Page 27 of The Artist and the Muse

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After brunch, the girls and I found ourselves in my apartment, crowding into the kitchen because Abigail wanted to make brownies. We ended up at my place since it was closer to the brunch restaurant than the Steeles’ penthouse. We also had a larger kitchen, since no one in Aaron Steele’s household seemed to do much cooking. Instead, they often dined at expensive restaurants or ordered takeout.

The sight of cocoa powder, eggs, milk, and sugar laid out in front of us on the counter made my mouth water. Brownies were my favourite. I hadn’t had them in years for that reason.

“Hi, girls!” my mother breezed into the kitchen just as Abigail was cracking an egg. Startled, my redheaded cousin crushed the egg in her fist instead of tapping it gently against the bowl, causing tiny shards of eggshell and splatters of egg yolk to spray across the counter.

We all burst into laughter.

My mother turned to me. “Georgia.”

She engulfed me in a hug. I’d missed her—despite living in the same apartment, we seemed to keep missing each other. Sometimes I’d been crawling into bed late trying not to disturb her in the next room. Other times, she had gotten up early and left for a morning shift at the cafe, where she worked part-time after retiring from her job at the casino.

We hadn’t had a chance to talk about everything that had happened between me and George since I’d picked her up from the airport.

“It’s good to see you, Mom. Where were you this morning? You were gone by the time I got up.”

“Oh, I just had an early shift at the cafe and then I went to church. What are you girls making? Or I should say, trying to make?”

Katerina chuckled, wiping up the splattered egg bits as Abigail washed her hands.

“Just some brownies,” Allie said. “How are you doing, Auntie May?”

“I’m doing well, how are you?” She and Allie struck up a conversation.

I fixed my gaze on the brownie recipe Abigail had open on her iPad. Hunting through the pantry for the vanilla extract—while I could often be found cooking, I never made anything delicious if it was going to pass my lips—I found it in a dusty drawer.

“You look thinner, Georgia,” my mother observed, turning from her conversation with Allie. “And tired.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I pasted on a cheery smile reserved for intrusive paparazzi.

She sighed. “You know I don’t mean it as an insult.”

I knew that too, but it was easier to be defensive than it was to let her see the truth behind my mask.

“I know you’re concerned, but there’s nothing to be worried about. After I graduate, I’ll start sleeping normal hours again.”

I pictured myself walking across that stage in my graduation gown. Accepting an award that came not from my appearance but my achievements. Finally having something I could say was truly mine, not because of how people perceived my body or from hitting the genetic jackpot.

“So, did Georgia tell you about the Italy trip her teacher is organizing? We’re all trying to convince her to go,” Abigail said.

I shot her a silent ‘youtraitor’with my eyes as I whisked the cocoa powder with the sugar and flour. The chocolate scent floated up to me tauntingly.

“No, she didn’t. Georgia, you’ve been holding out on me.” She gazed at me expectantly, blue eyes aglow with anticipation.

“It’s just a glorified field trip. Nothing to get all worked up about.”

“Only a jetsetting model would say that,” Katerina teased.

The comment stung more than it should have and I fought the urge to snap at my cousin-in-law. She couldn’t know how I was feeling; I hadn’t told her. Of course my life seemed perfect from the outside. That was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

“We’re just going to museums and cathedrals, learning about Christian artwork, and eating Italian food. What’s so fun about that?” I said flatly.

“Can I take your place on the field trip?” Allie joked, adding vanilla extract to the wet ingredients.

“Please do,” I said.

We combined the ingredients and mixed the brownie batter, before pouring it into a greased baking dish and placing it in the preheated oven. While everyone else swarmed around the sink, washing and drying the dishes, my mom pulled me into the living room.

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