Page 47 of Partnering with the Artist

Zakery, after confirming I am not dead-set on another Kamikaze attempt, says, “We’ll be right down. Thanks.”

Viktor grunts. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

The softclickof the latch reverberates in my ears as I slowly look back at Zakery and find him peering at me, both of us sitting on opposite edges of the bed.

“Dinner,” he says, gently.

My head begins to shake. “I— I— Um. I’d ratherdiethan go down there and have dinner with your big brother right now.”

His dark brows knit. “Why? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Ifellon you, Zakery! Did you forget that? I fell on you because I was snooping on your pretty tattoos, which wasverywrong of me. Also, in these sorts of situations, it’salwaysthe girl who’s a harlot while the man is justbeing a guy. His brother probably thinks I’m some kind of tramp, seducing his younger brother formoney. That’s why I have all these nice things. I’ve been sugar daddying!

Oh.Crap.

That is exactly what this looks like; that is exactly what I’ve been doing, unintentionally.

Sinking in on myself, I bury my hands in my hair. I’m gonna get my sister and me evicted from our home. Viktor is gonna have along talkwith his younger brother about the wiles of women, the way they bat their eyes and sayplease, please, please.

Pleasespend tens of thousands of dollars on me. If you do, I’ll let you keep me closer, and won’t that befun?

Bat. Bat. Pout. Pout.

“Hey,” Zakery soothes, interrupting the downward spiral of my thoughts. “Let’s eat dinner, okay? Then we can talk.”

I shake my head. Absolutely not! I amnotgoing down there. I’m going to wait for the sun to fade into dusk, and then I’m going to climb out the window. I’ll alert Morana that I’ve ruinedeverything. She’ll mourn her mop; I’ll mourn my studio. We’ll pack whatever we can fit into her car and head back to Mom and Dad’s. Or maybe Kentucky. Start a new life there, away from the city of memories withHarry. And away from this place, with its new memories, which are proving quite panic-inspiring.

“Eep,” I jerk when Zakery’s body is suddenly in front of me, dropping into a crouch.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I lost my mind. Can wepleasehave dinner, then talk? They’ll wait for us. All night. I’d rather Viktor not have to come get us again. Then he’ll be mad.”

“He’s not already mad?”

Confusion taints Zakery’s brow. “No?”

“Even though I’m seducing his little brother into buying me things?”

Zakery’s brows shoot up. “Isthatwhat’s happening?”

Fervently, I nod.

“Wow. Well, I’m glad you told me. I do suppose that makes sense…” His gaze trails off me as he rustles his waves. “That’s why you begged me not to get you a car. And fought me every step of the way on everything else. I bet that’s even why you tried to order asideof quiche, so as to not let on how much of a gold digger you truly are. My eyes are opened.” Those open eyes find mine. “Now that the façade is behind us, should your car be pink? Or green?”

Breathless, I whisper, “Please don’t get me a car.”

He takes my hand and rises. “Please don’t slip when you stand.”

I do anyway; it’s like a disease, except this disease sends mecrashing into Zakery’s chest for the third time in a matter of minutes.

Bracing me from certain doom, Zakery murmurs, “Do I need to carry you?”

“Please…no.”

“Then please take your suicide socks off.”

Catching sight of his semicolon tattoo, I swallow hard and grip his shoulder to pull off my socks. Cold tile meets my feet, and I can hardly stomach the strangeness of being in someone else’s house completely barefoot. I don’t think I was ever barefoot at Harry’s apartment. Not a single time.

Once I’m channeling someone who can walk, Zakery smiles and cups my face as he takes my free hand. “Don’t worry. Viktor doesn’t care, okay?”

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