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Then, she does a little hop. Just enough to get an inch of air under her feet before they connect again with the step, but it’s enough to take ten years off my life.
My arm darts out, and I circle her waist, pulling her back to my front.
I can’t even string together words. It’s just curses, as I haul her down the rest of the stairs, her feet dangling above the treads.
It’s not lost on me that this is how we started. That I carried her just like this when I stole her. But I’m too stressed to focus on it. Too close to a fucking heart attack to think about anything but getting her feet safely on the ground.
When we reach the bottom, I hesitate for a moment before putting her down. Enjoying the feeling of her against me too much.
But when my body starts to react, I lower her to the floor.
The last thing she needs is me pawing at her right now.
She looks up at me, unspoken words swirling behind her eyes. But instead of voicing them, she grabs my hand with her good one. “Come on.”
My fingers tighten around hers.
I feel like such an idiot as I follow her through the house. Like I should be more caught up to whatever this situation is that I’m in. And maybe it’s the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed over the past several days, or maybe I just am a fucking idiot. But I’m lost.
Lost as to why she’s being nice to me.
As to why she’s holding my hand.
We turn to head through the kitchen and that’s when my idiot brain puts it together that we’re going to her studio.
Cici is standing at the island, making some type of pastry dough. And as we pass, she looks up. Her eyes going from me to Savannah, then back to me, and dropping lower.
“Eyes off my husband, please.” Savannah says casually, as she continues to pull me in her wake.
Is she…was that jealousy?
I stay quiet as we close in on the studio.
I’ve been tempted to come in here at night, to check on her. To watch her sleep. But I knew she brought Duke in here each night on her own, and I didn’t want him to alert her to my presence. So, I haven’t been in here. Not since her lion collection filled the room.
Savannah opens the door and drops my hand so she can walk through first.
But she just steps to the side, not actually showing me anything.
“What…” My eyes catch on a bright red canvas.
I step further into the room.
The large canvas is covered corner to corner in shades of red. And the object in the center of the painting…
Unspoken words wrap around my throat.
It’s a crown.
A crown, perfectly sculpted out of paint. The slashes of burgundy looking like streaks of blood dripping from the shiny surface.
It’s harsh. And bold. And violent.
But also somehow warm.
Is this what she…
My eyes slip past the red, and lock onto the next canvas.