I can feel my body start to shake.I know Tristan can feel it too. He slows down and separates us slowly. He doesn’t let go, but he’s doing something I know will be hard for both of us.
“Petal, we have to stop. We have to stop. Since you were so kind to make me breakfast. Let me make you dinner as a thank-you, then I will drive you home. As much as I want you to stay and for us to continue, I know the time isn’t right.”
As much as I hate it, I know he is right.
“I’m going to need a thousand cold showers,” I whisper against his chest.
“A truer statement was never spoken, Petal.”
***
The next morning, I found a handwritten note in my on-campus mailbox. It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be.
Petal -
Please meet me tonight at 7. Wear something you will feel beautiful in.
Don’t say no.
Chapter 9
Tristan
The best thing about this event being two cities and what would amount to a train ride away, is that the likelihood of someone disapproving of seeing us together is minimal. However, the worst thing about this event is that on the off chance there is someone there that knows me, I have to keep myself at a chivalrous distance.
And now that I’ve felt her skin against my hand and tasted the sweet confection that is her lips, that’s going to be a much tougher feat than I could have imagined.
Especially once I’ve gotten a look of her in the dress she chose to wear.
Fucking hell.
“You keep staring at me.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, you do. Would you at least tell me if it’s out of appreciation or do I have lipstick on my teeth?”
Her quick wit gives me an opportunity I haven’t had in a long time, sober at least. I’m able to smile and even laugh. “I assure you, Petal. It’s most definitely out of sheer admiration and appreciation. I want to thank you for last night. I know I did in some form in the moment, but I want the words to be there for you.”
“Then stare away and you’re welcome.” She smiles and tosses her soft, shiny brown hair over her shoulder, giving me an even better view of the curve of her neck and the delicate silver necklace with the smallest moon charm resting perfectly on her decolletage.
I lean over and whisper in her ear, “Your dress is lovely, Petal.”
“Do you like it better than the one from the club that night?”
“Nora, you could wear most anything and look like a Greek goddess. However, this shade of green on you is quite possibly the most perfect color. It reflects your eyes in a way that makes it impossible to look anywhere else. I may have to defend your honor if someone gets too close.”
She looks down at her feet in a moment of contemplation, perhaps, or shyness, but quickly shakes off whatever the moment made her feel when we finally cross the threshold of the large, modern warehouse turned art gallery.
Mask in place, Sloane. It’s time to mingle with like minds.
Instead of the familiarity I found last night with my hand in any number of places on her soft skin, I wrap and hold her hand over my arm properly as we begin the walk of pieces in tonight’s collection. There are a wide variety of sizes and color palettes organized in a theme as a feast for the eye.
I lean over to Nora’s ear so only she can hear me, and because I can caress her earlobe and no one will be the wiser. “Tell me your initial reaction. Don’t hold back.”
She shivers, just a little, and I smile as it pleases me to see her physical reaction to me.
“Well,” she begins, “I think it’s dark and angry, even with the pastel palette. The strokes are harsh, but beautiful. This piece feels like therapy, of sorts.”
“You’ve never shown interest in the abstracts when we refer to them in conversation. Why is that?”
“I guess I didn’t find any that I connected with until last night. Was your last show for your work the one you mentioned to me?” I’m caught off guard by her question. I think the evidence of that is apparent by the look I know is on my face and the shortening of my gate. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just I’ve seen all the work in your studio. It’s a shame no one sees it. I’d like to talk to you about them all, one at a time. You’ve seen me work. Perhaps I could watch you sometime?”
I stare straight ahead at the piece hanging on the wall and examine the curves, the lines and the shading while I ponder her question. “My studio is a sacred, special place to me, Petal. It’s where I work through pain, happiness, and grief. It’s an oasis sometimes, and others it’s my own personal hell. But even with all of that, I can think of nothing I want more than to have you in my space while I work.”
Her smile tells me I’ve more than pleased her. We stop in front of a massive piece that overtakes nearly the entire wall. Nora’s hand drops from my arm as she takes a step back. The carefree smile she had just a moment ago has faded. This piece makes her feel something very somber, at the very least. “Can you talk about what is in your mind?”
She doesn’t answer me right away. I watch her eyes move over the piece, back and forth, before she blinks and turns her gaze to me.
“It reminds me of something I don’t care to remember. It’s frightening, in a way.”
“We don’t have to stay here. We can move on.”
She quickly folds her hands, keeps her head down, and moves quickly to the back corner of the gallery space. Nora’s hand shakes slightly as she orders a cranberry and soda from the bar. “I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for. Art makes you feel. You felt something, albeit, not something pretty. We can steer clear of that artist if he makes you uncomfortable. There is one in particular on the upper level I was hoping to see. Once you’re hydrated again, more steady, we can go visit her works, if you’d like?”
She thanks the bartender for her drink and takes a small sip. “I’m okay, now. We can go up to see her work. I’d like to.”
“Well then, Petal,” I offer her my arm, “shall we?”
She loops her arm through mine and we walk toward the stairs, pausing here and there to admire the work we see along the way.
“This artist I hear has taken Degas and spun him into the present day. Let’s give it our best critique.” I motion for her to head up the stairs first. This is either a huge mistake or the biggest win of the evening for me. The sleek formfitting dress is showing off every highlight of Nora’s frame. The hem is just shy of too short. Her heels boost those sculpted legs of hers in a way that only paintings could describe. There’s an idea. Her shoulders are bare except for where her hair decides to act as a shield.
I intend on staying two steps below her as a tease to myself. However, when the lurkers of the evening notice my Petal, I stay close, but not too. I want to give the air that she’s mine without playing our hand. She doesn’t notice anyone who gawks at her. The only man she’s looked for all evening is the one she turns for when she reaches the top stair. Fuck if that man isn’t me.
Nora
“I ordered Thai for us,” Tristan says, entering his large, spacious living room, now wearing only his slacks and button-down. He’d lost his jacket and tie while he was away in his bedroom.