"That's sweet of you."
"You told M and Dad about that, right?"
I wince. “No, I haven't. I will though, before the showing at the gallery."
"The sooner the better," she says. “You want them to have time to adjust to the idea if they don't like it."
"You're probably right."
We finish our lunches and before long, it's time for me to go back to work. I give my sister a hug, and this time it's a real one. “This was really nice,” I say. “I’m glad we did this."
“Yeah, me too." She hugs me back, and then pokes me in the arm. "And call Mom. Tell her about the art show."
I laugh. "I will."
She pops off down the street, slipping headphones on and dancing through the crowd. With that hair, she’s visible for blocks and it makes me smile.
It turns out I don't have time to call Mom until after work, but I do call her. She answers almost immediately. "Hello?"
"Hi, Mom.”
“Hey, Audrey," she says. "I heard you had lunch with Celia."
"Yeah, it was really good. I definitely think we are on the right track with the party."
I can practically hear her smiling through the phone. "Good, that's just what I wanted to hear."
"I also have something else to tell you. I hope you’ll be all right with it."
"What is it?" she asks. “Are you pregnant?"
I try to ignore the pure hope in her voice. "No, I'm not pregnant yet. But, I've been taking an art class. A workshop, really, with Alexander Prince. In a few weeks, at the end of the workshop, there's going to be a show for all the students. I would really love if you and Dad would come."
There's a pause and then, “Of course we’ll come! Why would you ever think we wouldn't?"
I stop on the street, thinking about the correct way to say this. "Well, when I talked about pursuing art, you and dad weren't very excited. I didn't know if that had changed."
"Well, are you quitting your job to become an artist?"
“Of course not."
“Then I don't see the problem with you doing a little art in your spare time. All your father and I ever wanted was you to have some stability. In fact, that's what we still want."
I’m sure if any of the people on the street were to look at me they’d either be confused or scared by the face I’m making. "Why don't I have stability now?"
Mom clears her throat uncomfortably. “You’re trying to get pregnant," she says. "We’re very happy that we’re going to have a grandchild at some point, but of course we'd rather you be with someone. You know, somebody solid. Somebody who would be with you through the entire process."
"Do you want me to have a baby or do you want me to have a relationship?"
"Oh, sweetie. I want you to have both. But since that doesn't seem to be working, were going to be happy with just the baby."
A simmering, sparkling rage rises beneath my skin, but I do my best to keep it out of my voice. "Okay, Mom, I’m at my train. I'll send you the details of the art show as soon as I have them.”
The fact that she’s still all sweetness and light just makes me angry. “All right, honey. Remember, Celia's party is a week from Friday."
"I won't forget,” I choke out before hanging up the phone.
Nothing I ever do is good enough for her. When I was with Christian, it wasn't good enough that we were together, we should have been married. Once we broke up, I never should have been with him to begin with. Now that I'm having a baby, I should be with someone before I have a baby. Once I have the baby, she'll probably go back to trying to set me up with people. I don't know how to make her happy, or if I'll ever be able to.
It's time for me to realize that that may never happen.
I get on the train, trying to shake the anger from my chest, but it doesn't work very well. Just as I get off at my stop, and climb down the stairs to walk home, my phone chimes.
I want to draw you.
The text is from Christian, and I just text back a question mark, because the text doesn't make sense. When he doesn't answer I send another one
What?
I want to draw you.
Draw me how?
I wait for the little typing bubbles, stopped on the corner of the street.
I want to come over to your place, or go to the apartment, and I want to draw you, naked. So that you can understand how I feel before I have to do this two more times.
For as long as I've known him, Christian has been talented. He’s an architect, so he knows how to draw, and well. Granted it's not usually bodies, and it's usually more straight lines than curves, but he can do it. I imagine that situation, being studied by him, and it's erotic as hell.
To have that laser focus of his attention on me for such a long time, I realize with sudden clarity why he pulled me into that closet.
There’s the whisper in my head that I shouldn’t. That this will just blur the already blurring lines. But I push the voice away. I’m a grown-up. I can handle this. And I want to know how it feels. There’s also the whisper that I deserve this. After everything, I deserve to enjoy myself, even if Christian isn’t the same person he once was.
Either way, this can’t happen tonight.
I'm already home though, or almost there, and after so many things happening today, I'm not ready for him to come over to my house. That's a whole other emotional hurdle that I haven't prepared myself for. So I text him back—
I would love that. But I can't tonight. How about tomorrow, after our class? We can go to the apartment and you can draw me there.
I send another one in quick succession.
I'm willing to bet you’ll be raring to go by then.
You bet your sweet ass I will.
I sigh, sending him another text.
I saw my sister today. She’s concerned that my mother is going to find out that you’re helping me and lose her shit.
Yeah, she’s probably going to find out at some point, you should be prepared for that.
Frustration rises in my chest again.
How is she going to find out? Also, I'm more than a little frustrated with her at the moment, it's none of her business. Why should she care?
She cares because you are her daughter, and she wants what's best for you even if the way she wants it is slightly misguided.
That shuts me up. Despite the fact that my mother and I have different views on the way my life should go, I could never argue that she doesn't care about me or that she doesn't love me.
I hate it when you're right.
I know.
I'm almost at the door to my building, and I'm overcome with a bone deep exhaustion. I've been on my toes all day, with the new contract and Celia and my mother. All I want to do is sleep. I pause outside my door, texting him one more time.
Going to bed early. I'll see you tomorrow at class?
Sleep well, and I'll see you in class.
One final chime.
Dream of me.
14
The second art class with Christian as the model is going much like the first one did.
Only this one is worse.
Every time I feel his gaze on me, I know that the situation is going to be reversed in a matter of hours. I try desperately to focus on my work, to execute my vision of Christian as I see him as he stands in front of me, but it's a lot harder to focus this time.
I know what's coming. I know the way me drawing him riles him up. And I know that it's going to be ten times more powerful after this experience with him drawing me.
On the upside though, the girl who sits next to me actually smiled at me when she came in. Maybe she realized that it was unfair of her to be angry with me for being with Christian. I hope so. We exchanged names, and her name is Kelsey. At the very least, I don't have to worry about having made an enemy in the class.
Well, I guess I don't know that for sure, since there are still plenty of women ogling Christian’s body. Normally, I'd say that women ogling my
boyfriend would piss me off. But in this situation it's okay.
Suddenly I freeze.
My boyfriend.
I just called Christian my boyfriend in my head.
Oh. No.
This is a bad sign.
I'm getting too attached, but what should I do about it? Now that I'm in this deep, I know that I don't want to sleep with random strangers for a baby. I don't want to go back on my word, but I don't want to go through everything again. Like when I lost him the first time. We need to have a conversation, but I just don't know how.
I sense a presence behind me, and realize that Mr. Prince is standing over me, watching me work. I drag my eyes back to my drawing, and I take a deep breath. It’s not where I want it to be.
“You’re frustrated,” Mr. Prince says softly.
“Yeah, a little.”
“Why?”
“I—” I stutter to a stop. I can’t exactly tell Alexander Prince that I’m unfocused because I’m lusting after the model I recommended, that I can’t wait to fuck him later and am having an internal crisis about being too involved with him. “A lot of reasons.”
He stands next to me, looking back and forth between my easel and Christian. “Drawing people you know can be harder than the average subject. You can’t break them down into parts because to you they’re already a whole.”
“What do you do then?”
“Draw their face first.”
Normally I would wait until I had everything else, since the face is the hardest to capture. “Why first?”
“Because then you’re not putting a stranger on paper. You’re filling in the whole person that you know.”
I look at the vague bubble where Christian’s face is meant to go. I suppose it can’t hurt to try, since I’m already having a hard time working on the rest of him. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Regardless,” he says, patting me on the shoulder, “you’re doing lovely work.”
I go pink, and reflexively glance up at Christian. His eyes are already on me, and the corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile. I can read the words he’s putting into it. They’re all fire and heat and how he can’t wait to get me back to the apartment. I take another deep breath, and attempt to block him out. I look at the lines of his face, the way they come together to form an exquisite jawline. The actually delicate line of his eyebrows, and I put it onto the paper. The way I draw his face is stark. Stripped. I use as few movements with my pencil as possible. Because I want this picture to be mysterious, the barest version of him that I can manage. Something that isn’t steeped in my own feelings and hang-ups about him.
I draw, and hone, and fix the tiny creases by his eyes, until suddenly he’s there. Like magic, the way drawing often is, one tiny slip of my pencil has made it go from the face of a handsome man, to Christian. And Mr. Prince was right. There’s a feeling of relief when I look at the rest of the drawing. Suddenly I have a goal and a purpose to it, the rest of it being informed by his face.
I eagerly dive in to teasing the rest of his body from the paper, and Mr. Prince clears his throat just when I finally feel like I’m making decent progress. “That’s all for today. We’ll finish these up on Friday, and you can put them to bed. Dismissed.”
Christian doesn’t come and tease me in front of the class this time, he heads straight for the closet and his clothes. I think about going and meeting him in the closet again, but he emerges after just a couple minutes, fully clothed and approaches me. Without hesitation he pulls me against him, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. And even though I’ve asked him not to, right this second I wouldn’t mind. I like the way he’s holding me—tightly, possessively. I’m growing damper by the second and I want something, anything, a taste of what’s to come.
But Christian doesn’t kiss me. He tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling back until I’m looking him in the eye. “Go to the apartment,” he says softly, fiercely. “I want you to be naked when I get there.”
“What am I? Your plaything?” I try to sound angry, but I’m unsuccessful. I can barely breathe.
“No,” he says, fingers tightening. “You’re my model.” He leans close to my ear so that I’m the only one who can hear his words. “And after I draw you, I’m going to take you until you’re screaming.”
I shiver, but I shake my head. “You’re going to have to work hard for that.”
Christian smirks. “We’ll see.”
“Where are you going?”
Releasing me suddenly, he’s still looking at me in a way that makes me want to rip off my clothes right here. “I’ll see you soon.” He turns and leaves the studio, taking more than a few gazes with him as he leaves.
Fuck, I’m shaking with lust and arousal. My pencils clatter as I try to put them away. This Christian, he reminds me of the man he was when we first met. It’s what attracted me to him in the first place, the sheer confidence that he could do anything, no matter the circumstances.
I thought he had changed, or that he wasn't the same person. But I honestly think I was hating him so much for what he did, I didn't see that all the parts I loved about him were still there. That, combined with the fact that I want nothing more than to be naked with him right now. I’m in so much trouble.
I finish packing up all my supplies, and throw my bag on my shoulder. Kelsey gives me a small wave, and says, "Good luck.”
“Yeah, I think I'm going to need it."
"Why?""
“He told me yesterday that he wants to draw me like this,” I gesture to the way the class is set up, “as a kind of retaliation."
She starts laughing. “Yeah, I think that you will definitely need it. I saw the way that he was looking at you. I would melt if he was looking at me like that. And he hasn't even started drawing you."
“I think that's the idea. I'll see you on Friday?"
She smiles. “See you then.”
I’m bouncing with nerves the entire way to the Upper West Side. I can't get his words out of my head—what he's going to do. I am aching between my legs, caught on his visceral promise. This passion, this sudden obsession with him feels even more powerful than when we first got together.
When I finally get to the apartment, it's strange. Every time I've been here before, Christian has been waiting for me. It feels empty now, but I can use it to my advantage. I have at least a couple of minutes, so I poke around the apartment. I haven’t been able to see the whole thing before.
The kitchen is still gorgeous, the living room perfectly decorated, and of course, I'm familiar with the bedroom. But the other rooms in the apartment include an office to kill for with a stunning view of the Hudson river, what looks like a library—as if you can actually have a library in a New York apartment—and another bedroom.
I never really stopped to wonder why or how Christian had access to this apartment. I never thought to ask, but I might now. This apartment is stunning, and I can't imagine the amount of money it costs to rent it for every day that we meet. Given the neighborhood and the building we’re in, it might be thousands of dollars. That’s a lot, even for a CEO.
After examining every part of the apartment, and reveling in the perfect views, I’ve taken enough time that he might be here soon.
Of course, nothing bad is going to happen if he shows up and I still have my clothes on. But the way he said it…like it was the only thing he wanted in the world…makes me want to do it. I want it to be exactly the way he imagined it, so that everything goes the way he planned.
Along with his little adventures, Christian has always had a powerful imagination. And when things go as planned, I’ve found that it’s usually impressive, fun, and incredibly pleasurable. Besides, if I don't do it, he's going to wonder if something is wrong. And once Christian think something's wrong, all bets are off. He’ll ask me why, and he's going to want to know.
In spite of my realization, I am just not ready to broach the conversation of the way I feel about him. Does it matt
er that I thought of him as my boyfriend? I don’t know. It should matter. But I’m not sure it will. It feels like there's almost an insurmountable gap between the two of us, our present, our past, and our future. I push it out of my head. I can’t think about this right now. Rather, I don’t want to. Christian will be here any minute, and when he is, we’re going to make a baby. I’ve said that to myself before, but I feel it tonight. There’s a certainty that I hope is true and not just my wishful thinking.
Christian didn't give me any instructions as to where I should be when he arrives, only that I shouldn’t be wearing any clothing. I head into the bedroom and strip down to nothing. This gives me a chance to fold my clothes without having them ripped off at least, I think with a laugh.
But it feels strange, I’ve never been one of those people who just wanders around their house naked. I know there are people who do that, but it's always seemed unnecessary. So when I wander back into the living room—stark naked—I’m not exactly sure what to do with myself. I’m almost embarrassed, even though I’m alone. I don’t know where to put my hands, and I’m not sure if I should sit on the furniture.
I go to the library, grab a book, and come back. I sit on the couch, though I debate whether or not I should put a towel down. Is this what this apartment is used for? Are there other people who have sat here naked, waiting for their lovers? I realize I’m nervous. It’s why my brain is all over the place.
The book I grabbed was random, and it turns out it's a book of essays. Essays have always been hit or miss for me. They’re either fascinating and engrossing or some of the most utterly boring literature ever. The one I start to read is actually pretty good—the story of a woman's car and how it was built, and how it later affects her life. At first glance I would never read something on the subject, but it's written in a charming, endearing way.
I'm about halfway through when I hear the chime of the elevator outside. Only a few seconds later, the door opens and there’s Christian in all his glory.
He's wearing the suit he was wearing at class, but he has a briefcase with him that he didn't have before. Ohhhh. He had to go get his art supplies before he could meet me here. How will he draw me? I wonder. It's been a long time since Christian and I talked about his art, and I'm not sure what medium he prefers now. Will he draw me in pencil the same way I'm drawing him? Or will he opt for something a little messier? Maybe charcoal or pastel. Maybe he'll smudge me, making the lines blurry and erotic.
Getting Her Back Page 10