Page 10 of Kept

I whip my head around, shock widening my eyes. “You did?”

He’s neveroncementioned anybody else in our lives, not since my parents died. It’s always just been us. Always.

He nods, and I sense his slight irritation, so I turn my head back around obediently, holding my breath as I wait for more information. “An older woman. Her name was Maria.”

Maria.Like the statue, but I don’t mention that. Ethan has never been a fan of me giving his art names. I wonder if there’s a connection there that I never even realized. Maybe my subconscious was telling me the name was familiar.

I lapse into silence as Ethan describes his latest trip, the museums, the culture. “Theart, Zella. You would have loved it. The statues are beyond comparison.”

“Maybe one day I’ll get to see them,” I murmur, and then I bite my lip as Ethan pauses again. “Did you get any photos?”

He relaxes. “A few. I’ll get some printed for you.”

I sit quietly until he’s satisfied and my hair falls in a silken sheet to the floor. “Exquisite,” he murmurs. “What do we say, Zella?”

I consider his question. “One must give value to their existence by behaving as if one’s very existence was a work of art.”

He chuckles. “Nietzsche had it right. You are flawless, Zella. The crowning jewel in my collection.”

I try to smile, but it feels a little forced, and he tilts his head.

“Art is difficult, Zella,” he says quietly. “And as Dali said, a true artist is not one who is inspired, but one who inspires others. And you are nothing if not inspiring.”

I glance down, thinking over his words. I have no wish to be a muse and nothing else. “Could it not be both?”

Thankfully, he laughs. “How is your sketching coming along?”

My smile becoming real, I pull out my sketchbook to show him. He glances through the pages, his eyebrows raising. “Not bad.”

“If I had some color,” I murmur, my eyes flicking to his face. “They could be better, I think.”

He flips the book closed with a slight snap. “Perhaps for your birthday. It’s coming up soon, I believe.”

“It is?” Not for the first time, I wish I had a calendar, but Ethan always forgets to bring it when I ask him. I’ll be twenty-three this year.

Twenty-three years of life. All of them lived within these walls.

My mouth opens, but Ethan is already standing, any potential moment for discussion quashed as he brushes himself off. “I’m sorry to leave so soon, but I have an event to attend this evening.”

Disappointment curdles in my stomach as I nod, wrapping my arms around my waist as I follow him to the elevator. My hair slides across the floor behind me like a sheet, and I wince as it catches on the leg of the stool. “Of course. Perhaps next time, you could bring the photos?”

He nods. “I’ll be back on Thursday.”

When I stare at him blankly, he laughs, a little awkwardly. “In two days.”

Right.

I suddenly feel uncomfortable, the weight of Ethan’s stare heavy. I normally hate him leaving, despising the silent emptiness he leaves behind, but tonight I find myself craving the space.

“This to go?” He points at the small bag of trash, carefully double-bagged and placed by the door. At my nod, he grabs it, setting it down inside the elevator before he turns back to me.

“Two days, Zella,” he reminds me. His eyes search my face, his irises darkening. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

I half-shrug, and wave a hand. “Of course. I’ll be… right here.”

I can’t stop the bitterness at the end of my words. Ethan’s brows fly up, his mouth opening, but the doors slide closed before he can respond. I wait for a moment to see if they open again, but instead the sliding lights appear, showing him heading back down.

I bite my lip. I don’t even know whatdownis. Does anyone else live in this building? Do I have people walking around underneath me?

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