Page 66 of The King of Hearts (The Raven Group #1)

We watch her run off. When she passes Loki, who’s still snoozing on the ground, he perks up.

“You have a very special little girl,” I remark.

Lili’s head bobs once, her expression full of love. “I know.”

Harper carries Loki inside, the cat half her body size, while I push Vivian’s wheelchair.

As I take her to the library, I glance down at Vivian’s lap.

The flower Harper put there is now under Vivian’s hand, and it almost looks like she’s holding it.

I don’t know why the need comes over me, but when I stop by Beatrice sitting at the table Vivian sits at for meals, I lean down and press a kiss against Ryker’s mother’s cheek.

It’s an odd, compulsive need, and I don’t know where it came from.

I leave them in the library and go back out into the hall. Lili and Harper are waiting on me at the front door.

“Thank you for stopping by,” I tell Lili.

“I’ve been wanting to, especially since we had to miss the wedding, but I wasn’t sure if we should. Harper’s been bugging me to see you and Loki again.”

Unfortunately, Harper came down with a stomach bug the morning of the wedding, and Lili stayed home with her.

I lean forward and hug Lili. “Both of you are welcome any time.”

“Are you sure Ryker doesn’t mind?”

“It doesn’t matter if he likes it or not. This is now my house as well, and I’ll invite whomever I please.”

Lili grins, and her dimples pop out. “Maybe I’ll get to meet him next time.”

I check the time on my phone. “He should have already been home. He was due thirty minutes ago.”

After a hug from Harper and a loud smacking kiss on my cheek, I wave them off.

Marcelo will take them back to my parents’ house before coming back here.

I’m really glad they stopped for a visit.

I haven’t seen them since I moved out. The one time I visited my parents after the coffee shop incident, they were taking a nap.

I walk toward the back of the estate where my art studio is.

I’ll spend some time there while I wait for Ryker to return.

I’m working on a particular piece that I’m excited to finish.

Originally, I had planned to submit it to an erotic art gallery on the mainland, but now I don’t know if I want to let it go.

It’s a bit too risqué to display in the estate, but I might keep it for my private collection.

Mrs. Myers left for the grocery store a bit ago, so the kitchen is empty when I pass through it. There’s a plate on the island piled high with her latest macarons. I smile as I grab one of the lavender-colored cookies.

“Mmm… raspberry,” I mumble around a bite.

I stuff the rest in my mouth and push open the glass doors to my studio.

I love this room. The sun is out in full force today, so the room is brightly lit.

It’s actually a little too bright, so I press a button on the panel beside the door, and the self-tinting glass begins to darken.

Once it’s at the right tint, I release the button.

I go straight for the canvas sitting on the easel, and carefully pull off the thin piece of fabric that’s draped over it.

Ryker is the only person who sees these types of my paintings.

One night, while we were lounging in bed, after he fucked me to near unconsciousness, he informed me that he had been in my studio at my parents’ house and saw my erotic art.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t mad. Maybe it was because it was no shock that he had seen them.

He knew every aspect of my life. Even the parts that happened before he knew me.

It wasn’t a stretch to believe he’d invaded that part, too.

Or maybe it was because, for the first time, someone other than me had laid eyes on my secret art.

I had never had the courage to show anyone before.

I knew my paintings and drawings were good, but I was reluctant to share them with anyone.

They were, and still are, my private thoughts and fantasies.

Ryker was impressed and praised my talent, then demanded I show him everything I had ever drawn.

I did. I haven’t shown him this one yet, though, and I made him promise not to peek until it’s completed.

He likes to visit sometimes while I’m working, so I keep the easel pointing away from the entrance.

My eyes run over the scene in front of me.

It’s my recollection of the night of the ball on the terrace.

It’s only half complete. The outline of the church is there, along with part of the terrace railing.

The main focus of the painting is the man standing with his feet planted apart, dressed in a black tux and a black mask.

His head is tilted down, his eyes on the woman on her knees in front of him.

I’ve only drawn my head and shoulders so far.

My head is tipped back, my lips slightly parted, as I stare up at him.

I’m damn proud of myself for capturing the pure lust in my eyes.

It perfectly matches the feeling I felt that night.

I can’t wait to show Ryker once it’s finished.

And something tells me, even if I did decide to sell the piece, he wouldn’t let me.

I walk over to the table that holds all of my acrylic paints and brushes. I’m rifling through the brushes, looking for a particular one, when I feel a presence at my back. A smile tips the corner of my lips, and I drop the brush I’m holding.

I realize too late that something isn’t right.

It’s not Ryker’s oceanic scent that fills my senses, but something darker, spicier, unfamiliar.

In the next second, something pricks the side of my neck.

I spin around, but whatever was just shot into me is fast-acting.

My knees go weak, and my vision blurs. But I see well enough to recognize the face staring back at me.

A familiar face. One who’s hurt me many times over, but never in this way.

“Ryker?” I whisper just as blackness swallows me whole.