“I did. When he said it, I said I’d love that, but my voice was so high and squeaky I nearly choked. It was mortifying. He didn’t say anything else at all.”
“I told you, he’ll come back,” Siobhan pointed out.
“No, he—”
“Actually,” I spoke up, but immediately regretted it, “he will. He’ll want to check on your sister once before the end of his shift. Dr. Martin is very nice. I’m sure he was just trying to make you feel comfortable.”
Emma nodded, her expression visibly shifting from hopeful to embarrassed. “I’m sure you’re right. God, Siobhan, you’re so embarrassing.” She cast her gaze back to me. “Thank you for…for taking care of my sister.”
“It was my pleasure,” I said, a small, forced smile on my face. “A nurse will be in shortly to administer your medication. If you have any issues, just push that button there near your head and someone will check on you.”
“Thank you,” Siobhan said, a winning grin on her face as she looked back at her sister. I rushed out of the room, struggling to breathe and maintain my composure all at once.
I wanted to believe it couldn’t be true, but there was nothing in the girls’ expressions that resembled a lie.
Was Lucas growing bored with me? Could he be considering cheating?
Chapter Fifteen
Alaina
I ran the brush over the canvas, painting the pale peach color of my skin onto the aqua blue background. My brush twisted and twirled with every curve of my body. I traded brushes, dipping the next in black and tracing the outline of my breasts, my hips, my fingers, my legs. I traced around my jaw, drawing the place where my ears connected with my head, the bends of my fingers against my thighs, the line where my lips connected, separating just so in the middle.
I paid special attention to the areas I wanted him to notice most, the areas I wanted to be burned into his memory.
When I was finished, when my body was lined in detail, shaded, and painted onto the canvas, I stood back and admired the work. Six hours had passed with my music roaring in my ears, lulling me into a quiet place of serenity while I worked. It was my favorite place to be—inside my own head with no one around to bother me, no noises to distract me, so deep inside my own subconscious that the music itself had dulled to white noise.
I looked over my work, noticing the places where it could’ve been stronger, but my legs were beginning to shake and my mouth was dry. I pulled my apron over my head and laid it on the bed, walking down the hallway with one hand resting on my stomach. I was tired, and though I hadn’t changed much physically yet, my stamina had changed dramatically. The long painting sprints I’d once enjoyed so much now took it out of me. I had to be more careful, but of the paintings I’d done in recent years, today’s was the one I was most proud of.
If I’d done well enough, perhaps it would bring Lucas back to me. Perhaps he would realize how much he missed me. Since the pregnancy, our time together had become less and less, to the point that I rarely saw him at all anymore. He was pulling away from me, and if I didn’t do something, if I didn’t act quickly, I was going to lose him forever. While, at one point, I didn’t think that scared me so much, I now knew differently. The trip had changed something in me. It made me realize how badly I needed him. I didn’t want to do this alone. I didn’t want to be a single mother, a starving artist trying to raise a child on my own. I wanted Lucas. And, more importantly, I wanted Lucas to want me.
I filled a glass with water and sipped it as I made my way back down the hall and toward the bedroom, resting against the bed as the paint began to lose its sheen, drying against the canvas.
When it was nearly dry and my water was gone, I set the glass down and lifted my phone from the top of the dresser, pausing the music I’d forgotten to when I removed my headphones.
Lately, whenever I glanced at my phone, there was a sickening feeling of hope that I’d have a new message or missed call from him, but as per usual, the screen was blank.
I swiped my thumb across the screen, opening the camera, and held it out to snap the picture. The bad lighting and low-quality camera didn’t make for the best picture, but it was good enough. If he wanted to see the real thing, he could come over. I considered adding that to the message, but changed my mind. My art would speak for me.
I took a deep breath, wondering what his reaction would be. Would he rush over, shove open the door, and gather me in his arms while overcome with desire? Would we someday hang both of our portraits on the walls of our bedroom for our own private viewing? A girl could dream, I supposed.
I took a deep breath, my thumb hovering over the green arrow. Once I hit it, things were out of my hands.
The ball would be in his court.
Send.
Chapter Sixteen
Naomi
Somewhere across the room, Lucas’ phone buzzed. I opened my eyes slowly, hesitantly, with sleep blurring my vision. Most nights, he kept his phone on loud in case he got called into work. It was only on a very rare night that he silenced it. Still, we were both used to waking up at the slightest noise from it, signaling that someone needed his help. Signaling that, soon, I’d be on my own again.
“Who is it?” I asked, glancing over toward his side of the bed with a closed eye. I sat up. Where is he?
To my surprise, my husband was nowhere to be found. His screen lit up the ceiling with its reflection, and I threw the covers off my legs, scooting across the bed. I lifted the phone, pulling the charging cord from its port and glanced at the screen.
A?
The image on the screen was small, and I couldn’t quite make it out, though my sleep-coated eyes were no help. I leaned forward, typing in his password—his birthday—and opened it. There were no messages from the saved number aside from the small picture in the inbox. I clicked on it, pulled it up, and gasped.
The picture was of a painting, badly lit, but beautiful nonetheless. The woman painted on the canvas was completely naked, with intricate detailing across every nook and cranny of her well-formed curves. I stared at it closer—she had short, raven hair and small facial features and one hand was placed against a flat stomach.
What is this?
It looked as though the painting was freshly done, still sitting on a canvas in a dimly lit room. Who had sent this? What did they want? Who was A?
I clicked on the contact and repeated the number in my head. It was local. Since when was Lucas interested in art?
My stomach was in a tight knot, everything in me screaming that something wasn’t right here. I went back to the picture again, staring at it closer. The woman’s eyes held mine, startlingly realistic in their rendering. There was seduction in her expression…so why had it been sent to my husband? A sickly feeling washed over me as I moved around the bed quickly, typing the number into my phone and then deleting the picture from his.
I hurried back around the bed as I heard him on the stairs below, headed my direction. I plugged his phone back in and placed it back on the nightstand, launching myself onto the bed and throwing the covers over me, my heart racing, as the door swung open.
He walked across the room, staring at me strangely. “Everything okay?”