Page 16 of Portrait of A Lost Artist

“Okay, you’re asking for a teacher, and truth be told, I do it without thinking.

I’m not a professional dancer myself.” Nathan pulls away, and I curse myself for not running my fingers through his hair.

He looks over his shoulder and I follow his line of sight, watching a couple dance.

The woman’s back is pressed to the guy’s chest, her hips swinging back.

One of his hands is deeply carved on her lower back and she smiles at him.

“It’s like that?” Nathan asks and I hear the restraint in his voice. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“You’re the inexperienced one here. We need to find our groove, that’s all.” I tell him and when our eyes connect, I smile at him. He mirrors my actions when I turn around, my fingers between his when his palms spread on my waist.

Nathan exudes a quiet masculinity that captivates without effort.

His unassuming demeanor and serene presence draw attention in subtle ways.

There’s a hypnotic quality to his stillness, revealing a strength that invites curiosity without grand gestures.

I move my hips from side to side, adding twirls to my motions because of the low vibrato of the song and the quick guitar moves.

Nathan doesn’t precisely move, so I press my head back, cheek squished to his chest when I whisper against the column of his mouth.

“With ‘ azúcar ’,” I tell him, our breaths mingling with the closeness.

My heart hammers against my chest, staring at the swinging of his Adam's apple when he swallows. He’s at fault for every tremor of my body, caused by his beauty and closeness.

Not without recalling how adorable he is right now, lost in a way one would not expect.

“What does that even mean? That’s an ingredient.”

“It means flavor, Nathan.”

“Azúcar is sugar.”

“It’s a metaphor.” Explaining comes easily and he hums, trailing his fingers up from my waist to thread on the edge of my braid.

He quickly undoes the tie, sliding his fingers through my hair—softened by the braid—and caressing my scalp with his rough fingers.

I move closer to him, sighing deeply when he mirrors my movements.

Although a bit awkward, it still brings a smile to my face when he murmurs in my ear.

“I must look ridiculous.”

“It’s fine. I want to dance with you, however way it comes.”

I must be crazy for this man because he brings my hands up to rest around his neck as he lazily spreads his on my waist. “People are staring.”

“Really?” I open my eyes wide and look around to see that no one is staring at us. When I turn to him, Nathan has the biggest shit-eating grin. “You scared me!”

“Oh, so you do get embarrassed...” Nathan responds, pulling our chests together by hugging me closer. He meets my gaze for a moment before adding: “You don’t have to prove anything to anybody.”

“Huh?” I question him, heart racing at his words.

“I know it’s your first time going out with someone after him and, trust me, you have nothing to prove to me or anyone.

If they’re staring, let them stare. No one has the right to judge you.

” Nathan’s words cage a feeling that I hadn’t realized lived within my chest. I feared getting caught with him as if I still owed someone loyalty.

My teeth clenched my bottom lip, until his thumb, with a soft pressure, eased it loose. “Stop worrying. Let’s dance it out.”

“You? Wanting to dance?”

“Only if it’s with you.”

I’ve seen hundreds of brown eyes, but his are different.

A profound loneliness clung to him, a silent struggle between the impossibility of letting me go and the necessity of being present.

Nathan's gaze held a battle, a fierce restraint against emotional exposure, yet beneath his carefully guided words, a genuine tenderness still shone through.

I shouldn’t have brought him to a place like this, I tell myself, when we’re on the fifth song dancing and we are about to sit down.

Manuel Lopez, the son of the owner of this pub, appears without a shirt on—as per usual when he gets drunk—with a girl over his shoulders and a bottle of whiskey on the other.

He’s pouring liquids into people’s mouths, and just when he reaches Nathan, he screams.

“Come on, buddy, open up!”

A brief struggle played out on Nathan's face, his eyes flickering from me to the bottle. The words urge and crave must get lost in his brain, and I place one hand on his chest to cage him away from Manuel.

“He’s not drinking tonight.”

Though, Manuel doesn’t listen, clicking his tongue at me. “Jess, toss his head back, he’s drinking.”

My shout was cut short as Jessica, riding on Manuel’s shoulders, seized his head and poured her bottle's contents down his throat. Nathan closes it at first, but then, it’s hard not to drink what is given to him. That’s the initiation of something that shouldn’t have been ignited within him.

I push at Manuel’s shoulders, exclaiming. “Let him go! Don’t be an asshole.”

“Alright, party-pooper, we’re going somewhere else.”

His other words faded away as I turned to Nathan, my hand gently resting on his cheek. “Are you okay? We can go look for some water if you—”

“I’m okay. It’s just a drink. This means nothing.”

But it means a lot.

Decisions are sometimes not made by us. The awful destiny that clashes in our lives decides for us instead.

Alessia’s cake was planned to be cut after that event, so I got ready.

An hour before the finale, I'd left Nathan at the snack table, then busied myself with the celebration: locating the knife, gathering people, and setting up the video Zeke and I had prepared.

Soon after, I found myself posing for pictures with Alessia, her eyes brimming with emotion.

We sang her the birthday song and then, I went to look for Nathan.

He wasn’t where I had left him, and he also wasn’t in the crowds of people when we were singing.

The noise and laughter around me faded as I navigated the dance floor, desperately searching the pub's shadows, my voice hoarse from calling his name.

Each vague direction, each mention of him drinking, tightened the knot in my stomach.

He'd confided his struggle with alcohol, and the fear of what he might do consumed me.

I had a feeling he was trying to distance himself for a significant reason.

The biting wind tore at my blouse as I exited the pub, stealing my breath, and then I saw him.

Nathan stood precariously at the sidewalk's edge, a half-empty wine bottle clutched in his hand.

His shoulders convulsed with each ragged sob, his eyes glazed and distant.

He swayed unsteadily, his gaze fixed on the street with a raw longing that chilled me, especially when he took that single, hesitant step forward and froze.

“Nathan!” His name tore from my throat as I rushed to him, pulling him away from the curb moments before a car roared by. His eyes met mine, a flicker of resistance in their depths as he fought against my hold.

“I—I’m okay. Please, let me go.”

“Nathan, it’s me, Veronica. Yes, you’re okay. Just...come here...okay? Let me hold you. I’m here.” I exhale sharply. “ Don't do that again, Nathan. ” I command.

If only I had been there for him...

It seems destiny enjoys making poor choices.

“Just take me home.” Nathan keeps crying, his body losing force when he lets the wine bottle fall to the ground. The expanse of his figure drapes over me, my arms holding him from under his armpits, trying to keep his weight up. “Please, I need to leave. I need to feel safe. ”

“Don’t worry,” I promise, kissing the top of his head. “You’re safe, Nathan. You’ll always be safe with me.”