Page 78 of The Art of Us by Symone

TWENTY

Brandon reaches a fancy suburban neighborhood minutes later. The entire drive, I stare wide-eyed at the massive homes, each with their own contemporary or traditional style.

At last, he pulls off the road and turns down a paved entrance with trees on either side. He stops at the dark wrought iron gates with Decker Estate emblazoned on the stone column.

Punching in a code at the security box, Brandon continues inside once the gates open.

My mouth drops at the spectacularly large white house ahead that stretches out on the property.

Brandon drives around the water fountain in the courtyard entrance and stops in front of the four-car garage.

“Holy shit,” I gasp in utter shock, snapping my head to him. “So, you’re rich rich.”

He shrugs and slips out of the car. I do the same, taking a better look at the stone exterior, large windows, columns, and many well-kept shrubs.

I’m in total awe.

“Come on,” Brandon urges, walking ahead to the front steps.

I follow behind. “Is anyone home?”

“Brit’s at ballet class. Mom is out with friends until my sister’s finished, and my father says he’s in New York, but who knows.”

I frown at that. He’s so relaxed as if he’s grown numb.

Brandon opens the expensive-looking front door, inviting me inside to the grand foyer. I regard the dark marble floor, crystal chandelier, and the shiny white staircase.

I’m peeking into the elegant living room when Brandon says, “This way.”

He starts up the stairs. I go along, wondering what it’s like to grow up wealthy.

Brandon stops in the long passage at the door on the right. He moves aside for me to enter, and I peer around his enormous bedroom, which could easily absorb mine. I like the sleekness and modern style—a blend of white, gray, and black. Built-in shelves run along the wall where the TV is, stacked with a vast number of books.

“Lie down,” he casually tells me.

I slant to him, feeling nervous now. While he has an issue with contact, this could very well be the day he manages to put an end to that.

Brandon narrows his gaze and nods to the bed. “Do it. So you’ll see something.”

Turning to his large bed, I lower onto the soft white sheet and flatten on the fluffy pillow. As I look up, a familiar sketch pasted to the ceiling directly over his bed melts my heart, and my lips curve into a pleased smile.

“My sunset.”

“It calms me,” he confesses. “Gives me peaceful dreams when I stare at it before going to sleep. I wanted it to be the first thing I see when I wake up.”

His words sweep across my skin in gentle caresses, turning me warm. “That’s sweet. I’m glad my sketch does that for you.”

He lowers his gaze to my mouth, Adam’s apple bobbing. “It touched me the first time I saw it. You should feel proud your art has that kind of impact.”

Gosh, he just keeps stirring up the butterflies. “Thank you.” My voice comes out soft.

As our eyes link again, I feel something beautiful—an intensity like no other.

My pulse quickens as Brandon comes around the bed and lies beside me, picking up the book on the nightstand. It’s some deep shit about healing the mind and heart.

Opening it to the page that he bookmarked, Brandon starts to read aloud.

His voice is deep, husky, and full of care.

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