Page 88 of Sin of Love
His soft laugh follows me from the room.
Three weeks have passed since our first night back together, and they’ve been at turns blissful and grueling. Intimacy, both emotional and physical, isn’t easy for me—and that’s putting it mildly.
I’ve reacted violently to his touch. Screamed bloody murder when his arm snaked around me from behind in the middle of the night. Jumped through the roof when he innocently touched my hair without warning me. I’ve disassociated, become physically ill, and locked myself in the bathroom for hours.
The road hasn’t been smooth, and the rewards are few and far between.
And yet… Gideon.
Every day, he gives me a reason to fight, to pursue joy or even to simply accept where I am. He doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile; at least, not since I threatened to shave off his eyebrows if he didn’t stop tiptoeing around me. And though I sometimes feel so dry and brittle I’ll shatter in a strong breeze, I have something I haven’t had since I was a child.
Hope.
“That’s quite a frown,” he says from behind me. “Are you telepathically ordering the Thai?”
Turning, I slap his chest with the menu. “You order. I’m going to take a shower.”
Gideon’s smile is slow and full of promise. “Can I come?”
It’s almost embarrassing how fast my body responds. Heating, softening, beckoning him… The fact I can experience such swift, pure arousal at all is a miracle. A priceless, precious gift.
I quip, “As long as you make yourself useful.”
He snatches the menu from my hand and throws it across the room. “Forget food. I’ll clean and eat pussy for dinner.”
I’m still laughing when he makes good on his word.
* * *
Later,after actual showers and Thai food delivery, he takes me into the studio to see them for the first time. The paintings that brought us together, each stroke of brush on canvas another bond, another carved space for the two of us to find a home.
The Seven Sins.
They hang, massive and jarring, in a row on the longest wall. Individually, they’re unique, powerful, beautiful. Collectively, they’re overwhelming—he made it so purposefully, binding them together in subtle ways, making the witness see all of them as one, unified expression.
We sit on a drop cloth on the cement floor, side by side, and Gideon talks me through his choices for each painting. How he strove to marry the traditional sin with a virtue, so that goodness could be seen through the lens of each sin.
Humilitywith Pride,Kindnesswith Envy, Temperance with Gluttony, Love with Lust,Patiencewith Anger,Generosity with Greed, andPassion with Sloth.
“Passion, huh?” I ask, skeptical.
“I toyed with discipline, but it didn’t feel right. And it’s boring. Wouldn’t you rather have passion get you out of bed in the morning? I’d much rather be passionate about life than disciplined, even if it means things get messy.”
My heart squeezes. “Messy like me, you mean. If I hadn’t come into your life—”
“Don’t be self-centered.” He takes my hand, softening the reprimand with a kiss to my palm.
I yank my hand back. “Excuse me?”
“Not everything is about you, mon bijou.”
I try to smack him, but he only grabs my flying hand and laughs, lighthearted and free. His laugh. Hearing it again brings tears to my eyes and reminds me of stories unheard. Not mine—mine won’t be aired anytime soon—but his.
“I’m listening,” I tell him, curling my fingers around his. “I’m ready.”
Laughter fades and his eyes darken, but he doesn’t deflect. He tells me about the months after I left, about losing himself and hitting rock bottom. The battle he fought between his fear of repeating his father’s mistakes and the fear of losing me. And finally, his journey back to himself, guided in no small part by Nate, Dominic, and Liam.
A storyteller at heart, he makes me laugh despite my guilt over my role in his downward spiral, and the pain I feel thinking of him so hopeless and alone. It’s very late when he finishes, but we’re so jet-lagged it doesn’t matter.
Sitting in the circle of his arms, I stare up at the seven paintings.
“Have you given any more thought to what you want to do with them?”
He stirs, chest expanding against my spine. “I’m ready to let go. Think I can find a gallery to take them?”
I laugh. “Yeah. One or two.”
