Page 27 of The Maverick
He ambled over to a dark lotus painting I hadn’t finished and crossed his arms, studying it. “Who is this painting for?”
His straight posture demanded attention. For a moment, I forgot he had a cane. I glanced around and saw it leaning against the wall. Did he always need the cane? Had he tried to walk without it?
Why so many questions, Vanessa?
I blinked at my curiosity. It was none of my business. Why was I focusing on his injury? Perhaps it was because he was a gorgeous man despite those flaws. I’d never seen anyone enhanced by a cane the way he was. The cane became a fascinating accessory.
Oh, my gosh.Something was truly off with me. I was an artist, so random things fascinated me, but a cane? That was like admiring a doorknob or a crack on the street when I should admire a tranquil landscape, a lovely sunset, or a bouquet of flowers.
Swerving my attention elsewhere, I studied his light green long-sleeved shirt. He was wearing it with the sleeves rolled up to his forearm over dark jeans, looking as gorgeous as he did in a powerful suit.
I didn’t know why, but I liked the light green on him. It made him appear more carefree, less intense. Green was the color of nature, where things grew at their own pace. At this moment, he represented an enigmatic tree standing tall, having an interesting relationship with his environment. I could see him as the CEO of Healthy Horizon.
He flicked me a look that I felt in my core.
Then I remembered his question. “It’s not for sale.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
His lips lilted. “That’s not a good reason.”
“It’s reason enough.”
I expected him to pressure me, but he didn’t. “There’s a lot of pain immersed in it.”
Of all the comments he could have said, I didn’t expect that. He had seen through the colors and textures—right into the depth of the painting. My heart raced, and a sliver of fear slid down my back. No one had read my art like that.No one.
I stared at him, and he stared back.
A silent conversation occurred between us. The dialogue wasn’t conveyed through words, but an energy exchange that I couldn’t explain. It was as though we both knew what the other was thinking and feeling, but we respected each other’s privacy enough not to push any further.
I felt like a botanist examining the biology and ecology of a unique plant—what made up this interesting man who pulled at me in various ways? He was probably doing the same to me. This was something I had to contemplate later. I’d never wanted anyone trespassing into my private sanctuary. It was too dangerous. I had too many secrets.
Changing the topic, I said, “Five minutes is not enough time to give someone a heads-up.”
“As my fiancée, you should always be ready to have lunch with me.”
“That’s an arrogant statement.”
“Is it?” He leveled a stare at me. “I find it to be an accurate statement.” He gestured to me. “We’re playing a role, and you should practice how to be my fiancée so people won’t question our relationship.”
Was he taking this marriage too seriously?
“I don’t think people will care about that.”
He pursed his lips. “Most won’t. But the man who’s blackmailing youwill. The entire purpose of this fake marriage is to make him believe you’re mine, so he’ll leave you alone. Your ex will question our relationship if the media writes articles about how Attikus Mount—the museum owner—and his wife don’t appear to be in love.” His eyes flashed with amusement. “I’m just trying to cover the bases.”
Once again, he was annoyingly right. Why hadn’t I thought everything through like him?
He walked over to my counter and grabbed a paintbrush from a container, twirling it between his fingers. Wandering to the table full of plants and seedlings, he examined the string of pearl plants sitting at the top of a bookcase.
“Interesting plant,” he said, glancing up at my potted pitcher plant hanging from a rope hooked to the ceiling. “What is it?”
“It’s a carnivorous plant. It eats bugs.”
I stared at him, wondering what else I could say. We could probably spend all day standing in my studio debating on why sending a text telling someone you’re coming over five minutes before arrival was inconsiderate.
