Page 51 of Painting Celia

She straightened, pulling the robe even tighter over her neck. León watched her hide herself, disappointment in his face melting into resolve.

“Right. Good night.” And with that, he turned and strode from the doorway.

She watched him retreat, mouth open. So, his onslaught really was just about getting her to pose? He could have refused to leave, kissed her like he’d been so clearly considering. She would have let him. She shouldn’t, but she would have.

Indignant, she closed the door.

That man! Why was she always one step behind him? He’d spied on her, chased her, made her agree to pose, and now she was regretting him not acting even more badly?

She could never figure out what to expect from him. Sometimes kind, then sarcastic or annoyed. Tonight he’d been intense, nearly possessive. It was like he’d suddenly discovered her, though she’d been here the whole time.

Being seen. She’d thought so hard about that earlier. Tonight, he’d seen her. Was he going to act differently now? Every day he was different. Why try to guess how he’d be tomorrow?

The uncertainty was tiring. Being seen by León was intense. He seemed to strip her down to parts he could put on a canvas. Should she show him the rest, the parts that didn’t curve or reflect light? Would he want to see it?

She sighed. Feeling things was even more exhausting than hiding from them.

She went quietly into the bedroom.

Andrew was sound asleep with no idea of all the activity that night. He’d have been sorry to miss the drama, she thought with a wan smile. He stirred as she climbed back under the covers and hauled her close under his heavy warm arm.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured as he captured her again. He sleepily kissed her cheek, then neck. It felt as comforting as she’d imagined earlier. Andrew was a safe place, a warm, enthusiastic, loving friend, but just a friend. She’d never felt the urge to be seen by him, and he’d never truly put in the effort.

She’d tell Andrew tomorrow that this had definitely been the last time. No more benefits other than friendship. Whether it was with León or not, Celia wanted more.

Ten

Andrew woke her with kisses, the sun through the skylight already traveling toward the bed. They’d slept late! She realized he was angling for an encore and hastily claimed a need for the bathroom. Inside, she threw on underwear, sweats, and a tank top from the hamper, forgoing a bra. The tank was tight enough for now.

“Aw, I was just kidding, girl,” he said as she came out. He pulled on his pants from last night.

“Unless I was into it.”

“Well, obviously.” He grinned.

“It’s not my birthday anymore. Come on, I’ll make you waffles.”

He swatted her playfully on the behind as she tried to dodge, giggling.

They tumbled out of the bedroom together, him shirtless, her hair tousled. Standing at the kitchen island, looking at the large sculpture Andrew had left there last night, stood León.

He paled as he took them in.

Oh no. No.

“Hey, León,” Andrew said. “Want waffles?”

León looked back and forth at them, denial written across him, then settled on Celia. His face drained of expression. Stiffly, he raised the cup of tea in his hand.

“Just came in to see when Celia can sit today. After breakfast?”

She nodded mutely. She’d been doing that a lot around him lately. He left without another sound, and Andrew exhaled.

“He didn’t expect me,” he grinned.

“No, I don’t think he did.”

“I think I forgot to mention that we sometimes still….”

---