Page 19 of His Cursed Heart

Or how only I have full control over the brush and can create the darkest paintings and still be appreciated.

Whatever the reason, I know that I wouldn’t have survived without the brush and the acrylics that are tattooed in my blood.

“What do you paint?” Allan asks while putting himself a glass of champagne.

“Mostly, scenes that represent a certain emotion." Even if I don't feel them. "People in general and it depends on the emotion and the message."

Blood.

Weapons.

Sex scenes way too rough.

They are just some of the paintings I paint when I start to feel an emotion.

“Maybe you can show us some of them, sometimes.” That’s not going to happen. I know Vivian is trying to make me feel comfortable with the situation, but just the thought of her beautiful green eyes dying while looking at the dark paintings makes my skin full of goosebumps.

“Viv is right. We’d love to see your work; Keres always talked about your talent being unique.” At the mention of my sister’s name, I tighten my palms into fits in my lap.

“Allan!” Vivian hisses at him.

Only my sister would call my drawings unique. She saw once a part of a naked men I drew with scars all over his body, and she said that is the most emotional thing she ever saw.

I feel his eyes on my face, trying to get a reaction out of me.

What are you planning, Allan Carrington?

Instead of hiding my face like my father taught me, I held his gaze until he looks away with a little smile.

“My sister always felt the need to appreciate my work, and while I always enjoyed it, I knew she was saying that because she was my big sister. She thought that this way she would make me happy.” I emphasize the word 'was' with a much heavier intonation than I would have liked.

“Keres always wanted to make everybody happy.” Allan answers with a raised eyebrow.

“That was her power.” I say dryly.

Vivian looks at us with wide eyes, trying to make Allan stop talking by squeezing his shoulder.

He looks at me again for a minute and then he bows his head in apology.

The limo stops and I don’t wait for another second and left without looking back.

I go straight to the house, but a black figure next to a white car stops me.

I go nearer trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

Ivan, one of Keaton’s bodyguards is standing in the front of the car with an umbrella raised above his head.

The sun transmits such a strong heat that I feel like I'm melting; it's the middle of July, so it's understandable. But why does he have an umbrella over his head?

“What are you doing here, Ivan?” I ask him very confused.

“I’m assisting Mr. Moretti while he is fixing the car.” He says simply.

“And where is he? And what the fuck are you doing with that umbrella?”

“I cover him from the sun, Miss. The sun in Italy is very different from the one in Chicago." Then he moved his umbrella towards me to shade me.

“Get this thing away from me.” I say way to fast. “Did he leave you here alone while he’s inside? You can tell me if he’s abusing you, I can take you away from him.”

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