Page 112 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

As if my brain decided that now was the time to punish the fuck out of me, I thought of Rurik ignoring me, my uncle’s treatment, Amaura’s death, and how I almost lost control over my demons.

Oh, fuck.

I can feel my lips threatening to tremble and my eyes starting to sting as I try to stop the feeling of tears coming.

“Um, I… I was…” What the fuck am I saying? I’m sputtering, and I never do that. I clear my throat and say, “I’m good.” I turn my face away to subtly dab the corner of my eye with my thumb before forcing my usual grin. “I’m just so overwhelmed about today, you know? I can’t believe Nat and Oscar are married!”

But Mr. Rogers still looks at me as if he sees right through the bullshit.

But then he sighs and nods.

“I understand.” He says, almost disappointedly. “I just want you to know that you can always come to me, okay? I meant it that day when we took you in. You’re part of our family. You’re my daughter. You have helped our family so much, so please let us help you, okay?”

Did I hold it together like the badass bitch that I am and playfully tease the shit out of him for being so sappy?

No.

Because my stupid emotions decided to say, “fuck you, Briar,” and that’s how I found myself wrapped around Mr. Rogers’s comforting arms.

“I’m good, I’m good,” I try to laugh it off, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

Seriously, what the hell is happening to me? Just one visit from my Uncle, and I’ve returned to being this crybaby. This is not me anymore.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and please don’t lie to me.” Mr. Rogers says as I pull away.

I reach for a random napkin from one of the tables and quickly dab my eyes with it. “Sure, okay.”

“The bruises. What happened? I don’t believe I sent you and Nat on another work trip the past few weeks, so that can’t be it.”

“I fell.” I quickly say.

“Briar.”

“It’s true. I fell.” Technically, I’m not lying. I did fall when my Uncle smacked me around.

But Mr. Rogers shakes his head impatiently. He opens his mouth to say something, but his gaze flickers over my shoulder, causing him to pause.

His brows furrow as he asks, “Can I help you?”

I frown, turning around to see who he is talking to. My eyes clash with the familiar bright blue eyes, and I swear, a drop of ecstasy sparks through me immediately at the sight of him.

“Rurik?” This time, the grin I’m wearing is real.

He’s here! I should have remembered he would be since Oscar asked him to live paint for them. I haven’t seen him for a few days, but he’s here!

Only he’s not looking at me. Instead, his gaze is fixed on Mr. Rogers, his eyes ablaze with rage. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and his jaw clenches so hard that a vein protrudes visibly.

“Rurik?” I call for him, this time confused. Why is he staring at Nat’s dad like that? Doesn’t he know who he is? I glance over at Mr. Rogers, and even he looks confused at the animosity aimed toward him.

Mr. Rogers raises a perplexed brow at me before turning to Rurik. “If this is about the live painting you finished, it’s beautiful. I will let my daughter know you’re done and—”

“Step the fuck away from her.”

We both stiffen.

What the fuck?

But Rurik is already standing in front of me, blocking me from Mr. Rogers. Even though it’s probably his anger, I can feel the warmth radiating off him. I fight the urge to inhale deeply to smell his addicting scent like a weirdo.

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