said looked like a butterfly. The constellation of freckles on the backs of my shoulders. Even the faded scar over my elbow from a fall off a swingset when I was ten. They looked like random speckles and streaks of color, and to anyone besides Alaric and me, that’s all they’d be. But he’s seen me. All of me. And he’s made every imperfection beautiful.

“You...Why?”

Instead of answering, he tugged me away toward the stairs off the foyer that led up to the second floor, and I followed him in stunned silence. There were several closed doors along the hall. He went to the one at the end and pushed it open. My heart stumbled and warmed as I stepped inside. The room was a chaotic mess. Flecks of color stained every surface. A workstation in the corner was covered with jars and palettes and brushes. There were canvases everywhere, and each one portrayed the same woman.

Each one portrayed me.

“You’ve been my muse since the day I first dreamed of you,” he said, leaning against the doorframe while I took everything in.

“You actually sell these? To people?” I couldn’t tell if I should feel mortified or flattered. It’s not like the figure in the paintings was identifiable.

“And galleries. Gryphon Holt is quite popular.” He snorted a self-deprecating laugh. “No one knows who my mystery woman is, though. Not even the other guys knew.”

“Why? I mean, why me?”

“I think,” he moved behind me to wrap his arms around my shoulders, “at first, it was a comfort.” He pulled me tighter against his chest. “A reminder that you were real.”

My insides twisted with a surge of emotion. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Unless you’re upset?” He turned me in his arms so he could see my face. There was a worried crease between his brows, and our heartstring shivered with anxiety.

“No, Prince. I’m not upset. Not about this.”

He winced, and I felt it like a blade. “I know everything feels like it’s falling apart right now,” he said. “I know there are still too many unanswered questions, and this is not what you wanted.”