Page 20 of Mine to Ruin

“Hey sweetie, how was it?”

“Interesting.”

“Now this sounds interesting since you don’t usually use the word interesting.”

Do mothers come with a hidden feature, like detecting secrets even from miles away? Because mine has one. I tell her about my studio and the people I met, except for Kian. When I hang up, I wonder when I will see him again.

The week passes in a blur, and I finish two paintings. Lorene’s eyes round in awe as she examines them, moving from one painting to the next.

“They are so beautiful, and they fit with the aquamarine theme. I’m sure Kian will love them.”

His name rings, from morning until nighttime, in everything. From the Reyes in the hotel name, to the uniforms imprinted with his initial, to the hundred times every woman whispers his name, like they are all possessed. I prefer to eat my lunch alone in the mini garden outside my studio.

While eating my sandwich, Brandon appears and takes a seat.

“It’s becoming a habit, you sneaking up on me.” I elbow him and his lips tilt up in a grin.

“Why do you eat all by yourself?”

“It’s quieter.”

He frowns and I think of his brother, those broody eyes and sensual lips. They don’t share any physical traits, even the way they dress is different. Kian seems to only wear suits, while Brandon is the polo and slacks-wearing type. He looks like a model for high fashion. I sigh and my eyes peer at the door and back.

“He’s not coming,” Brandon says.

My eyebrows draw together, and he leans in and whispers, “No one actually knows what goes on in his head, but I’m sure he’s avoiding you.”

“Whatever.” I feign indifference as heat rushes to my cheeks.

“It’s better this way. Stay away. I like you, and he tends to hurt people. One day he’s there, and the next you don’t hear from him for years.”

“Maybe he has his reasons.”

“Kian is a selfish bastard.”

There is bitterness and pain mixed in Brandon’s voice, and I pat his arm. Where has Kian been, and why did he go away in the first place?

A mischievous smile appears in the corners of Brandon’s mouth, and he says, “I don’t know if I can be just friends with such a beautiful woman.”

He’s joking because lust doesn’t cloud his eyes the way it does his brother’s.

“You’re not my type.”

He places his hand on his heart, lips upturned in faux hurt. He leaves and I finish my sandwich before going back to my painting.

Kian’s absence becomes a daily occurrence. I’ve convinced myself our connection was all in my head, but Brandon is a reminder it’s not all bad. I never thought I would slip so easily into a friendship with someone. I tell him about my girls and threaten him with bodily harm if he ever thinks of starting something with them.

He’s constantly texting different women. Laura, then Natalie, a Russian model, followed by Amanda, the new server. I roll my eyes, but his boyish looks, that devilish charm, and his ability to actually listen must be hard to resist.

Lorene visits me every day to track my progress and praise me. Today, she’s wearing a pink suit, her hair tied in a bun at her neck, with big pearls draped down her chest.

“You are the first uncomplicated artist I’ve met,” she says relieved.

“Thank you.”

“So, you and Brandon?”

I send her a questioning look.

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