Page 41 of The Other Side of Paradise (Story of Paradise #2)

Stella

Painting was therapeutic. I didn’t know how to do it—I was riding the high of Allison complimenting my sketch, and I wasn’t bad with lines, but painting was not my field.

But it turned out that was exactly what I needed: permission to suck at something.

And honestly, I’d taken off my dress mostly to get a reaction from Allison, but there was something about the vulnerability of it—of knowing Allison was studying every plane, every shade of my body, that made it feel like nothing else mattered but this moment, in her cute little oceanfront bungalow, the windows cracked to let in the briny air and the sound of the waves on the beach, trying to block out the shapes of Allison’s body with my paintbrush.

Paint spills splattering on my bare skin only made it stand out more, this feeling that I was bared before her, and I guess it was that it felt silly trying to hide something while I was showing all of this to her, so I spoke, quietly, in between brush strokes.

“I skipped the brunch.”

“I did kinda figure that out…”

“Dad wanted to talk to me before brunch.”

She grimaced, looking up at me over her canvas. “Did you go?”

“Yeah.” I swiped aimlessly at the canvas a few times before I said, “It went better than before. Also worse. He seemed like he was actually open to talk. I got to… to say what I needed to. But it didn’t go down nicely.”

“I’m so sorry.” She set down her brush. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say a lot,” I laughed thickly.

“I talked over him nonstop. Mostly he just didn’t seem to like what I was saying.

He kept telling me how I need to be grateful.

For this. For everything.” I took another frustrated swipe at the canvas.

“And I am. I know I’ve had everything handed to me.

I know I’m lucky. Well-off. Taken care of.

But it feels like… like I don’t get to be my own person.

And does it count as a great gift if I’m not allowed to refuse it?

And then I’m obligated to… to… be grateful? ”

She softened. “If it’s not provided with genuinely zero strings and no expectation of reciprocity, then it’s not a gift, it’s a payment. And if you can’t refuse the transaction, then that’s extortion.”

“I guess…” I pursed my lips. “It just feels stupid. Whining about an expensive island vacation.”

She stared back at her canvas for a long time before, quietly, she said, “You have dreams that aren’t just getting money and luxurious gifts.

If something is getting in the way of that, I mean…

I’d be pissed off too. If somebody kidnapped me to lock me up, I’d be mad even if they locked me up in a million-dollar house. ”

“I mean, I guess…”

“I, uh… I mean, that’s how I feel about my parents,” she said quietly, picking at something invisible at the edge of the canvas.

“You know, they gave me a roof over my head and food on the table when I was growing up. And all they asked in return was for me to be straight. They could give me all the money in the world and I’d turn it down. ”

I sighed, setting my brush down and leaning against the window, the breeze coming through it cool on my bare skin. At length, I said, “You know why I think I’m so… drawn, to you?”

“Um.” She stood straight upright. “Bad taste?”

I shot her a smirk. “I thought you said I had good taste.”

“Oh…” Her voice was small, eyes flicking down over my body and back up to meet mine. “Um.”

I laughed, turning back to the window. “You really are your own person. Your parents wanted you to fit a mold, and you put so much distance between yourself and all of that. Made a life here where they couldn’t reach you. I just… I wish I could do that…”

I felt her eyes on me for a long time before she came over to me, racked with nerves in every step, and stood with her arms folded on the window ledge next to me.

“You are,” she said quietly. “Your family’s been trying to tell you what to do.

You’re standing up to them—for your sake and for Ryan’s—and doing what’s right for you instead of what they want. ”

“It’s messy as hell, though.”

“That’s how everything is when you’re in it. It’s not like things are clean for me, either. My mom still texts me a lot. She’ll make it about logistical things like my student records and financial aid documents so I have to respond. The question is where your heart is.”

I sighed. I painfully wanted to kiss her. “What a jackass.”

She laughed. “Yeah.”

“Do you think my family is jackasses?”

“Yeah. I mean, Ryan’s cool. Oscar’s… it’s kinda hard to have an opinion on the guy one way or the other. But he’s, er, inoffensive. But the rest of them? Yeah.”

“Thanks.” I looked down, my voice small, soft. She sidled closer to me.

“You could have told me your dad wanted to confront you… I know it’s easier when I’m there.”

“I didn’t want to…” I shrugged. “I mean, you’d already told me you were… busy. Today.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her expression tighten, her face flushing, before she looked away. “Stella, that was… it’s just…” She sighed. “You—you should know I didn’t mean that.”

“What, because I’m just assuming you’re lying?” I laughed, voice a little thick but something sparkling in my chest, a tiny mote of hope that maybe I hadn’t totally embarrassed myself.

“No. I mean, you can tell when I’m lying. I’ve been told I’m bad at it.”

“Atrocious.”

“Yeah, yeah… just that, you know.” She hung her head, picking at the window ledge. “I don’t want to… get too attached.”

I stopped, looking over at her. “To me?” I said softly, and I slipped a hand to her back. Her breath caught, and mine too—the lines of her body that I’d been studying so closely, real and physical under my fingertips. She was so soft…

“W-well. Yeah. I mean, you know how I feel, and I… I’d get carried away if we did something like…”

I caressed my hand up her back and down again, and she let out a small, soft sigh of satisfaction. “Something like what?” I said. “Me coming over to your house to take my clothes off and paint pictures of each other’s bodies while I told you about my deepest insecurities and vulnerabilities?”

“I mean. That would do it.”

“Well, here we are. Do you feel attached?”

She made a noise in her throat. “Well… yeah.”

“Me too.” I didn’t think, just moved—stepped up behind her and let my hands fall on her hips, feeling how soft her skin was, and she tensed up under me as I spoke. “I haven’t stopped wanting to spend time with you since you showed up with flowers when my dad and I had a fight.”

“Oh. Yeah. That. I mean, they weren’t too expensive.”

I paused, resting my chin on her shoulder. “I thought they were a hotel thing.”

“Oh—god. I mean, yeah. They’re cheap for the hotel to buy in bulk and… um…”

“You bought me flowers,” I teased. I wasn’t reading into why I felt like my chest would burst at the idea. Probably something to do with the fact that I wanted to kiss her.

“Yes, I bought you flowers,” she groaned, resting her head against mine. “I wasn’t thinking about it and I just thought it was something to pick up a bad day and the florist was on the way and…”

“They were just what I needed,” I whispered in her ear. “Thank you.”

“I-I’m very glad you… enjoy them.”

I slipped my hands around to her front, resting just above and just below her navel. “Anything you want to ask for, as a gift, too?”

“U-um.” Her voice was high-pitched… she was definitely thinking something dirty. I doubted she’d say it out loud.

“You can ask for anything at all…” I moved one hand higher, up to the base of her bra, and I teased my thumb along it. She swallowed hard.

“C-can I… can I see your painting?”

I laughed. That was what I figured. “Sure thing,” I said, standing back, and she seemed like she could breathe again once I stepped away. I wonder what she’d been thinking about. Probably something fun.

I felt more human again, more whole, as we got back to the painting—everything off my chest, I poured myself into the painting, and Allison took my breath away with showing me hers, and we sketched again, painted again, another round of them.

We made small talk and laughed over Allison’s stories, in between her coming over to my side and guiding me in painting principles, telling me how to do a specific technique like this or that, and we broke eventually for some lunch—Allison got her way and we had sandwiches on bagels, and I’d insisted that I wasn’t dirtying my dress by putting it on for lunch and that I didn’t want to be the only one in her underwear, so I made sure Allison didn’t put hers back on either. I wasn’t done looking at her yet.

And she wasn’t done looking at me yet, either, judging by the way she looked when I pulled a stool over towards her after we finished our food and she got back to her easel and I sat on it, pushing my chest out and spreading my legs around the stool.

“I’m a little tired of painting,” I explained. “And I don’t want you to have to paint the same pose every time.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again before she nodded. “I-I mean. Okay. If you think you’ll be comfortable in that position.”

“Or we could do a nude portrait.”

She sighed hard, looking away. “Oh my god, Stella.”

“What? You don’t want that?”

“What, do I want to see you naked, of course I want to see you naked, just—just—you know!” she bristled, speaking in a huff, and I laughed, a long and languid feeling building up in my core.

I reached behind myself, and I watched Allison’s breath hitch when I unhooked my bra, dropping it onto the floor.

“Oh,” she said, her gaze falling to my chest. “Oh, wow.”