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"What fortuitous timing," Mother says. "Sienna just arrived as well. I was just mentioning that I used to run an art gallery. Do you remember Nico?

"Yes, I do. But where is Sienna’s car? I didn’t see one when I pulled in."

"I got the bus," she explains. "Don't worry yourself. People do it all the time."

"I wasn’t worried," I reply with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes dismissively. I can't decipher our interaction, but it's charged with tension, attraction, and peculiar ease. That's the most dangerous allure.

"I'll let you two get started," Gianna announces. "Sienna, you can set yourself up in the living room, just through there. Don't hesitate to direct Nico as needed."

ChapterSix

Sienna

"Thank you, Mother," Nico responds sarcastically... yet affectionately. His devotion to his mother is unmistakable. I could logically argue that even bad people can cherish their loved ones, but it feels more complex. My body yearns for Nico, the same impulse that compelled me to finally give his features to my faceless man.

That doesn't mean I have to surrender to such desires. I refused to let grief control me. I won't succumb to passion, either.

Nico gestures toward the living room. I proceed ahead, acutely conscious of his scrutiny. It's as though he's meticulously analyzing me, not judgmentally. Rather, he seems... ravenous. As if feasting visually upon me. My body responds involuntarily.

Nevertheless, I maintain self-control. I can tolerate this. He guides me into the living room. It's breathtaking. I feel like I’ve been transported into a museum.

The living room exudes subtle hints of lemon and old books.

Light filters delicately through the linen drapes, gentle as a whispered breath. The furniture sits low and expansive, upholstered in immaculate fabric that wouldn’t dare wrinkle. The pale rug underfoot appears handwoven, likely older than me. I hesitate to step further. The air feels... deliberately curated.

Nothing appears ostentatious or disorganized.

"Are you going in?" Nico inquires from behind.

"Yes, of course."

Why did I stumble verbally?

"Sorry– you wouldn’t happen to have a chair available? I need to set up my easel."

"I'll get you everything necessary," he assures, "and apologies aren't unnecessary."

He's right. I hadn't intended to apologize. But I don’t need his help. I set up my easel. Nico leaves momentarily, returning with a chair. "You carried that on the bus?" he questions as I arrange my pencils, gradient selection, and blending tools.

"It's hardly a big deal," I reply.

He positions the chair. "It absolutely is, Sienna."

"Your southern accent intensifies when pronouncing my name."

He grins charmingly. "Sienn-ah, like that?"

I laugh despite myself, disregarding my reservations, knowing it contradicts my better judgment. "Precisely. You sound like some classic film star."

"Perhaps I was in an old movie."

Another involuntary laugh escapes me as I wave dismissively. "You're hardly ancient."

"It's reassuring to confirm I’m notthatold, Sienna. I appreciate that."

"I didn't mean to imply..."