Page 46 of Dare to Fall

“Are you sure it’s okay if I leave you alone here?”

“Of course! Go have fun. I’ll meet up with you in a bit.”

“Okay,” I said as I ventured toward the front of the exhibit again. I didn’t know if there was a specific flow to the arrangement, but it made sense to start at the front and work my way around so I didn’t miss out on any pieces.

Right in front of the double-door grand entrance was a huge canvas covered in oil paints. It was clearly abstract with the brush strokes darting in all directions, fusing the deep colors together. Up close, it appeared chaotic and somehow sad. The lines were harsh and angry as though the artist was taking out their frustration with the paint brush. I stepped back a few feet to get a different perspective, and that was when I saw it. Among the hard masculine lines, there were soft feminine curves. It took a few moments, but my eyes finally adjusted, pulling everything together. The outline of a woman with long layered hair was embedded within the chaos.

Up close, her soft lines were a stark contrast to the sharpness of the bold colors and harsh brush strokes. But as I took her in from a distance, the entire painting came together in a tragic way. Trails of ebony tears fell down her cheeks from sad, doll-like eyes that were cast downward. She didn’t belong there, broken and tormented amongst the vivid colors.

Tears welled in my own eyes for the girl in the painting. She didn’t deserve to be broken, to have fallen out of place.

“What do you think?” a gruff voice asked from behind me.

Startled, I jumped and turned to find myself face to face with Garth Walker—the very man I was hoping to avoid tonight.

“Eva, are you alright?” His tone softened as his hazel eyes darted between mine.

“Yes,” I sniffed, wiping my eyes with the backs of my fingers. “I’m fine.”

Garth’s mouth hardened to a thin line. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Seriously, I’m fine.”

He moved closer to me, and I took a step back. “Please don’t. I…I can’t be close to you and keep myself together right now. So, please don’t.”

“Okay.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo slacks and took a step back. “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”

My heart cracked a little more at his words. I couldn’t stand for him to be nice to me right now, because I wanted so badly to just collapse into his arms and let the feel of his body against mine wash away all the pain and anger I felt. But I couldn’t do that—not to myself or to Garth. He deserved better, and I was in no position to fawn over a man when my heart was still in pieces over another.

Silence pulled at the thread between us, making the desire to reach out to him unbearable. I needed a distraction from the building tension.

“Do you know the artist?” I blurted as I gestured toward the painting.

His steely gaze flickered to the painting and back to me. A mischievous grin pulled at the side of his mouth, sending a bolt of electric energy throughout my body, awakening that ember that burned for him and him alone.

“It’s mine.”

“Yours?!” I said a little too loudly.

The warm sound of his laugh made the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I bit my bottom lip to keep myself from blurting out any more stupid questions.

“Yes. The chairman of the art department reached out to me and asked if I would be the spotlight artist for the exhibit this semester. They like to have well-known artists from the community participate in the student exhibit to bring in other established artists and potential buyers so the students can learn how to network.”

“Yeah, Drema, my roommate, mentioned that you were the spotlight artist. But I had no idea that you were so…”

“Talented?” He smirked.

“Yeah,” I laughed.

He turned toward his painting, and I tried to ignore how incredible he looked in his tux. The clean lines of his shoulders accentuated the broadness of his chest. My gaze raked down his torso to his waist, where the tailored jacket revealed just how cut I already knew he was. I clutched my hands as my fingers twitched in remembrance of feeling his hard chest and abs just a few days ago when we ran into each other downtown. If I stared at him any longer, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from touching him, so I turned toward his painting and dug my fingernails into my palms.

“What’s it called?”

He glanced at me with a look of hesitation on his face and said, “Veiled in Lies.”

I swallowed hard. “Who was your inspiration?”

When Garth turned to look at me, it was as though his ever-changing eyes could see straight through me—to the burden I bore, unable to speak of it. I wanted to look away. I wanted to do anything but have Garth Walker see the pain that I couldn’t hide. But I stood there anyway, before the man who made me feel things I didn’t know were possible. The man I wouldn’t dare let myself get close to for fear that he would be my absolute undoing.

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