Page 32 of Sinner's Vow

Chapter Ten

KENNEDY

I lovethe smell of paint. I love the smell of a fresh canvas. And some might disagree, that they don’t have their own scent, but I even love the smell of paint brushes.

I dip my brush in the yellow and mix it with a little bit of red. I apply it to the canvas, beginning the highlighting.

It’s us. Noah and I. I’m looking back over my shoulder at him and he’s looking at me. We’re walking together toward the sunset. It’s not my usual style. There are no buildings in it. There is very little landscape in the picture. This is more of a closeup shot, focused solely on me and him.

I wanted to capture the happiness we’ve found. The peace. The serenity.

“There you are,” Noah’s voice comes from behind me. I look over my shoulder to see him walk into my studio, his eyes sleepy, his movements sluggish. He walks up and wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “You’re really quite amazing. Did you know that?”

“You’ve only said it once so far this morning, so…” I trail off, tipping my head to touch my cheek to his.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers as he presses his lips to my temple. “You keep working. I’ll get breakfast started.”

“I totally forgot everyone was coming over today,” I say as anxiety spikes in my blood, the kind you experience when you’ve forgotten something important.

“It’s fine,” he says with a smile. “I can take care of it. You finish this.”

He squeezes tighter, cupping my breasts, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

Now that we have our own place, I’ve discovered that I do my best painting naked. Here, in my own studio, I never have to put on a stitch of clothing. And it shows in the dozens of paintings around me, most of them completed, waiting to be shipped to the next gallery, or the next buyer.

I smile as Noah turns and walks out of my studio and heads to the kitchen.

He surprised me. When the tour finished, when we headed home from the last show in Mexico City, Noah told me he had somewhere he wanted to take me.

We’d driven down to the beach. We’d parked in the driveway of one of the most beautiful houses I’d ever seen.

It’s set back a hundred feet from the sandy beach. A line of palm trees paves the way between the two. The house is pure white, calm and peaceful. It’s not a mansion, but a home. With four bedrooms, it has space for a few kids.

During the last month of the tour, Noah had chosen the house from Europe and worked quietly to buy it. As we walked up to the front door, he had handed me a set of keys and told me it was a wedding present.

I’d nearly cried when we walked through the house together. It was perfect. A dream. And it was our home. A home for us together.

And then he’d shown me the art studio.

It’s in the top floor of the house, up a spiral set of stairs. There are windows around the entire thing and a beautiful view out to the ocean. He’d had all of my paintings from the tour delivered here, as well as dozens of new canvases and paints and brushes.

It’s been a month since we got home from the tour, and that’s exactly what it feels like. Home.

Noah and I have spent the last month discovering what it’s like to live a normal life together, and it’s perfect. It’s making dinners together. It’s taking walks down the beach. It’s quick trips to the store, and avoiding the paparazzi. It’s trying to quietly step aside when fans go wild over my husband, but him wrapping an arm around my waist, and always, always introducing me to every single one of them as his wife.

I’m so damn proud of him.

But the way he looks at me, I know he’s proud to have me as his wife too. And that’s the best feeling ever.

And just last week, Noah kept his promise to me.

I got a white dress. He wore a tux. We invited everyone we cared about and out on the lawn of our home, we said our vows. We promised to love and support each other for the rest of our lives. And then he’d kissed me silly. We danced that night. We laughed. We celebrated our marriage with our friends and our family.

As the smell of bacon drifts up the stairs, I put the finishing touches on today’s work. I wash out my supplies, and go to the closet. I find something simple and comfortable, a white tank top and some cut-off shorts. I fix my hair in the mirror and put on a bit of mascara. And just as I hear the doorbell ring, I head down the stairs.

“What, you’re cooking now?” Tyler’s voice echoes through the house as Noah opens the door and he and Mia walk in. “Kennedy, I’m pretty sure you’re a witch, because that’s the only explanation for the better man my brother has become.”

“Noah cooks more than I do,” I say with an arched eyebrow.

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