Page 101 of Ruins
The air thickens between us, charged with something untamed, something I don’t have the words for.
Finally, I force out the only answer I can manage.
“Yes.”
I lift my free hand, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing soft skin. “I love it.”
But the truth hangs unspoken between us, thick and inescapable.
It’s not the painting that has me ruined.
It’s the painter.
We stand in silence, caught in the moment. Something flickers in her eyes—uncertainty, emotion, something deeper.
Then, softly, she speaks.
“Is Lila in a lot of trouble?” She hesitates. “I didn’t want—”
“No.” I cut her off before she can worry. “She’s truly on vacation. Her job will be here when she returns.”
Vasilisa searches my face, then offers a small smile before looking back at her painting.
“Can you guess what it’s going to be?”
I peer at the twilight sky she’s crafted, the glow of streetlights framing what looks like an overhead view of a familiar place. And then it clicks.
“La Serenata?”
She beams. “Yes. Our first date.”
She’s painting that night.
The memory rushes back, unbidden. The ambiance of La Serenata, the rich scent of wine and candle wax, the way her emerald dress clung to her frame, molding to every delicate curve.
“You’re painting that night?” My voice comes out lower than I intend.
She nods, her fingers tracing the edge of the canvas. “I wanted to capture our story.”
Biting her lip, a light blush stains her cheeks, her gorgeous eyes shining with something vulnerable.
I can’t take it.
I reach out, hooking my thumb under her lip, freeing it from her teeth. She stills, her breath catching, but I don’t stop. My thumb trails along her cheek, memorizing the warmth of her skin.
She’s flushed. Paint everywhere.Pure. Beautiful. Mine.
A hunger pulses inside me.
I cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into the loose tendrils of her hair, and pull her in.
Her lips part in surprise, but I don’t give her time to second-guess it. I capture her mouth, taking what I crave.
She gasps against me, gripping my shirt as I deepen the kiss, swallowing the soft, sweet moan that slips past her lips.
I freeze.
I need to stop.
