Page 4 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

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Ten years later

Rurik

Five seconds was all it took to change my life.

That's how long it took my mum to fall for this guy, Philip Greene, when they met. Because of love, I'm forced to move to a different country.

“You’re going to love New York,” Mum’s boyfriend says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and grinning at me. “I can get you into NYU, and you can study whatever you want. Plus, you'll get the best care here, Rurik.”

I throw him a small smile and nod. “Thank you, sir.”

I know I should act excited and grateful, but I’m still sad that I left my quiet life back home. Also, I’m fucking tired. The airport lights are so bright, giving me an insane headache. I had to borrow Mum’s oversized sunglasses to dim the lights for me.

Yes, I know I look like a dick wearing sunglasses inside a building.

Fuck off.

As my mum and her boyfriend share a kiss, I avert my gaze, opting to busy myself by fiddling with the handle of my luggage. We stand together in the airport's bustling baggage pickup area, awaiting their belongings' arrival.

“I think it’s that one,” I say a few minutes later, pointing at a pink duffle bag. I look at them and roll my eyes. They’re not even paying attention.

Whatever, my mum deserves to be happy.

Sighing, I step forward and watch as the duffel bag comes closer. As soon as it's within my reach, I bend down and grab the handle—only for someone else to catch it before me.

“Hey!” I snap, looking up. Whatever I had to say died down when I was greeted with the brightest shade of caramel-colored eyes, almost sparkling with a hint of gold.

Could someone's eyes really shine like that?

My voice catches in my throat as I stare at her like a daft idiot. Despite her hair being tucked under a hat, a few stray waves of dark hair escape, framing her face. She also wears a black disposable mask, making her eyes pop even more.

“Yeah?” Her voice sounds so decadent, yet she glares at me with annoyance.

I assume she’s sick, so she’s wearing a mask. I clear my throat, thankful she can’t see how I’m ogling her like a creep. “That’s not yours.”

She raises a perfectly curved eyebrow and glances down. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say. “I think I would know what my mum’s duffel bag would look like.”

“Hmmm,” She cocks her head to the side. “That’s funny. Does your mom have hearts and stars drawn all over?”

“Huh?” I blink and step closer as she turns the duffel bag around to show the artwork.

Oh.

“Shit,” I mutter, looking away. I fucking hope these sunglasses cover my whole damn face so she doesn’t see how red I quickly am.

“It’s cool,” Her eyes shine with amusement. She giggles, and it's doing something weird against my chest. “Common mistake.”

“Right,” I say, pretending to focus on the baggage pick-up again.

“See you,” She winks, turning around to walk away.

Well done, idiot. Your first interaction with the opposite sex in New York, and you managed to fuck that up.

A few minutes later, the right duffel bag appears, and I watch with annoyance as my mum’s boyfriend grabs it for her. Moments later, all three of us are walking outside.

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