Page 67 of Taken By the Fake Fiancé

Declan has a full schedule today. He is tied up with the Board and his father this morning. The plan to make him the Managing Director is in motion, the Board had been meeting last week to go over everything, and this morning to finalize the process. He also has a private hearing in court with Amelia in the afternoon. He will probably come back late today.

Vibrant energy pulsates through my veins as I take the stairs back to my room. Instead of heading to the master’s bedroom and picking up the paperback thriller on the nightstand, I turn toward the guest room where I stored my not-so-personal belongings. In one of the corners are my art supplies and a long stool. I’ve been working on a painting of the house. Today’s the last day and I’m hoping to complete it.

The light isn’t good enough. I pick up the canvas and the box with the brush and paint. I can stay on the front porch, that way, I can look at the real image and not the one on my phone.

Eli and Angelina are still in the kitchen talking about the foggy weather with the chef. I quietly slip past them and make my way to the front door. I’ve already done the basics, now, what's left is adding the details and highlights. I focus on the front porch, starting with the porch swing. It’s easy, I’m done in about twenty minutes.

I begin to hum a light tune under my breath, tilting my head to the side to gaze at the beauty I’m creating. Declan is going to be surprised since I’ve not revealed this part of me to him. It’s just something I used to indulge in to escape reality. The first day I handled a painting brush, I couldn’t stop grinning. I gave it a name and kept it beside my pillow for--

“Isn’t that the porch swing?” I hear Eli whisper, then the soft footsteps cease.

“Why don’t you go ask her? She doesn’t bite, you know?”

I listen closely, resisting the strong impulse to swerve my head and beckon to him. This has to be his call. I’m not going to push it anymore. I mentally count from one to ten, holding my breath.

I hear a sigh and then the footsteps tap on the floor again.

“Go on, I’ll be right here,” Angelina whispers.

I can picture her nudging him forward.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“Don’t assume yet. Just go.”

“How did you do that, Ms. Goleman?” he asks, nodding at the image of the porch railing.

I smile at him and ask calmly, “Do you want to try?”

His eyes widen a fraction.

“Really? You’ll show me h-how to paint?”

“Of course. Then in return, you can show me how to play that game again. We can do it together on weekends.”

He beams.

“I’ve always wanted to paint the beach... be an artist. Can I do that now?”

I pick up one of the brushes and dip it into the paint.

“You can start by helping me highlight this front porch. With your help, I’ll finish up before nightfall. We can go to the park tomorrow if the weather is favorable for your first real lesson. We can also go to the beach to paint over the weekend,” I say, looking at his eyes.

His eyes warm, and he wriggles his fingers as if he’s unsure about something. I know Eli hates getting his hair ruffled, but I don’t think he’ll mind since it’s going to be my first. I’ve always wanted to do it. So, with bright eyes and my lips curling in a wide grin, I thread my fingers through his hair and couldn’t resist kissing his forehead.

“It’s nice to meet you, Eli Declan Gray.”

“Ditto, Ms. Goleman,” he says with a short laugh.

I can see his body visibly relaxed. I pull a deep breath and hold it, releasing it slowly with my eyes closed and my heart almost exploding with joy.

A few hours later.

“Do that again!” Eli says, laughing as I flip the pan, mirroring the chef’s move. I do it again, causing the young boy to double over with his hands on his waist. I scrunch my brows in confusion, wondering what the hell I’ve done wrong to prompt such humiliation.

“The pancake is going to end up looking like a potato if you go on like that,” Eli says after he’s calmed.

“But I'm doing it properly.” I turn to the older man with a white apron tied around his broad waist. “That’s how to do it, right, Nick?”

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