If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse: A Dark Grumpy Sunshine Romance

Prologue

Briar - 8 years old

How can something so lovely yet haunting exist in a world filled with tears and pain? I can”t tear my eyes away from the towering, white statue before me. His arms stretch upward toward the sky as if reaching for something precious, afraid it might slip away. His wings are spread out wide, majestic, and intimidating.

It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen — and I don’t even know what it is.

I feel soft, long fingers wrap around my wrist, preventing me from walking toward the beautiful statue. I can”t help it; it is calling me. I turn to Amaura and give her a sheepish grin. My parents have hired multiple nannies since I was born, but Amaura is the one who sticks because she is my favorite. She is the only one who plays with me, never screams at me, and always takes care of me. I spend more time with her than with my parents. She doesn”t know this, but sometimes I wish she were my mom. Even though she is way older than me, she is my best friend!

“Sorry,” I grin at her scowl.

“You can”t keep wandering off, my darling. If you want to stop to look at something, you let me know,” she reprimands me with a sigh.

I nod before turning my attention back to the statue. “Who is he, Amaura? He”s so pretty.”

“Why, it”s an angel,” Amaura says with a small smile. “Some people believe angels are extraordinary beings sent by a powerful force to watch over us and keep us safe.”

“So they”re there to protect us?” I ask, furrowing my brows as I approach the angel statue.

Amaura nods and looks around. She spots a bush with white flowers and plucks one before returning to my side. She smiles and gives me the flower.

I stare at the flower and then at her. I blink. What am I supposed to do with this?

“Some people like to leave gifts on these statues to show respect or thanks. Do you want to give this flower to him?” Amaura asks.

I take the flower and nod. “Okay! If I give him this flower, will he be my friend and play with me?”

“I”m sure he would love to be your friend, Briar.”

“What’s his name?” Amaura looks at the angel for a second, furrowing her brows. “I’m not sure which angel this is, my darling. I don’t know if he has a name.”

I gasp. That’s not right! “He has to have a name,” I say, looking back at the statue. “Hmm… Angel. His name is Angel.”

“What a creative name.”

“Do you actually believe he”ll watch over me?” I ask.

“Why not? If I have some guardian angel watching over me, I want to thank them.”

I gasp. ”For what?”

Amaura swoops down and tickles my sides, making me squeal and almost drop the flower.

”For giving me the patience to deal with you!” she teases as I try to slap her hand away.

She chuckles and lets me go. I look down at the flower, twirling it between my fingers. I don”t want to go back home. If I do, Mommy and Daddy will be there and make me do stuff I don’t want. I would rather play with Amaura instead.

I look up at the angel and smile. Will he save Amaura and me from the monsters my parents invite over?

I gently place the flower on the angel’s feet. “There. Hopefully, he will protect you and me.”

“You’re the sweetest, Briar. But remember that you must watch out and protect yourself at the end of the day, too.”

I roll my eyes but nod. “Yes. Is there a store? I want to see if they have any angel stuffed animals!”

She sighs, “Briar, darling, I don’t think your parents will appreciate me taking you inside a random church. They’re not religious.”

“Oh,” I try not to pout. “I just think he’s so pretty. I want him to come home with me.”

Amaura rolls her eyes, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it because she’s smiling the whole time. She’s funny like that; she likes to tease me by pretending to be mad or annoyed with me, but I know it’s all for fun.

She says nothing as she pulls me along, and we enter the big building behind the angel statue. I nearly stop when we walk in because there are smaller statues of angels! There are some on the windows, too, and they are so colorful. I want to look at every one of them, but Amaura says no.

But that’s okay. She finds me a small angel figurine that looks exactly like the one from outside. She tells me it’s not a toy, but that’s okay. I’m going to leave him beside my bed, anyway.

“I wish they had stuffies of the angel, but this will do,” I grumble, but I can’t stop staring at the little figurine Amaura bought me.

“Oh, I’m so glad you approve,” Amaura laughs as she gently pulls me along so we can continue walking. “C’mon, Briar. Let’s go before I get fired.”

*-*-*-*

I’m nervous about showing my parents what my nanny bought me. They never buy me gifts, so will they say I’m not allowed to have any? But what if I told them she bought it so I could feel protected?

On our way back home, I asked her about it. “Can I show my parents what you got me?”

Amaura is quiet for a bit. I think she didn”t hear me. But she says, “I don”t think so, Briar. I”m technically not allowed to buy anything for you unless they approve of it. This can be between us, okay? Don”t mention the angel figurine and hide it immediately.”

My excitement fell.

But why?

How can they not appreciate something so pretty?

As soon as we went home, Amaura rushes to the kitchen to help Chef Greene, who cooks for us. I love his food. He always sneaks in extra chocolate desserts for me whenever my parents aren’t looking. I follow her and saw the cookie jar full once more.

I walk over to it and try to climb on the chair to reach it, but Chef Greene makes a tutting sound.

“Not so fast, young lady.” He gives me a cookie anyway.

“Briar, what did I tell you? Put your angel away and go shower!” Amaura sighs.

But I”m too excited. I want to know what my parents think of Amaura’s gift! They have to like it! No one”s ever bought me anything I wanted before until today.

I find my parents in the living room. Mommy is on the couch, reading her book as she sips from her favorite cup. Daddy is in the armchair, reading a newspaper while smoking.

I grimace. I hate how the room smells whenever he smokes. He tells me it’s a cigar as if I know what that means or care.

“Mommy! Daddy!” I grin at my parents as I rush to them. “Look what Amaura got me!”

They both look at me.

I stop, watching their expressions change as their eyes sweep from my face to the figurine in my hand—blank to confused to angry.

I don”t understand. Why are they angry?

I step back, my heart dropping as Daddy shoves his newspaper away from him and stands up.

“Daddy —”

“What the fuck is that?”

That familiar feeling of my stomach dropping and my chest hurting is back. “I —”

He wrestles the angel from my hand. I kick and scream, trying to jump up to grab the angel back from him, but I”m too short. Daddy stares at the angel again and makes a tutting sound.

I touch his arm, “Amaura says the angel will protect and watch over me. Isn”t that wonderful, Daddy? He can protect me, so I think that —”

A brittle, snapping sound interrupts me. I drop my arm, my gaze fixed on what had once been a beautiful angel figurine. Now, it lies shattered on the floor, its shards scattering across the tiles like fragments of my broken emotions.

“We didn’t hire Amaura so that she could fill your head with such silly imaginations,” Mommy says for the first time. She sounds disappointed. She sighs and turns her attention to Daddy. “It seems like we can’t find great help these days without them trying to brainwash our kid.”

I shake my head, “I asked Amaura to get it for me, though. She told me stories of angels and…Well, I thought…”

I trail off. I don’t remember what I thought. I saw the statue and wanted to take it home. Especially since Amaura told me people believe they can protect us. But as I stare at the shards of him across the floor, I’m starting to understand why she said I have to defend myself.

Daddy shakes his head and mutters something as he walks to the kitchen. My eyes sting as I try my best not to cry. Daddy hates it when I cry; he punishes me for them. I glance in his direction and feel my lips tremble.

I hope he isn”t yelling at Amaura. It wasn”t her fault I wanted my own little angel. I”ll make it up to her if she gets in trouble. She loves it when I draw or paint for her and always begs me to make something.

I hear muffled sounds in the kitchen, but I can”t listen to what Daddy says as I try to collect the angel and his pieces. I could glue him back together.

“Drop that, Briar, and come here,” Mommy says impatiently.

I swallow hard but obey. I reach for her but hear sharp noises coming from the kitchen. Shoot, did Chef Greene drop some plates again? I whirl around, about to run to see if they need help, but Mommy grabs my arm and squeezes.

I whimper, the familiar feeling of fear shooting through my skin like an unwanted visitor.

“Mommy? What’s —”

I hear a scream. I gasp at the sound.

Amaura.

“Amaura, are you okay?” I shout. I try to wiggle out of my Mommy”s grip when she doesn”t answer. “Mommy, let me see if she needs help!”

“We can’t have someone like her ruining all our hard work.”

What is she talking about? Her grip is becoming painful, so I try to bite her hand.

She slaps me in the face, and I stop struggling, staring at her as I hold my hot cheek. Why did she do that? I”m going to cry, and I can”t do that! She”s never punished me before. Daddy does that. I open my mouth to apologize, but a popping sound makes me freeze.

The noises stop.

Seconds later, Daddy comes strolling into the living room, his face disgruntled. His hair is sticking up, and his fists look red. He sighs heavily as he sits back on his armchair, rustling through his newspaper and lighting a new cigar.

As if nothing interrupted him.

“Where’s Amaura?” My voice sounds so small I”m afraid he didn”t hear me. “She told me to prepare for dinner, but I must shower first. Can I get her to help me?”

“Amaura isn’t your nanny anymore.”

Huh? “I… I don’t understand.”

“She’s no longer working for us.”

“But —”

I turn my head slightly as I hear a slight noise from the kitchen again. Feeling hope swell in my chest, I tilt my body to see if Amaura will come in to announce dinner is ready.

Instead, I see Chef Greene dragging a large rectangular black bag to the kitchen’s exit. He pauses to grunt and pats the sweat off his forehead. His eyes drift to mine, and we both stop. His eyes widen at the sight of me staring at him.

And just like that, I know where Amaura is. She went where other staff members went whenever my parents decided they were untrustworthy.

Wait… No! I don’t understand. Why did they —

“Get yourself cleaned up for dinner before I give you five lashes for disobeying me, Briar,” Daddy snaps, making me jump.

Feeling my throat squeeze, I swallow my whimpers and bolt out of there, hoping they will leave Amaura’s broken gift on the floor so I can glue him back together.

*-*-*-*

Ten years later

Rurik

Five seconds was all it took to change my life.

That”s how long it took my mum to fall for this guy, Philip Greene, when they met. Because of love, I”m forced to move to a different country.

“You’re going to love New York,” Mum’s boyfriend says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and grinning at me. “I can get you into NYU, and you can study whatever you want. Plus, you”ll get the best care here, Rurik.”

I throw him a small smile and nod. “Thank you, sir.”

I know I should act excited and grateful, but I’m still sad that I left my quiet life back home. Also, I’m fucking tired. The airport lights are so bright, giving me an insane headache. I had to borrow Mum’s oversized sunglasses to dim the lights for me.

Yes, I know I look like a dick wearing sunglasses inside a building.

Fuck off.

As my mum and her boyfriend share a kiss, I avert my gaze, opting to busy myself by fiddling with the handle of my luggage. We stand together in the airport”s bustling baggage pickup area, awaiting their belongings” arrival.

“I think it’s that one,” I say a few minutes later, pointing at a pink duffle bag. I look at them and roll my eyes. They’re not even paying attention.

Whatever, my mum deserves to be happy.

Sighing, I step forward and watch as the duffel bag comes closer. As soon as it”s within my reach, I bend down and grab the handle—only for someone else to catch it before me.

“Hey!” I snap, looking up. Whatever I had to say died down when I was greeted with the brightest shade of caramel-colored eyes, almost sparkling with a hint of gold.

Could someone”s eyes really shine like that?

My voice catches in my throat as I stare at her like a daft idiot. Despite her hair being tucked under a hat, a few stray waves of dark hair escape, framing her face. She also wears a black disposable mask, making her eyes pop even more.

“Yeah?” Her voice sounds so decadent, yet she glares at me with annoyance.

I assume she’s sick, so she’s wearing a mask. I clear my throat, thankful she can’t see how I’m ogling her like a creep. “That’s not yours.”

She raises a perfectly curved eyebrow and glances down. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say. “I think I would know what my mum’s duffel bag would look like.”

“Hmmm,” She cocks her head to the side. “That’s funny. Does your mom have hearts and stars drawn all over?”

“Huh?” I blink and step closer as she turns the duffel bag around to show the artwork.

Oh.

“Shit,” I mutter, looking away. I fucking hope these sunglasses cover my whole damn face so she doesn’t see how red I quickly am.

“It’s cool,” Her eyes shine with amusement. She giggles, and it”s doing something weird against my chest. “Common mistake.”

“Right,” I say, pretending to focus on the baggage pick-up again.

“See you,” She winks, turning around to walk away.

Well done, idiot. Your first interaction with the opposite sex in New York, and you managed to fuck that up.

A few minutes later, the right duffel bag appears, and I watch with annoyance as my mum’s boyfriend grabs it for her. Moments later, all three of us are walking outside.

“Should we call a cab?” my mum asks, looking around at the yellow cars lining up.

“No need,” he says. “We have a driver coming to pick us up.”

I guess those are the perks of having someone with political power. We don’t have to wait long because a black SUV with tinted windows pulls up before us. After we settle inside the car with our belongings shoved into the trunk, we finally drive off.

My mum continues asking the driver questions about New York while her boyfriend scrolls through his phone with a frown. I’m about to nudge him with my finger to ask how much longer until we get to our destination when the car abruptly stops.

“What was that?” My mum asks, grabbing onto his arm.

A cold, prickly sensation ran down my spine as the driver says nothing.

“John?” My mum’s boyfriend asks.

When the driver doesn’t answer, I watch my mum’s boyfriend shift into his political figure mode. He immediately calls someone on the phone, rubbing a comforting hand on my mum’s back, and whispers some words to the person on the other end.

I can’t understand words because he’s speaking too fast and too low.

The words I do catch are “here,” “gangsters,” and “trouble.”

What trouble? Are we in trouble?

He unbuckles himself and orders, “You two stay here.”

Before my mum and I can protest, he jumps out of the car, and I just realize he has a gun in his hand. What the hell… Did he have that with him the whole time?

I knew Americans had this obsession with guns but holy shit. I’ve never seen one in person. Just then, I heard shouting and gunshots. My mum screams, but I can’t keep my eyes off the scene before me.

The person shooting at the senator—yes, my mum’s boyfriend—is wearing a black balaclava. I slam my hand against the window and shout for them to stop. To my surprise, they hear me and turn around.

I freeze.

Those eyes.

I recognize those eyes...

No. Not possible.

The person frowns before their partner grabs their arm, pulling them away. I blink, suddenly aware of the sounds of sirens ringing.

I watch with wide eyes as the shooters leave and look back at my mum’s boyfriend. He was shot in the arm, but he didn’t look bothered.

When the mayhem quieted down, he opens our car door and sighs. “When I get home, I should show you guys something. There are people you need to stay away from. Dangerous people.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about that one shooter with the bright caramel-colored eyes.

It can’t be her.

It’s not her.

Five seconds. That”s all it takes to lock eyes with a stranger and sense that my life will change.