Page 39 of Partnering with the Artist

I glance toward my sewing cabinet, the brand new sewing machine he bought since—according to him—someone as skilled as I am should never be far from her medium.

Harry hated whenever I’d talk about making clothes, whenever anyone would compliment me on my outfits. He wasall too ready to remind me they were little more than old sheet sets or patched together bargain bin items from thrift stores. He said it was embarrassing. He told me it was nothing to brag about, and I was better off keeping it to myself.

In contrast, what has Zakery done?

He’s treated what I do like art.

He’s supported what I love.

He’s beenkind.

“You’ve spent an egregious amount of money on me, for one thing.”

He waves me off and continues sketching. “Pocket change. Housing a little seamstress mouse who’s pretty and lets me paint her is well worth any expense.”

Right. He’s been so lax about everything, I forgot that there was a reason he set me up like this. I’m supposed to be making him clothes. “I can start on your suit for the ball as soon as I get your measurements. Should I plan outfits for your brothers as well?”

He scowls. “No. I don’t like the idea of that very much. If they wanted a seamstress mouse, they should have found one themselves.”

Should it concern me that he’s continuing to call me aseamstress mouse?

Huffing, he glares at his tablet, then at me. “Why can’t I just…” His eye twitches. “I’m on the wrong layer.” A dry laugh worms its way out of him. “I think I’m going to go kill myself.” He stands. “Enjoy the studio, princess. If you’ll excuse me.”

I catch his sleeve, stopping him.

He casts a petulant look down at me. “Do let go. I’ve an appointment with a very tall building. Or, possibly, a cliff.”

“If you’re going to die anyway, can I see what you drew?”

Despondent, he sits. On the bed. Right there next to me. Very close, even.

Turning his LeoPad back on, he presents the sketch, and I sit up to get a better look at the wild strokes outlining the darkness surrounding me. He depicted me staring hauntingly at the camera, my eyes void of all details. The tails of my white hair cut recklessly through the dark.

It’s beautiful.

I’m beautiful.

“I really like the way I look in your eyes,” I murmur.

He faces me and freezes, nose inches away from mine. Breath leaves him. “I’m…glad you approve. It is, of course, far from worthy to bear your likeness…but…” His attention drops to my lips, holds, drags away. “But what can mere mortal hands truly expect to accomplish? Were the myths true, you’d be at risk of angering Aphrodite for existing, Maelin. And I, surely, would not have gone a day without incurring her wrath.”

There he goes again, with his myths and adulation. It’s nearly so common at this point I’m tempted to roll my eyes.

“Maelin.”

My heart thumps. “Yes?”

“I have an odd request.” He lowers his tablet, darkens the screen, and does not look at me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“May I kiss you?”

Chapter 15

?

I have lost my mind.

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