“Are you involving me in criminal activities?” I asked in mock horror.
He merely shook his head with a smile.
I blushed, realizing how flirtatious I must have sounded. That hadn’t been my intent, but his friendly demeanor had put me at ease and I wanted to be able to enjoy our scheming.
The room was filled with canvases, some finished, some half started then abandoned, some dead-colored and waiting for the next step.
I looked around in awe. “Are all of these his?”
“Most, but not all.” He tugged me around a row of paintings set out on display and we found a large open space, surrounded by paintings, with one standing in its center. The large painting was set in a gilded frame. Sterrino’s new piece.
The short look I’d had of it the night before had lent me only an idea of the colors and fluidity of the piece. But seeing it up close…
It was a woman standing knee-deep in the ocean. The sky was dark, the wind was fierce, the waves threatened to claim her as their own. Yet the girl merely stood there facing the shore, her hair being pulled by the wind, the waves tugging at the fabric of her dress. Her gaze was steady, her face a contradiction of defiance and vulnerability. And amidst her mass of tangled hair, a crown sitting on her head was barely visible.
A hand settled on my lower back and I flinched away and breathed for probably the first time since I’d laid eyes on her.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Dante said.
I shook my head as my eyes continued to rake over every detail of the scene before me. Sterrino’s other pieces had been moving. I had admired all of them last evening, but this…
I had no words.
“We should go.” Dante’s other hand took hold of my arm, pulling me away. We reached the bottom of the stairs without me consciously making the effort to move, and I finally shook off my reverie as I returned to my workstation.
Dante cleared his throat and excused himself. I fought to refocus on my work, but the haunted eyes of the girl in the painting kept interrupting my thoughts.
✼ ✼ ✼
As I left the villa for the day, it only took me a moment to feel the tension rolling off of West. I cut my eyes over to see him glaring straight ahead, his eyebrows pinched together and his jaw jutting forward.
I couldn’t remember ever seeing him thus, but heaven help anyone who crossed him. He looked ruthless. For one second, I considered asking him what was amiss, but I bit my tongue, unwilling to risk inciting his wrath.
By the time we reached the Brooks’ home, the tension was nearly unbearable. How could he hold himself so rigid without making his limbs ache? It was stressful for me simply watching him.
I handed off my cloak in the entry and turned toward the courtyard, anxious to try some of Dante’s new techniques, but mostly anxious to escape West.
As I stepped into the open air, I closed the door behind me and went to pull out my supplies. I heard the door open and could feel that it was West. He had brought his angst with him. I did my best to ignore him as he stalked from one end of the courtyard to the other, never speaking to me or even trying to get my attention.
When my fingers fumbled as I tried to open my box of paints, I realized that trying to paint while West insisted on hovering with his overbearing mood would be fruitless.
I straightened, pinched my eyes and sighed, resigned. “West,” I said with the utmost reluctance.
The sound of his stalking footsteps ceased. “Highness?”
I opened my eyes, daring to look at him. He still looked angry, but there was a heat in his eyes that was more than anger and it made me wary. “As much as I hate to incite the wrath that is so clearly bubbling beneath the surface, I can’t ignore your predatory pacing anymore. So.” I took a quick breath. “Would you be so kind as to either spit out whatever it is that has you so agitated, or else take your temper elsewhere?”
His face and body remained as stone except for his right hand, which fisted and flexed at his side. Saints above, I’d never seen him so agitated. Suddenly he blew out a breath, his body unfreezing. He took one step toward me and I had the oddest urge to retreat.
“Dante was especially…friendly today.”
“What?” What did that have to do with anything?
“You two ran off together.”
“He was showing me a painting, a rather extraordinary painting at that.”
“He was crowding you, finding every excuse imaginable to touch you.”
I rolled my eyes. Overprotective. All the tension and anger was simply an overreaction. “He’s teaching me.” I turned back to my supplies.
“He was certainly trying to teach you something,” he mumbled.
I gasped at his audacity and spun to face him. “West!”
He held out his hands to stop my speech, or wave me off, or simply get my attention. “Might I just—” his hands clenched in agitation “—demonstrate something for you?”
I was completely befuddled, opening my mouth in an attempt to produce some sort of reasonable response, but unable. I gave up and gestured for him to go ahead.
He relaxed slightly as he motioned for me to take a seat on my stool. I gave a long-suffering sigh and sat.
“Face the canvas and pick up a brush as though you are painting.”
I humored him, perching in front of the blank expanse, a brush poised in my hand, posing as if on the verge of creating something brilliant. The entire situation exasperated me. West was being overprotective, but I respected him enough to let this little charade play out. Plus, I was curious what exactly he wished to demonstrate.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the heat of his chest pressed against my shoulders. “What are you doing?”
“I told you,” he said as his hand slid from my elbow to my wrist before placing his hand over mine. “This is a demonstration.”
I swallowed, flushing at his closeness. “Have you learned some artistic skills that you need to share?” I teased, but it fell flat. West had never done anything like this before and my response was…potent.
“This isn’t an artistic demonstration.” His words were low, breathed right beside my ear, and I stiffened as the warmth of his breath raised goose bumps on my neck. “This is about Dante.”
Dante. Right. That’s where this conversation had started.
“I do believe this is how he was ‘teaching’ you today.” He picked up my hand with his, moving it back and forth across the canvas.
He was right. Dante had been in this position as he helped me today, but it hadn’t felt like this. I hadn’t noticed his warmth seeping into my back. My mouth hadn’t gone dry when he’d spoken close to my ear. My hand hadn’t tingled when covered by the strength of his.
So why was I now flushed and tongue-tied and finding it difficult to breathe?
“Can you truly say that his actions were appropriate for a teacher with his student?”
My chest convulsed as his chin settled on my shoulder. “It wasn’t…he was only…” I couldn’t even speak coherently.
He turned his face, his mouth so close to my neck that I almost jumped out of my chair. “He was only what?” he asked.
I jerked away so that I could narrow my eyes at him. “You’re doing that on purpose,” I accused.
“Of course I’m doing it on purpose. I’m trying to make a point.” His eyes were intent as they searched mine, trying to determine whether or not I was taking his warning seriously.
I wasn’t. I stared back in what I hoped was defiance, but it was difficult to keep my focus on my irritation when he remained so very close to me. I couldn’t play this game anymore.
I pulled my eyes away and extricated my hand from his, twisting away until I was able to stand and get a bit of distance between us.
He straightened and continued to look at me while I fought not to fidget. “I only want you to be more aware.”
I didn’t know what it was, but something in his expression or his voice made me ce
rtain that he was holding something back. I didn’t wish to start second-guessing him, though. Not now. He’d already given me far too much to think on. I straightened my back and cast about for my confidence, my indifference. I needed it. “If it will put you at ease, I’ll try to be more attentive.”
His eyes narrowed, probably wondering why I was falling back into my aloof bearing.
“Though,” I continued before he could say anything, “it seems like what you really want is for me to be more suspicious of Dante.”
He gave a stiff shrug. “However you want to think of it.”
I pinched my lips and sighed through my nose. “I’ll be on my guard,” I conceded.
“See that you are,” was all he said before returning to the house.
His tension went with him, leaving me with my own anxiety. I considered what he thought of Dante’s actions toward me, but couldn’t agree with his assessment. I was a member of the royal family. By all accounts, I should have been one of the most sought-after women in the kingdom.
But I was twenty-two and no longer had delusions about my popularity. Tobias had disabused me of those notions. Yes, Dante had been more pleasant to be around, but from what I could discern, he was simply happy not to have me constantly questioning him. I was no longer a nuisance, and might have even qualified as pleasant company in his eyes. But beyond that—I couldn’t believe it.
Chapter Ten
DANTE’S CHANGE IN attitude continued to bewilder me. He welcomed me with a smile and was thrilled with any question that I asked. For a time I had wondered if he merely enjoyed the fact that he knew more than me, but decided that wasn’t it. He enjoyed teaching, and he was good at it. I gained a greater appreciation for his insistence on setting aside societal expectations. Without all of the bowing and scraping, the polite talk and the inane greetings, we were able to develop a genuine rapport and an ease of communication.
It was odd and wonderful, having conversations flow, especially conversations that I was interested in and excited about.
Of course, West’s warning was always in my thoughts, reminding me to be cautious, but Dante didn’t feel dangerous to me. He didn’t get under my skin in that way; there was no attraction, though I was learning to admire and respect his work. The idea that I would let him past my defenses was laughable.
He continued to teach and was more than willing to give praise when it was due.
The next week, I started a new painting, beginning of course with dead-coloring. He had explained the process to me in detail and I was confident that I now understood what was expected. I had spent the last two days making absolutely certain that I was satisfied with it.
Now it was time to see if Dante approved.
I stood back, allowing him room to look at it. Eventually he turned to me with raised brows and a hidden smile. He held a hand toward me. “Come. Sit down.”
I did as he asked, sitting on the stool in front of my new project.
Dante rested his hands on my shoulders. “Do you see what I see?”
“What?” I asked, anxious for him to just tell me.
“It’s perfect,” he murmured close to my ear.
A grin split my face, my chest swelling in triumph. I turned to look at him, thrilled to have someone to share my success with, but Dante wasn’t looking at my work anymore; he was looking at me. And then he was pressing his mouth to mine.
I jerked back and stumbled to my feet, backing up several steps. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry, I merely thought…”
I held my hands out. “I came here to paint. That’s all I want, solely to be better at my craft.”
He studied me, seeming confused but not embarrassed. “I apologize if my forwardness has offended you. The truth is I’m quite captivated by your passion.”
I was vaguely aware of Stephen, who had stood from his usual seat in the corner, and was looking on with keen interest, no doubt ready to drag Dante away from me at any moment.
“Please don’t ever do that again.”
“But I—”
“No. There is no but,” I insisted, knowing it was imperative that he understand where I stood. “Please. Don’t ever do that again.”
He stepped back, his eyes falling to the ground. “Very well. Good work today,” was all he said before he left, his feet hitting the floor with more force than necessary.
I closed my eyes as the reality washed over me. That was the first time my mouth had been kissed since Tobias died. I hadn’t been ready for it and I hadn’t given permission. Even if I had been ready, I didn’t want Dante. He was a good teacher, but there was an unsettled quality about him that I couldn’t define.
Pulling my dignity about me, I looked around to see what needed to be done to organize my workspace. Dante had kissed me. I began tightening lids on paint jars and gathering brushes to be washed. Why had he done something so foolish? He had proven West right, legitimizing all the concerns I had so easily dismissed.
Stephen approached. “Princess?” I knew what he was asking. I knew he had seen Dante encroach on my space and I knew he didn’t approve of it.
“It’s fine, Stephen.” I continued to tidy, unwilling to meet his eyes. “It won’t happen again.”
“I’ll be sure it doesn’t,” he said.
✼ ✼ ✼
After I had returned to the Brooks’ home and changed my clothing, I went outside to settle my thoughts. Sitting on a bench, I closed my eyes and let the sweet-smelling air and sunshine calm my disquiet. I couldn’t allow this morning’s incident to affect the way I worked with Dante. I would need to set it aside and maintain my poise. I could pretend that it meant nothing, that it was just a trifle, a friendly gesture. And I would have to hope that he would do the same.
Despite my determination to clear my mind, I was acutely aware of the heavy footsteps approaching before a shadow blocked the sun from my face. I heaved a sigh and looked up to see West, grim-faced and glaring.
The glare took me aback. I’d seen it plenty of times before, but it had never been directed at me. I pulled my chin back. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“That worthless apprentice made advances on you.”
Curse Stephen and his loose tongue. “He’s hardly worthless, and it won’t happen again. It was a misunderstanding, and I corrected it.”
His snort made it clear how much he believed that statement.
“You asked me to be more teachable, to stop questioning him. Why are you suddenly of the opinion that he’s a terrible teacher?”
“Because I’ve seen the way he teaches you now that you’re not so prickly.”
My brows shot up at his description. “Prickly? Is that what I was?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but then pressed his lips and remained silent.
My heart sank. I had been trying. I had, and I hated the idea of him seeing me that way. “Is that still what you think of me?”
“No, of course not.” He sounded half angry, half reassuring.
“I know that is probably a very apt description of the way I was before…before this past year. But I don’t actually want to be that way. I’ve been trying not to—”
“I know how much you’ve changed, Highness. I’ve seen it. That is not the issue here.”
“Then what is?”
“Dante’s turnabout was very sudden. The moment you stopped pushing him away, he started encroaching on you, not merely as a teacher, but as a…” He pursed his lips, looking uncomfortable. “—a man,” he finished.
I stepped back, sniffing against my emotions. “And heaven forbid a man look at me as something other than a student.” I pulled my hurt close, pushing it out on a wave of anger. “He couldn’t possibly be sincere if he sees me as a woman. After all, I was never the desirable one. I was never carefree or sweet,” I bit out. “So, I’m sure you’re right. Thank you for putting me on my guard. I’ll be sure not to let him manipulate me.” I whirled and walked away. It wasn’t as t
hough I thought that West would ever see me that way, but the idea that he couldn’t fathom anyone else seeing me that way was torturous.
“Princess,” he called after me, but I kept walking. “I didn’t…”
Even he didn’t know how to take it back, because the sentiment he had expressed was nothing new. I wondered if anyone truly believed I would have asked to have a marriage arranged for me if I had had any hope of finding someone to love me. Did they think I would have fallen for Tobias in all his destructive glory if I had believed anyone better could see me?
Tobias’s death had been like encountering a great wall, taller than I could see. There had been nothing for me to do but turn around and try to find a different path for my life. I had been trying desperately for the past year to be like those I admired—trying to let people in, trying to understand them, trying to see the good and stop criticizing when I saw the bad.
I really was trying, and I had even believed I had been succeeding.
“Raina.”
West’s use of that name stopped me in my tracks, but I didn’t turn around.
“Believe me when I say that I have no difficulty believing that someone would see you in that light.”
I stood there, my hands fidgeting with the trim lining my bodice, wondering if I should turn around, if I should say something. But my throat had grown thick hearing the tenderness in his voice, and my mind was still scrambling to make sense of it. I couldn’t turn around and face him right now. I wasn’t ready for it. So instead I kept walking, leaving him behind.
Even as I forced my feet ahead, I had the uncomfortable urge to turn around and go back to him, to make him clarify himself. I wanted to understand what he was saying and why he was saying it, but most of all I wanted to know why it mattered to me so much. Why did it matter that he saw me that way? It shouldn’t matter, but it did.
I was halfway up the stairs when that realization stopped me in my tracks. I reached for the banister, trying to get a handle on what I was feeling and all that it meant. I thought back to the way this unsettled feeling had filled me whenever West assisted me into a carriage or touched me in even the briefest and most casual way. The way my stomach would clench and my face would become inexplicably warm.
Painting Rain (Books of Dalthia Book 4) Page 9