Page 60 of Taboo

“I didn’t expect you so early. I told the chauffeurs to pick you up this afternoon,” I say casually.

She shrugs. “I took an earlier flight. Why? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Of course,” I say tightly.

She knows I’m lying because her lips tighten. “Where is everyone anyway?”

“I gave them a vacation.”

She frowns. “What? Who’s been cooking and cleaning?”

“Amelia, Jason, and I.”

She raises her eyebrows and looks at me strangely. “Really?”

“Yeah. How are you?”

“Good, good,” she says distractedly.

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s doing good,” she replies flatly.

“That’s good.”

She looks at me from beneath her eyelashes. “So it seems the house was perfectly managed while I was gone. I was hoping you’d all miss me terribly.”

To this, I don’t respond, and her teasing smile falters.

“Jason missed you, I’m sure,” I say, my voice flat as I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking.

“Yes, he is such a sweet child. We really did well with him, didn’t we?”

“I guess we did.”

I expect her to leave after all the pleasantries have been concluded, but to my surprise she shuts the door and begins to head over to me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I’m really sorry, Max, but there’s no way around it. I’m afraid I have bad news.”

My stomach twists, a cold dread creeping up my spine.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my eyes locked on hers, searching for a clue. Her face goes pale, her lips tight, as she lowers her head and prepares to speak.

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

AMELIA

It feels like forever since I’ve started this new painting purely because I couldn’t bear not to work. I’m feeling zoned, unwilling to think about anything else beyond my work. As soon as Max left, I jumped out of bed, got ready, and headed here, determined to work because I will be leaving soon. Perhaps tomorrow, I will be able to make some excuse and go back.

I have to for the sake of everyone.

The studio still wraps around me like a sanctuary, its tall windows spilling golden sunlight across the hardwood, but I’m slumped on the stool before the easel. My legs are curled beneath me, and a paint-stained rag is twisted in my hands.

The dragon on the canvas stares back, its emerald scales shimmering, wings arched as if ready to leap into the sky. It’s finally and truly done, and I can see that it is the best work I have ever done. Born from the fire Max reignited in me.