With a confession like that, how could I refuse him?
“Rule number one is…” I let out a sigh, knowing that I had violated this rule since the moment I had been weakened by love. “Be as ordinary as possible.”
To never stick out, to never grab someone’s eye. To never be the main character, but instead take on a supporting role. The world was run by the people who stood behind the thrones, in the shadow of greater men.
It went against human nature to never center ourselves in any interaction, to always think of ourselves as facilitators, rather than members, of anything.
That was why Eoghan’s attention had been so intoxicating. The human longing to be important tosomeonewas an allure I had not been able to resist.
“Be careful,” I finally said, because only one thing had ever defeated Blink. Only one thing could make him seem so miserable. “She’s not worth this agony.”
“Neither is Eoghan.” The two of us looked at each other - two friends, in the same fucking predicament of loving someone who was our poison and drug. “Take care of yourself, Picasso. Take care of the brat, too.”
Without a word, he opened his door and left the car.
Chapter thirteen
A Coffee
Kira
Isketched at a coffee shop in the morning, before I placed them on a canvas.
Sketch after sketch came off my fingers like they were possessed. I could only do one thing. I was drawinghim.
His dark eyes, his deep, high cheekbones, and a square jaw. His face in a rage, in sorrow. His eyes glowing with the small gasp of adoration.
So many faces, but only ever of one man. At first, I did this because Ihadto. Then, I started doing it because I longed to see him. To see the eyes that hung the moon.
My hands moved like lightning over the page for the first time in my life. Not even in art school had my body ever felt so possessed by an image that it poured out of me like a fever dream. A simple, black and white image emerged, as the charcoal pencil fell apart, the powder covering the table as my coffee grew cold.
I couldn’t fight it.
It was as if he was my muse, extracting the art from me against my will.
Dairo had told me that there was nothing magical about Aoibheann, or the house that I had run from. But the longer I was gone, the more I disagreed. There was some magic or pull that wouldn’t let me extract him from my mind.
I would never have another.
He had cursed me. I knew it, somewhere in my gut that I would be with him, or I would die alone.
When the pencil was nothing but a stub, Eoghan’s face looked back at me. His gorgeous lips around a Dunhill cigarette, as his head tilted back with a satisfied, post-coital afterglow.
It was erotic and charming. The dark glint in his eye promised so many things - love, satisfaction, and bliss all at once.
Jesus… I had finally made art.
A masterpiece.
And it all came down tohim.
“That looks good.”
I almost screamed when Aaron Jackson’s face materialized beside mine as he peered at my drawing from over my shoulder.
I immediately covered it with my hands, then flipped the paper over to keep prying eyes from my creation.
“Who is he?” Aaron asked, slowly, his head tilting to one side.