Page 53 of Taboo
The odds are terrible, some would say impossible, but the strength of my desire must not be underestimated.
Chapter
Thirty-Five
AMELIA
Istand in my studio with the sharp tang of turpentine and wet paint suspended in the air. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, bathing the room in golden warmth. My brush hovers over the canvas. This is the final stroke. The dragon is finished.
I step back and look at my dragon.
It’s finally finished… and it’s quite breathtaking—emerald scales shimmering with flecks of gold, wings spread wide, eyes glowing with its fierce, untamed nature. I remember when I started it, months ago, the colors were quite dull, even though I had tried my best to make them vibrant, and the creature lifeless. It was a shadow of my own heart, broken and gray.
Now, it’s vibrant and flourishing, each hue bursting with energy, mirroring the fire Max has ignited in me. My life, once muted, now surges with color, emotion, and excitement—his touch, his voice, his love all becoming part of my painting. A rush of joy so intense it pricks my eyes, and tears fill me. I never want this to end.
I want all my paintings to look this animated.
Every night, Max sleeps beside me, his body warm, solid, his arm draped over my waist. When I wake in the night, I almost feel like I am in a dream, and I can’t believe he is real. This life is real.
And waking to him… Oh the beauty of that. His dark hair mussed, his blue eyes soft with sleep, as he murmurs my name. It feels like a miracle. We talk over coffee, his laugh filling the kitchen, his hand brushing mine, and it’s everything—the perfect life I’ve dreamed of since that summer. My heart sings with how much I love him, how much he’s brought me back to myself.
But in the shadows, Sara waits…
I hear activity from downstairs, and shortly after, I hear Jason’s voice, bright and bubbling, calling out as he bounds in from school. I wipe my hands on a rag and head down. The foyer smells of fresh flowers, a bouquet Max brought home yesterday. Jason’s backpack thuds to the floor, his dark curls bouncing as he runs towards me.
“Aunt Amelia!” he calls, his gray eyes sparkling with excitement.
My heart swells, love for this boy wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “Hey, you. How was school?”
“It was awesome!” he replies, his words tumbling out. “We made clay pots, and mine didn’t break!” His grin is wide and infectious, and I laugh.
“Come on, I’ve got lunch ready. Turkey and avocado sandwiches. You can tell me more about your day as we eat.” I start to go back upstairs.
“Where are you going? Aren’t we eating in the kitchen?”
“Nope. We’re eating in the studio. I’ve got something to show you.”
Jason’s eyes widen as he spots the finished dragon. He stops suddenly, the sandwiches waiting on the table, completely forgotten.
“Is that done?” he asks, voice hushed.
I smile, my heart swelling with pride, with joy. “Yeah, it’s finished.”
“It’s so cool!”
“Do you want to see it up close? I’ve got a surprise for you.” I gesture to the dragon.
He nods eagerly and bounds over, his sneakers squeaking on the hardwood. I kneel beside him, pointing out the details—the golden flecks in the dragon’s eyes, the curve of its wings, the broken arrow still embedded in the dragon.
Jason looks up, his eyes wide, curious. “Can you teach me to paint like that?”
My heart melts, a warmth spreading through me. “Of course. But first let’s eat, then we’ll start.”
We settle at the table. He scoffs down the sandwiches, homemade biscuits I found in a tin in the pantry, and washes it all down with sweet lemonade. Jason chatters about school, his clay pot, his friends, and I listen, nodding, my heart full. This moment is so simple and so perfect. After lunch, I pull out a sketchpad and sharpen some pencils. I sit beside him on the rug, sunlight warming our backs, and show him how to draw a dragon’s curve.
“Like this?” he asks, his pencil wobbling, creating a shaky line. His little brows are furrowed, and I resist the temptation to laugh at how cute he looks.
“Exactly,” I say, adjusting his grip, my hand over his small, warm one. “Just keep practicing and the line will become smoother and smoother.”
