Page 36 of The Forbidden Secret

“It’s the only place left to go. All the other houses are occupied.”

I had delivered it to another place altogether and assumed the paintings had been a ruse. I had not given it much thought, but I had assumed that they ended up either resold or in the garbage, especially after he admitted that the delivery had been a plan to complete his job and kill me.

I had not allowed myself to consider the paintings and where they had gone.

“I didn’t think you would keep them,” I admitted.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

I didn’t give him the long-winded explanation of where my thoughts had taken me when I learned everything. Instead, I just shrugged. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. The reason he kept the paintings was what confused me the most.

“You bought them to complete your job and kill me.” He flinched, but I continued. “But I don’t understand why you kept them. I guess I just don’t understandyou.I don’t understand why you do the things you do. I can’t understand your lack of commitment. Why do you act like you want me—like you care about me—but then refuse to act on those feelings beyond sex?

“I thought you were coming to terms with the way I don’t do commitment.”

I crossed my arms, thinking about Beatrice. If I told him the truth, I had no idea how he would react.

That hit home more than any other realization.

I didn’t know if he would accept his own daughter. But in the end, I was beginning to see my lack of options. Telling him may be my last option.

I stared into his eyes as blood rushed through my ears. I balled my fists and forced myself to nod. “Yeah, I’m trying.”

I could hardly hear my own voice in my ears as I turned my back on him and walked away.

Chapter Fourteen

Evelina Bianchi

I tried.

I tried so damnhardto compartmentalize what I knew about him. I wanted to believe that regardless of his feelings about the situation, he wouldn’t leave Beatrice in a dangerous situation.

But how could I know that?

From what I knew, I believed that Zeke was a good person. But he wouldn’t open himself to me. He wouldn’t open up toanybody.

I stared at the ceiling long enough that I could see faces in the divots and grooves of the textures. As I stared at the ceiling a little longer, I thought that one of those grooves looked oddly like Beatrice’s chunky face. Would she look the same when I finally saw her again, or would these weeks make her look different?

A knock sounded at the door, and I sat up in bed as Zeke eased through, holding a canvas facing him. I couldn’t tell what sat on the face.

“What do you need?” I asked, my tone flat as I turned back to the ceiling.

He didn’t speak as he propped the painting on a dresser and turned it to face me. The one he carried had me sitting up in the bed and staring.

“You’re right,” he commented.

“About?”

“I don’t open up to people. I never have and never thought I would. I haven’t been transparent with you about a lot of things, and keeping them from you benefits neither of us.” I nodded slowly, eyes darting between him and the painting. “I don’t know how to talk about all the fucked up shit that I feel and have gone through. I’ve never… I’ve never had someone to talk to, but I can try.”

I hugged my knees to my chest and exhaled. “And the painting?”

“You want to know why I kept them, and it’s hard to explain because I don’t know. All I know is that when I look at them, I feelsomething.And when I look at this one, it feels like it was painted for me. It feels like home.” He paused. “It sounds so fucking ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all because that’s why I painted this one.” His eyes narrowed with confusion as he stepped closer to the bed and planted a foot on it, leaning on his knee as he waited. “I almost kept this one, actually. I painted it at a dark time, and it felt almost too personal to sell in the gallery. I painted it because it was what I felt. I wanted to keep it for myself. Alone. Empty. Hopeless.”

I stared at the textured canvas, displaying a foggy-looking home. It was a painting full of shadow and hidden details that presented themselves the harder I looked. The dark flowers. The wilting roses. The raindrops that clung to the house but didn’t have enough heaviness to fall. And inside one of the windows, a shadow sat at the sill, darker than the rest.

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