Page 26 of Portrait of A Lost Artist

“You sold me on the idea, and I feel like I owe him.” She ducks down to inspect the paints that I had brought, choosing a few before taking off her jacket.

“Mom always shamed them for loving each other, and while I was never on her side, I’m her daughter.

She won’t ever apologize, but I want to do it for them. To cherish what they once had.”

I place both hands around her waist as she stares at the wall, imagining what she could do. My lips expand on her temple, drunk on her scent of her—like coffee and her favorite vanilla perfume—. I mumble: “It wasn’t your fault, sunshine.”

“I know.” Her only free hand splays on my two palms connected over her abdomen. “Like...yeah, it may not turn out as good as you imagine it with my input, but I want to do it. For Benicio. For his loss.”

“Alright, let’s get to planning, then.”

With a pencil, I sketch what I imagined in the twists I exchanged with the sheets, wondering what I could do to make this room more personal.

I draw the outline of the two men in the center, showing her the space that she has for imagining Cuba in the background, painting it in its purest stance.

After a while and selecting the colors, we put on some music—some Celia Cruz, just as she likes it—and get to work.

It’s been so long since I’ve painted that it feels like I am another person grabbing the brush.

I doubt more than I decide, so different from what it once was, but when I let my heart guide instead of the lines that I had drawn for me to stay on, it feels a little easier.

I relish on painting the outline of Benicio’s glasses, or the tanned shade of his skin, highlighting the pinks, shadowing the browns.

These swing chains echo the ones in the park I went to earlier this week, though these bear more rust, introducing a touch of darkness to the vibrancy that defines Veronica.

If I hadn’t concentrated on painting, I would have felt my heart combust at the sight of her.

She looks absolutely adorable while standing on the small ladder that I had bought, along with the rest of the furniture.

After eleven hours, she had laid the pink color on the background, weaved in some yellow, orange and light blue, dusting the brush against her fingers, painting her skin white but giving some stars and speckles to the Cuban skies.

We stop when the nightly eleven strikes the clock.

In fact, I had tried to help her cook dinner for Benicio after he’d made us that exquisite bean soup for lunch.

She had laughed at my cutting technique and said that the vegetables were a little too big for the shredded meat she was planning on making, but left them as such just because it was me.

How odd. The comfort, tranquility and sweetness that follows everything she does and makes me feel.

Consequently, we don’t progress as much as we’d hoped before sleep begins to claim us.

My painting of Benicio is incomplete, his legs remaining unfinished because my meticulous nature insists on including his distinct leg hairs—a quirk of realism.

Veronica still needs to complete her portion of the sky she started, with only the pink and yellow layers left to dry.

But she says exactly what I’m feeling.

“My ass hurts.” She adds, earning a laugh from me when she rubs at the sore skin. “That’s it for saying I think it’s time we leave this here. I have to head back home and I don’t like late-night-driving.”

When I stand up, every joint in my body cracks along with my bones. A sigh leaves my lips, extending my back along the way. “I could be of help for that pain.”

That brings a smile up her face, getting closer to me and standing on the tip of her toes to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “You wish I’d let you massage my ass.”

“There’s no joke or punchline behind that.

I do, totally.” While explaining, I gently twist a strand of her hair around my finger, keeping to myself the fact that I might have inadvertently transferred some beige paint onto it.

I then simply drop my hand and offer a smile.

“Also, you’re aware I’m not letting you drive back home at this hour of the night when I have a perfectly made-up bed waiting for the two of us? ”

“I thought Opal shared a bed with you.”

Renna would laugh at me if she realized that I now have a cat as a roommate.

I was never one for pets, for they were too much of a responsibility for someone like me that was never home, but I’m comfortable with some company.

“We can kick her out of the bed. I’m sure she’ll understand and take the couch tonight. ”

Veronica scoffs. “I should be the one taking the couch, then.”

I roll my eyes at her antics. “Come on. You can go take a shower and I’ll prepare some clothes for you. Just...stay with me for the night, if you wanna?”

Veronica ponders on the idea a bit, speckles of paint glistening over her body, dried and perhaps, a mess to take off in the shower. However, she slides a hand right through my locks, nodding at my words and putting the paint down.

“Let me help you clean up around here and I’ll take a shower.”

I might be losing it, because I’m acutely aware that my time in Havana is finite, but I still surrender to the emotions that flood me whenever I’m with Veronica.

I picture us tidying up after our painting sessions every few days, our conversations drifting through whatever thoughts arise, like that show we’re eager to watch.

My heart pounds, yet my soul finds peace in her smiles.

And in the moments she’s in the bathroom, my mind drifts to the exquisite vision of sharing every night with her, intertwined in her embrace or simply near each other at the edges of the bed.

Still there with me. Mine. As my sunshine.

I shouldn’t let that thought settle inside my head, but I do.

While I’m selecting our outfits, hers being the smallest shorts I have—including an elastic waistband, just in case—paired with an oversized shirt, and mine my pajamas, I recognize that an idea I previously disliked doesn’t seem so terrible with her as part of it.

A shared bed. Clothes laid out on said bed every night as we headed to sleep.

What if I just stayed here a while more?

But what does ‘a while more’ mean to her?

I leave the clothes for her by the bathroom door and distract myself with her phone before it becomes my turn, too.

The minutes pass by too quickly, mortified and comforted by the idea of sharing a bed with her.

Fuck, I’m twenty-six; at this point I shouldn’t even care about laying next to a woman.

I’ve done so with plenty, some that I’ve known, some that I don’t even recall their names. What’s so different now?

Once I head back to my room, I realize precisely what is different.

That I really like the woman that is laying between my sheets, humming to herself while typing down on her phone.

I could easily spend every Sunday in this way with her, and I wouldn’t have any complaints.

However, when she looks up at me, it’s almost overwhelming, because her lips part in a radiant smile as she sits up, highlighting just how gorgeous she looks wearing one of my t-shirts.

“You’re really beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?

” I tell her, getting in the bed and splaying myself under the sheets.

I squish my cheek to the pillow, hoping that this feeling in my chest won’t go away but also not wishing to give a name to it just yet.

What if I leave and it’s only harder for the two of us?

When have I ever cared about consequences? Only Veronica would ever make me think this way.

“So I’ve heard.” She jokes around, putting her phone to the side and laying on my forearm. Her eyes close, eyelashes sweetly caressing the underside, before she yawns.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Adam. He was wondering where I was all day.” She comments, interlocking a leg between my own before opening her eyes briefly. “I’m so excited. I don’t know how I’ll be able to sleep like this.”

My eyebrows furrow in surprise. “How so?”

“I haven’t had such an enormous project like.

..ever. I had never painted something so important.

” Her arm stretches across the back of my neck, her fingertips tracing patterns in my hair, and the sight of her smile sends a wave of butterflies through my stomach.

“But I’m so fucking tired. I couldn’t continue balancing myself on that ladder. ”

“That’s what happens when you’re fun-sized.” I play around only to get a reaction out of her.

“Ha-ha.” Veronica lays the words sarcastically in the air. “I don’t hear any complaints from you.”

“That’s ‘cause I don’t have any.” I retort, watching her eyes trail from my pupils down to my lips before she leans forward.

In the dim lights of the bedroom, Veronica kisses me with fervor.

Slow and meticulous, as per usual with her.

She languidly wets my bottom lip with hers, a small gasp escaping her as I place a hand on her hip, her thigh sliding up my side until the sole of her foot presses against my ass.

I intensify the kiss, drawing her waist firmly against mine and exploring the depths of her mouth with my tongue.

I register the subtle movement of her chest against mine with each passing minute, the unspoken plea for ‘more’ a tangible thing I savor.

She offers a tentative bite to my bottom lip, but I return the gesture against her full mouth, using my free hand to elevate myself slightly, seeking a more intimate angle for our kiss.

Much to my internal liking but external distaste, Veronica lifts her hips just the slightest, grinding them upwards and earning a sharp intake of breath from me. I haven’t been with anyone in so long, and none of the ones I had before had made me feel just like she does.

Even more surprising, it is, when I try to continue kissing her, but she speaks against my mouth before I engulf it whole. “You’re hard.” She points out the obvious, though I feel the tips of my ears heating at the notice.

I pull away cleanly at that moment, establishing a bit of distance between us. “I’m sorry. Uh, shit, I think I ruined the moment...”

Veronica laughs softly, huskily, going straight to my stomach when her arms wrap around my waist to bring me over her, in between her parted legs.

“You haven’t ruined a thing. I—It’s gotten difficult to resist as of late.

” She’s out of breath as she speaks, earning some chuckles from me when she looks down at the tent on my pants.

“Stop looking at it.”

“Why? Does it make you shy?”

“It gets me horny, which is even worse.”

“Well, I think it’s time we talk about this.

” Veronica lets her ankles roam over my uncovered legs, and I try not to get lost in the expanse of her soft-looking thighs as my shorts ride up her skin from how loose they are, resting at her hips, showing a glimpse of her pink underwear.

“I think it’s too soon for me to, you know, go all the way. ”

“I get that.” I interrupt her quickly, but she doesn’t let me move.

“I didn’t say we couldn’t do anything else.

” She mumbles groggily, placing both ankles on the back of my thighs and caging me in before she brings her hips up once again, humming at the way we feel when connecting in the middle.

Heat spreads through my body, causing me to close my eyes at the slightest touch.

“I want you to get off with me, Nathan.”

I hiss at her words, expanding my hands on her ribcage, pushing forwards and opening my eyes to look at her. “Illustrate here, sunshine. My mind can go a million ways we can get off without actually having sex.”

She pivots, her hips shifting back as she arches her back, then takes my hands and wraps them around her head, hiding her face in the crook of my arm before pressing her body against mine. “Please, just touch me.”

Despite being lost in the desire she stirs in me, I rest my head on hers.

This electrified and connected sensation is unlike anything I’ve known; I typically avert my gaze when sex is involved in my life.

But in this moment of pure ecstasy, I feel a pull to open up to her, at least this small fraction of who I am.

But my voice doesn’t let me, trapping my bottom lip in between my teeth and doing my best to listen to her. To the soft ‘please’ that she lets out every once in a while, between us, calling my name, securing me in place.

I am head over heels for Veronica Del Real.

And I’m not sure I’ll ever get to leave Havana if I continue down this path.