Page 37 of Ace of Hearts

Rose

June

Las Vegas, USA

Are you OK?

Of course I’m OK. You didn’t have to say those things you said.

You’re not feeling sorry for your fiancé, by any chance?

It could have turned nasty. Those comments were really below the belt.

My father doesn’t reply for several minutes. I hesitated for a long time before sending him a message, but in the end I decided I had to. What he did was mean and nasty.

I’ll never forget the pain in Levi’s eyes at that moment. It turned my stomach.

I hate fighting, because you never know what could happen ...

That comment destroyed me when he said it because I realized what he meant: the last time he fought someone, he killed his father. And it appears he’s a lot farther from coming to terms with that than he lets on. Which is completely understandable.

If I were him, I’d have fallen into depression.

Your acting’s improving all the time ...

Because it is still just an act, isn’t it?

I sit staring at my phone, cross-legged on the sofa. My chest tightens. It’s a fair question. I ask myself the same thing every day.

I’m not sure that I am still acting. Levi and I haven’t really talked for two days now. We say the bare minimum, mainly for the purposes of the tournament, but at night I sleep in our bed without even acknowledging he’s there. He doesn’t try anything.

That was the first time he’s ever been angry with me, and ... it hurt. His silence these last two days has hurt too. I thought he’d apologize, but apparently I’m more upset by all of this than he is.

Of course it is.

I delete the conversation and switch off my phone just as Li Mei and Lucky burst into the room, all dressed up to go out.

“Why is a half beer a quarter of a liter, not half a liter?” Lucky is asking her, looking puzzled. “I don’t get it.”

“Do I have ‘Google’ written on my forehead? Oh, there you are!” Li Mei smiles when she sees me. “We’re going clubbing. We’ve placed bets on who’ll drop out from exhaustion first. We’ve even managed to talk Thomas into coming, and, believe me, that doesn’t happen every day! Are you staying here?”

I nod. I haven’t the heart to go out partying tonight. I don’t really relish the thought of being alone with Levi either, but he seems to be holed up in his room for the evening. He must be practicing.

“Don’t wait up!” Lucky says, giving me a knowing wink.

I have no idea what he means by that. I tell them to have fun, and then silence falls again. After a few minutes of drinking and staring into space, I get up and fetch the canvas and tubes of paint I left stored in the bathroom.

I stand in front of the big windows in the living room, throw on a paint-spattered white shirt, and start painting.

This is what I always do when there are too many thoughts swirling around my head.

Instantly, my mind empties. I paint without thinking about what will appear on the canvas.

I’m completely calm, until the warm colors begin to take shape into .

.. a portrait. One that, for once, isn’t of me.

The result is chaotic but unmistakable: it’s an abstract version of Levi’s face.

Hardly believing my eyes, I look down at the other abstracts I’ve done over the last few days. Oh right ... I hadn’t noticed, but it’s him I’ve been painting the whole time.

I’m so shaken that I barely notice him come out of his room, hands in pockets. At the same moment, the doorbell rings, and we look at one another in surprise.

Levi opens the door, and I watch, full of curiosity. It’s a delivery guy. He hands the parcel to my bogus fiancé, who takes it and closes the door.

“What is it?” I ask.

“A package for me. It’s from ... you?”

I gasp, suddenly panicking. I’d completely forgotten! My mouth opens, but nothing comes out as he watches me, eyebrows raised.

“It’s a mistake. It’s for me!” I lie, dropping my brush.

I walk toward him, my heart beating fast. I ordered this before our argument. I should never have done it. I hold out my hand to take it from him, but he lifts it up out of my reach, unmoved as ever.

“Is your name Levi Ivanovich? I don’t think so.”

“Give that back!”

It’s too late—he manages to open it before I can reach it. I sigh in frustration and go back to my canvas without giving him another look.

I’m going to look like a fool. I keep my eyes fixed on my painting, my cheeks burning. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him take the present out of its box. I don’t need to look to know what it is.

It’s a top-of-the-line camera. I don’t even dare think about how much it cost—not much less than my last paycheck. I thought he’d be happy, maybe take up photography again. I couldn’t have predicted what would happen between then and now.

Levi comes over, still silent. My heart beats faster with every step he takes. He stops just behind me. I hold my breath as he sighs, lowers his head, and rests his forehead against the back of my neck. I shiver in spite of myself.

Having him so close hurts me. I want him to go away, but I also want him to come even closer, to touch me and never stop.

“Mi dispiace,” he breathes, his mouth next to my skin. I’m sorry.

Shit. I close my eyes, my hands trembling. I wasn’t expecting him to apologize, much less speak Italian.

“Avevi ragione. Sono stato uno stupido . ” You were right. I’ve been stupid.

His broken Italian is even more irresistible than his English. It does all sorts of things to me, in my heart and between my legs. His lips touch my neck in a chaste kiss. How could I not forgive him after that? I turn to face him, gazing right into his eyes.

“Will you be my model?” he asks.

I smile weakly. “I do have a bit of experience there, as it happens ...”

“Perfect. Take off your trousers and keep your shirt on.”

I do what he asks and pull off my trousers, then remove my bra from underneath the shirt. He looks at me with serious eyes. I ask him what he wants me to do next.

“Keep painting. You’re beautiful when you’re concentrating.”

I do what he asks without asking any questions. He watches me without doing anything at first. I try to forget everything and paint. Finally, he hides his face behind the camera.

When I see him grimace, I ask what’s wrong.

“I have no idea what the pictures look like. It’s all ... monochrome. It feels like a waste of time.”

“Do you remember the painting lesson? You weren’t thinking about the colors you were using. You followed your instinct. This is just the same.”

He doesn’t look convinced. I wonder how to counteract the frustration that’s plainly visible on his face. I tell him to put down the camera and then hand him a brush.

“Paint.”

“Paint what?”

“Me.”

I put the tubes of paint in front of him and slowly start to unbutton my shirt. I see him swallow, his eyes following the tantalizing movements of my fingers. His face remains impossible to read, but his eyes darken when the shirt falls to my feet.

Then they look back up into mine.

“You’re making my job extremely difficult ...”

I ask him if this makes him feel uncomfortable. He’s already told me that other people being naked bothers him. He’s very reserved in that way, whereas I’m not at all. I don’t want to do the wrong thing.

To my relief, he shakes his head. “I’m just afraid of being distracted by my model, that’s all.”

“Shocking,” I tease. Then I quote from the movie. “‘Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.’”

Levi laughs and moves closer, devouring me with his eyes. I let him take his time before making his first mark. He dips the brush in the blue paint and traces a line between my breasts. I shiver. God, it’s cold.

His smile is devastating. He continues his masterpiece in silence. I hope to God the others don’t come back suddenly. “Don’t wait up!” Lucky said as though he knew. I guess we can take our time.

“What have you painted?” I ask, when he finally stands back to admire his work.

“A rose.”

I look down at the midnight-blue rose now blooming on my skin. It’s wonderful.

“Keep going. All over.”

He’s hesitant at first but soon loosens up. He draws the brush over my collarbone, then my nipples, which harden at the touch. The air is warm and electric. I pretend not to notice the growing bump in his trousers, and instead fix my eyes on his as he works.

Soon, he casts the brush aside and begins using his fingers instead. The whole of my upper body is covered in paint. His hands are covered, too, but that doesn’t stop him from wrapping them around my neck and kissing me hungrily.

“You drive me wild,” he whispers between kisses. “I hate it.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

I slip my hands under his T-shirt, touching his warm, smooth chest, and pull it off over his head.

His torso is a work of art. I stroke it with my hands first, before letting my tongue run over one of his nipples.

He lets out a shuddering sigh—it’s clearly a sensitive point. That excites me even more.

My tongue wanders lower and lower, and I unbutton his trousers. He clenches his teeth as I unzip them and kneel in front of him.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

He swears softly in Russian as I take him in my hand and begin to lick. He throws his head back as my tongue slowly caresses him, teasing.

Levi lets out a sound of pure pleasure when I take him into my mouth and start to suck.

He moans something in Russian, sounding like he’s crying out to heaven. Then he cups my face in his hands. “You’re going to kill me.”

“I hope so,” I say, pausing for a moment. “Did you know that orgasm used to be called ‘the little death’?”

My mouth can’t take him in completely, but I play my tongue over his whole length. His hand rests on my cheek, his thumb stroking the lump there. He slides it over to my lips, which are closed around him, and buries his other hand in my hair.

“I’m not going to last long; I’m sorry.” He grimaces, looking ashamed. “Oh God, what are you doing to me?”