“Yes. There is something about you that makes me want to draw. It gives me something to do with my hands.”
“I can’t believe you were drawing me while I was asleep—”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I should have asked first.” A small amount of heat rose to face as I remembered the photos and how she could easily see this as a violation of her autonomy.
“No, it’s fine. I don’t mindyoudrawing me. It’s…I don’t know, different when I’m asleep. It seems silly, considering…”
“Talk to me. Take your time. Nothing you feel or think is silly. What makes it different if you’re sleeping versus being awake?”
“I guess it seems more intimate. While I’m sleeping.”
“I can see that,” I admitted with a soft smile. “And I’ll let you in on a secret. It is, in many ways. Let me show you.”
With a small amount of trepidation, I turned the sketchbook toward her. A surge of uncertainty hit as I revealed the image I’d captured of her. She looked at it, her eyes wide with genuine appreciation.
I’d somehow conveyed her beauty without a hint of seductiveness. It was her, in the purest form.
“This is how I see you in sleep. Ethereal,” I stated, my voice measured. “The way the light plays on your features—caresses them, almost. Each mark of the pencil I make on the paper fills me with longing. And here, the way your hair cascades over your shoulder…it’s like a dance of shadow and light. It’s one of many layers that makes you unique.”
“I’m not that unique, I promise. I’m nobody.”
Layers of hurt lingered in those simple eight words, and I had the sudden dawning realization that she’d overheard my conversation with my father. I took a deep breath.
“To me, you are.” I leaned in closer, my finger tracing the curve of her cheek. “There’s a beauty to your unguardedness, in the moments when you are peacefully lying in my arms in the early morning hours before the sun is up. I’m not good with words. I’ve never been.”
I met her gaze, hoping and praying the depth of my feelings mirrored the intensity of this moment between us. “But when I draw, it’s an extension of myself. I’m drawing you not as you see yourself, but as I see you. I’m able to convey the essence of you that my words can’t. Can I show you some others I’ve done?”
She nodded, and I flipped back to the beginning. The image of her at the café, fire blazing in her eyes, blade in hand, had her smiling at the memory. The next one was her in the dance studio, the lines capturing her grace and passion. As her gaze fell upon the sketch, her expression shifted. Her eyes grew glassy, and she gasped. She pulled the image closer, and tears filled her eyes.
“What is it, kitten?” I sensed the emotional weight that entered the space between us.
She blinked rapidly before closing the sketchbook with a heavy exhale. “I give you permission to draw me any way you like, but please never draw me dancing again. It reminds me of someone, and it hurts too much.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry, sweetness. I didn’t mean to upset you further. Damn, I can’t seem to do anything right.” I raked my hand through my hair as tears streamed down her face.
I sat gripping the steering wheel and tried to collect my thoughts. The weight of my fuckups kept piling higher. I took several deep breaths, trying to find a semblance of composure. A rush of cool air hit me as I pushed my car door open. With a determination to make it right somehow, I moved to her side and helped her out.
“Alek—”
“No, I swear I had no intentions of doing anything to upset you today. God knows I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime. I won’t press you about the drawing. I can see you aren’t ready to talk about it. But I’m so fucking sorry about last night. If I could do the entire evening over again, I would. You overheard me talking to my father, didn’t you?”
The look in her eyes said it all. She didn’t have to answer, but it was important that she did, at least to me. I needed her to say it.
“Kinsley, please answer.”
“Yes,” she breathed, and the pain behind her eyes knocked me back. “And it hurt, Alek.”
I walked a few steps away from her. Taking in the view, I sucked in several deep breaths, and when I turned back, she was leaning against the car door.
“All of these emotions are new for me, kitten. The changes in our lives since we met, but that isn’t an excuse for hurting you.”
“It’s confusing for me too. You tell your father I’m nothing, but then you storm Sarah’s house and claim me like a Neanderthal, beating your chest and screamingmine.”
“I know. It wasn’t my finest hour. Look, I care about you more than you know. This is completely uncharted territory in more ways than one for me—for us. I was wrong last night. I don’t know how to explain the complexities of our relationship to myself, let alone my father. I hurt you, and I hate that I did that. It’s not who I am. I’m sorry.”
“Why couldn’t you have told him that instead?”
“Because I’m a Neanderthal, and as I’ve already said, I’m not good with words. Next time, I’ll bring my sketchbook and show him the drawings and tell him that’s how I feel about you.”