Page 24

She found herself drawn by the richness of the colors and the way the strokes blended together seamlessly.

The scene depicted a grove of trees, their leaves golden in the sunlight, with a hint of a lake peeking through the foliage.

It felt almost alive, the warmth of the scene a stark contrast to the coolness she often associated with Nicholas.

“Yes, it is just something I like to do to pass the time,” he said.

Violet could not believe how humble he was being. It was such a contrast to his usual self that it almost made her think if his arrogance was nothing but an act.

“It’s beautiful. You’re very talented,” she announced, awed.

He let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not much. Just a hobby.”

Violet tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “If this is ‘not much,’ then I shudder to think what you’d consider an actual accomplishment.”

Nicholas smirked, picking up his brush again and turning back to the canvas. “Perhaps you are just easily impressed.”

There it was again—the Nicholas she was used to being around. “I was just voicing an observation. One that, clearly, you don’t hear often enough.”

“There’s not much to it,” he said with a shrug. “You could do it if you tried.”

Could I? The thought was tempting. “Oh, I am not too sure about that. You make it sound as if it requires no effort at all.”

He glanced at her sideways, “Effort, yes. But it’s not some mystical art. It’s about control and practice. You could manage it. Would you like to try?”

He stood, gesturing for her to take his seat. Violet hesitated for a moment before sinking into the chair, her hands hovering awkwardly over the palette and brush he handed to her.

“What should I paint?” she asked, looking at him for guidance. Her heart was already racing.

He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “Something simple. A tree, perhaps. Surely you’ve seen one before.”

She narrowed her eyes at him again but decided not to take the bait. With a determined breath, she dipped the brush into a deep green and attempted her first stroke.

It was… disastrous.

The paint smudged awkwardly across the canvas, resembling something closer to a lopsided shrub than a majestic tree.

Nicholas let out a laugh, deep and unrestrained. “Ah, yes. A tree. Clearly.”

“Oh, hush,” Violet muttered, her cheeks flaming as she tried again. The second attempt was no better.

“I didn’t realize trees were so challenging for you,” he teased, stepping closer to inspect her work. “Would you like me to help you?”

“Oh–,” she flushed, “I do not think that would be such a good idea. I do not wish to ruin your painting. It’s clear you’ve put so much into it.”

“Ruin it,” he shrugged as if it was no matter at all. “Go on then. Try again.”

There was something of a challenge in his voice that Violet found impossible to resist. It tugged at her pride, coaxing her forward as though daring her to prove herself.

“Fine.”

She picked up the brush again, trying hard to keep her slender fingers from shaking. She could feel his gaze on her, watching intently, smirking—amused by her lack of skill.

God. Insufferable. But in a painfully inviting manner.

Violet dipped the brush into the green paint once more, determined to prove that she was capable of creating something halfway decent. With a deep breath, she pressed the brush to the canvas and began to paint.

The result was—predictably—another smudge. A groan escaped her lips.

Before she could try again, Nicholas plucked the brush from her hand, his fingers brushing hers in the process. “Enough,” he said, his voice laced with teasing authority. “If I let you continue, you’ll deforest the entire canvas.”

“I thought you were fine with me ruining your work,” she countered.

“I changed my mind.”

There was a subtle weight in his tone, something that made Violet pause.

It felt as though he was no longer talking about the painting, and the thought sent a faint shiver through her.

Her breath hitched as their gazes locked, the silence between them thick with something unspoken—charged, unfamiliar, and entirely impossible to ignore.

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, and she swore he could hear it. But then, as though realizing the intensity of the moment, Nicholas looked away, breaking the spell.

“What brings you here at this hour, Violet?” he asked, moving away to put some distance between them.

Violet blinked, suddenly aware of her surroundings again. She clasped her hands together, trying to collect herself. “I couldn’t sleep. The house felt… too quiet.”

Nicholas nodded, his own composure returning as he set the brush down. “It does have that effect sometimes. Though I didn’t expect you to wander the halls in search of company.”

“Oh—I wasn’t,” she flushed. “Well, I did not intend to disturb you. It just happened that I stumbled across the light in the study and–-”

He cut her off then, “You did not disturb me. No need to explain yourself.”

“Right.” She cleared her throat, annoyed at herself at how her cheeks seemed to warm at such a simple comment.

“Now that you are here, I suppose I would not mind the company.”

He gestured over to the sofa for her to take a seat and followed her there once she did.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered as he poured himself a glass of amber liquid.

“No, I am quite all right, thank you,” she said, toying with the hem of her sleeve. “I really don’t wish to bother you–-I can go–-”

“You’re my wife, Violet. If you can’t bother me, who can?”

Her cheeks flushed at his playful remark, and she glanced down at her hands. “I simply meant?—”

“I know what you meant,” he said smoothly, taking a slow sip from his glass. “But since you’re here, we might as well talk. Unless you’d rather leave me to my terribly dull solitude.”