The longing in his voice tugged at Everly’s heartstrings.
“Of course we can. Because we’re strong.”
She paused, but only for a heartbeat.
“And because I love you, Edward.”
23
The studio was buzzing the next day.
Everly had woken late, her alarm not loud enough to rouse her after a fitful, sleepless night. She’d hurriedly thrown herself under the shower before digging out a warm denim shirt dress and black leggings to wear. She’d tied her damp hair up in a top knot and dashed out of the house, still chewing a slice of toast.
She’d scolded herself for the entire journey between the house and the gallery. Why had she stayed up so late? After talking to Edward, she had gone back to her drawing, trying to diffuse some of her emotions in the sketch. After that, instead of going to bed, which any sane person would have done, she had taken out her oils and started to paint. Before she’d known it, midnight had come and gone and she could barely keep her eyes open. That must have been why she’d not been woken easily that morning.
A heavy sense of dread filled her as she wondered if that was the only reason. Perhaps someone had sneaked into her room and switched her alarm off.
Don’t be ridiculous, Ev, she chastised herself as she rushed up the steps to the gallery. Arthur nodded kindly to her, and when she burst through the door into the workspace everyone twisted around to look at her. It was impossible not to feel the sudden awkwardness in the room.
“Hi guys,” she said, trying to sound cheery. “Slept in.”
She shrugged her shoulders and walked past them all to the back of her room and the waiting canvas—making an effort not to look at anybody, especially Jennifer.
“You okay?” Rory mouthed to her as she neared his workbench.
She smiled and nodded, doing her best to pretend that everything was normal. Digging in her workbench, Everly found her pack of oils and her palette and began mixing the shade of yellow she had been having so much trouble with before. Squeezing the tubes was weirdly satisfying, therapeutic almost. Everly found a lot of her art work therapeutic, it was cathartic and rhythmic and offered her a release from everyday thoughts.
“Did you punch him in the nose?”
Rory broke through her concentration as he sidled up to her bench. His voice was loud enough for Alison in front of her to hear, but luckily she paid no attention.
“Shhh,” Everly whispered, taking his arm so that they were both facing the back wall. “I don’t want to make a big thing of what happened. I just want to get on with my art.”
The wall was lined with work from previous students, both recent and long past. There was a painting that Everly recognized but couldn’t place. She didn’t think much of it, as she was too busy trying to get Rory to keep his voice down. He was bouncing around like a puppy, pretending to box his own shadow.
“I’d have bopped his nose for you if you’d have let me,” Rory said. “My husband was livid for you. I told him all about it as he doesn’t get to hear that much gossip back in Cambridge.”
“I’m not gossip,” she hissed, scrunching her eyebrows at Rory but unable to be annoyed at him. He looked so excitable and sweet, and he had been there for her when she’d really needed someone last night. Everly was almost certain Rory wasn’t gossiping about her. She understood the need to talk to loved ones and tell them all about what was going on, and that was all he had been doing.
A sudden sense of sadness washed over her when she realized she hadn’t spoken to her parents for nearly a whole week. She would have to call them soon or they would start getting concerned. But Everly didn’t want them hurting the same way she was, she would have to put on a brave face and pretend everything was going well for her.
Rory suddenly scooped her up in a bear hug.
“I know,” he whispered in her ear. “Sorry. I’ll calm down a bit.”
He dropped her and skipped back to his work.
“The offer’s always there though,” he said, grinning from ear to ear and boxing an imaginary Edward again.
Everly laughed so loudly the whole room turned to look. Jennifer caught her eye for the first time that day and sneered a smile, but Everly smiled sweetly in return. She was not going to let Jennifer ruin her day or her mood any more than she had done already.
Edward rang the doorbell and stood for a moment on the stoop, listening to see if anyone was moving inside. Deciding the coast was clear, he twisted his key in the lock and let himself in.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, he was hoping whatever it was would jump out at him and make itself obvious—something, anything, to prove that Jennifer was trying to sabotage Everly’s chance at being a winner. He could understand her trying to ruin their relationship, people did crazy things in the name of love, but why hurt her work too?
The house sat empty, the quiet enveloping him like a cloak. He knew there was nobody at home from the lack of movement, the stillness of the air.
“Hello?” he called out, just to make sure.
The words echoed back at him from the emptiness of the hallway, and Edward felt the skin on the back of his neck crawl with gooseflesh. He shook his head and his arms, trying to get rid of the feeling.
Don’t be a fool, Ed, he thought. This is my home, I’m allowed to be here.
He pushed open the door to the living room. The room was neat, as if nobody had ventured in here since last Friday night when he’d spent ages meticulously picking the brown glass out of the thick cream carpet. Everly’s picture was back on the wall, looking stunning. Edward walked over to it, pausing to really take it in. Her face was beautiful, and she’d captured it perfectly. Not an easy feat, he knew that from his own paintings.
He examined the way she had detailed her eyes, wondering how she’d managed such intricate work with a difficult medium. He’d been in awe of her art since he’d first seen it at the judging panel. That day seemed like a whole lifetime ago now. He could hardly believe that he’d stroked that soft cheek with his hand and kissed her perfect lips.
He felt a bloom of happiness swell in him but squashed it down, knowing he had a job to do.
He had to protect the woman he had fallen in love with.
Glancing at the other paintings, he could see the talent in them all. The photographs of both Alison’s and Rory’s sculptures, the world in vivid detail, the baby that had made Edward question the very nature of existence. James’ landscape was still as picturesque as the day it had been painted. He moved to the print of Jennifer’s work, the storyboard of her wishes to be a winner. It was detailed and intricate and very well executed. She certainly did have a skill with the pencils. Knowing he wasn’t going to find any evidence of foul play in the room, he left, shutting the door behind him—but not before taking one final glimpse at Everly’s angelic face.
The key hooks were outside the door to the living room. Edward examined them, finding that they were all present and correct. None of the keys were missing, but he kicked himself for not checking on the night that Everly had seen someone in the garden. He remembered that Jennifer had come back home that night. She hadn’t been out celebrating with the others. Had she snuck out the back when she’d heard Everly and Edward enter the house, and taken that opportunity to snap a few photographs? It seemed highly plausible.
He tried the kitchen next, not that he was expecting to find anything. If someone was out to hurt Everly, they weren’t exactly going to leave evidence lying around where she could find it. Opening the doors to the garden, he walked out and gave the gate a quick tug. This time he found it locked tight. Snow was still scattered on the grass and he could feel the cold penetrating his clothes and nipping at his fingers. He crunched his way back to the house and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.
Part of Edward had been hoping that he’d find the evidence he needed to get Jennifer thrown from the competition without having to trespass into her room. But as nothing had been forthcoming, he m
ade his way up the stairs and around to the airy bedroom at the front of the house. Knocking, he waited to see if anyone answered, then turned the handle and opened the door.
The room looked immaculate. The only thing that was out of place was the large, unwrapped canvas propped up by the door to the private bathroom. Edward faltered at the threshold, feeling uneasy about the idea of entering someone else’s room.
I can’t do it, he decided, standing firm and shaking his head. It was too much of an invasion of privacy and it would leave him no better off than Jennifer herself.
He breathed out slowly, thankful that he hadn’t let himself cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Leaning into the room to pull the door closed, he took in the full view of the canvas. It had a familiar quality about it—bright colors, a realistic depiction of a sailboat bobbing on an open sea. It was beautiful. Edward wondered if this was Jennifer’s piece for the competition. If it was, she was in with a good chance of being displayed in the Mason. The flow and colors of her work would fit in remarkably well with the other paintings already displayed there. It would fit in seamlessly amongst the Robbie Seaward paintings and the Anderleys.
He slid the door shut silently and made his way back down the stairs, leaving the house with nothing but a dull ache in his skull.
24
It was nearly showtime.
Everly’s stomach twisted every time she thought of the end of the week and the final presentations. Sunday was going to be a huge day, in more ways than one. As well as being free of the competition, she would be free to see Edward on her own terms—no more worries about him being her patron, or about Jennifer trying to sabotage her work.
The last few days had been so difficult. She knew they had been for him, too. This whole scenario must have been a nightmare for him, especially as he’d been so worried about her getting hurt. Everly knew that he was probably being overly cautious after what had happened to his last love, Lacey, and she wished that she could have been there to hug him and tell him it would all be okay.
The studio was a buzz of activity as the students finished up their work—framing the pictures and boxing displays for the sculptures. The only one who hadn’t been around very much was Jennifer. Ever since the weekend she’d only been in a few times, and never for very long. Everly wondered if she was keeping her work a secret because it was so good. She definitely had a natural talent, as people kept on telling her.
She looked over at James, who was struggling to lift his giant painting now that it was framed.
“Do you need a hand with that?” she shouted across the room, skipping over to offer hers.
“Thanks,” he said, his Scottish lilt as lovely to hear as ever. His skinny arms were trembling. “The wood is so heavy, can you imagine if I dropped this now, after the week’s hard slog? It’s not worth thinking about.”
He pulled a pained face and Everly laughed, taking one side of the picture and helping James lift it high enough so that it could stand on the easel. It was incredible. He’d stuck with watercolors and had produced a stunning, almost photorealistic painting of Tower Bridge from an angle where the Tower of London could be seen. The everyday people and traffic he’d included were no doubt mundane, but he’d captured their beauty against the history and drama of this great city. It was a masterpiece. And it was humungous.
Everly thought of her own canvas. Her painting of the studio had come to life in its own way, but it was nowhere near as stunning as the artwork in front of her. She knew that she hadn’t picked her strongest area of expertise—life drawing instead of portraiture—and that this decision might be her downfall.
Who needs someone to sabotage my work when I’m more than capable of sabotaging myself? she thought, sadly.
“Thanks, Everly, you okay?” James asked, polishing the glass front of the frame.
“I’m good, thank you for asking. I’m a little sad that after tomorrow this will all be over.”
She looked around at the space, feeling nostalgic despite the fact she hadn’t even left yet. James just snorted.
“It’s not going to be over for you, Everly. Everyone is saying it. Your work outshines even the best of us. In fact, even your sketches are better than some of the paintings that have taken me months to complete.”
“Oh, shush!” she protested, waving him away.
He ruffled her hair and went back to polishing his glass. Everly flitted over to Alison. She was already starting to miss the people she’d spent the last few weeks getting to know, even though she was still in the same room as them. Well, she was starting to miss most of them anyway. Alison’s paper-cut was now almost finished, ready to be placed behind glass. She, too, had picked a London scene, but hers was a bird’s eye view—an intricately detailed map, cut out of thick white card and layered on a royal blue background.
“This is awesome,” Everly said, peering closely at the paper that was laid flat on Alison’s workbench. Alison gave her a beaming smile, pushing her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose.
“Thank you, it should be, I’ve never worked so hard. I think it’s given me chronic neck ache.”
She reached up and rubbed the back of her neck to emphasis her point. Everly heard a crackling noise and thought perhaps her point didn’t need emphasizing.
“I’m not surprised,” Everly said. “How do you get the cuts so small?”
She bent down for a closer look, finding a teeny tiny version of the Royal Opera House. Everly hiccupped back a sob.
Really, Everly, keep your emotions in check.
She took a deep breath as she stood upright.
“Really, really incredible, Alison.”
Everly tried to focus on how brilliant every other piece of art in the room was, even though each one multiplied her sense of dread and disappointment for her own work. She knew that this was an inevitable part of being an artist, the crippling doubt about how good, or not good, she was. But it was never very easy to deal with.
“Hey, Everly, if you’re up to helping out your fellows today, can I grab a hand too, please?”
Rory’s voice emanated from somewhere by his bench, but Everly couldn’t see him. She walked up to it and peered over the side. He was there, squatting on the floor next to his work, which now looked a million miles away from a balloon covered in soggy paper. He had crafted a sculpture of two heads facing each other. Their colors and sheen made Everly want to reach out and stroke them. One had its eyes wide open, the other looked asleep. The backs of their heads were perspex, allowing the spectator to view not brains but what looked like puffs of multicolored cotton candy. On closer inspection, the cotton candy was actually countless intricate wire sculptures of people, all in different poses, and performing various acts of human nature.
“Wow, Rory, that’s amazing,” she said. “Absolutely stunning. What a huge bunch of talent there is in such a small room.”
“Thanks,” Rory smiled up at her. “Could I have a hand lifting it up to the table. It’s got to be set into that.”
He nodded toward a contraption on his desk. It looked like a torture device, a large wooden plank with two spikes sticking out of it.
“One head on each?” Everly asked and Rory nodded, laughing at the grimace on her face as she helped him lift and insert the heads.
“Come on then, Everly,” Rory said, wiping the heads down with a shammy cloth. “Let me help you with yours.”
Everly felt her face flush. She didn’t want anyone looking at her work, not yet. She still had to put the finishing touches to it.
“I’ll let you know when I need a hand, thanks Rory.”
She scuttled back to her workbench and turned the easel slightly, so her painting of the studio was facing more toward the window than toward Rory’s beady eye.
It wasn’t a bad piece, she knew that. It just wasn’t one of her finest. But there had been so much going on—inside her head and outside of it—that she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the project. For that, sh
e felt a touch of sadness.
The focus of the painting was on the windows of the studio—mundane, essential, but beautiful in their own antique way. She’d captured the metals meeting the woods, old and new blended together. But what was missing from this was the human touch. She didn’t feel connected to her work unless it had an element of humanity. She mused for a while, wondering if that was why she had secretly been painting Edward in her room after hours.
She’d barely seen him since their date. They’d kept in contact, of course, but she was missing his touch, the way he held her hand, the way he smelt, the feel of his body holding hers. It was all too much. She felt her eyes prick with tears. Trying to draw attention away from her face, Everly picked up her brush and started to add the finishing touches to the windows. Every time she stroked the canvas with the brush she shuddered at the outcome.
“Leave it be,” said Rory. He was looking at her, concern etched on his face.
“You know what, Rory? I think you’re right. I’m going to let it go.”
Everly put down her brush, and the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders.
Clearing away all the tubes and cloths and scraps and brushes from her bench, Everly wiped it clean and laid her painting flat to measure for the frame. She knew she was cutting it fine, it needed to dry properly and then be fitted, and the deadline was looming. Still, at least she had finally laid down her brush. That act was, undoubtedly, the hardest part of any painting.
Rory let out a low whistle.
“That’s a beaut. Well done, Everly.”
She scrunched her face up and was going to argue with him when the studio door burst open and Jennifer made herself known in a way only she could.
“Friends, I’m done. I’m assuming you all are too, so I’ve bought us all coffees to celebrate. Proper coffee, none of that gross dishwater stuff from the cafe downstairs.”
She was brandishing a tray of cups that Everly recognized from the upmarket coffee shops she’d seen dotted around London. A commotion behind her drew Everly’s eyes away from the tray of coffee and toward a large parcel being lifted up the stairs by Arthur. He looked as though his heart was about to give way, his face was puce and his cap was crooked. He bustled through the door and leant the parcel against the first wall he could find, leaning himself against a workbench to catch his breath. Everly gave him a small wave which he returned with a smile.
My Dashing Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (My Billionaire A-Z Book 4) Page 14