My Bloody Valentine

31. Maya

31

MAYA

I fidget with my wine glass, watching Adrian artfully arrange his chocolate display beneath Amelia’s largest canvas—a swirling mass of reds and blacks that reminds me too much of blood. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“Your friend has quite the eye for darkness,” Adrian murmurs as he passes, His hand skimming across my arm. The touch sends electricity through me.

“Stay away from her,” I whisper, but there’s no force behind it. We both know I don’t mean it.

Amelia circles the room like a protective mother hen, her artist’s smile fixed in place as she explains her work to potential buyers. But her eyes dart to Adrian, watching his every move as he presents his chocolates with theatrical flair.

“This dark chocolate ganache pairs beautifully with the Cabernet,” he tells a captivated group of patrons. “Note how the bitter notes enhance the wine’s complexity.”

“He’s good,” Amelia admits grudgingly, appearing at my side. “The presentation perfectly matches my aesthetic. But Maya...” She grabs my arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, watching Adrian demonstrate how to taste chocolate to an elderly couple. His movements are precise and practiced. I know those hands intimately—both their gentleness and their capacity for violence.

“Your work is stunning tonight,” I tell her, desperate to change the subject. “The way you’ve captured raw emotion...”

“That’s what worries me,” Amelia cuts in. “The gloominess in my paintings—it’s like he understands it too well. How he’s arranged everything...” She shakes her head. “It’s like he’s inside my head.”

I take another sip of wine, letting the rich flavor wash away my response. How can I explain to my best friend that the man serving chocolate to her art patrons knows darkness better than anyone?

I watch Gabe enter the gallery, his confident stride and casual elegance marking him as different from the typical art crowd. He catches my eye and nods slightly before approaching Adrian’s side. The practiced ease of their interaction speaks volumes about their history.

“Amelia,” I touch her arm. “Come meet Adrian’s wine expert.”

Her eyes light up as Gabe launches into a detailed analysis of how the wines complement Adrian’s chocolates and her artwork. He gestures to her largest piece, a haunting swirl of crimson and obsidian.

“The way the colors bleed together here,” Gabe traces the air in front of the canvas, “reminds me of a Miles Davis solo I play—that moment when the notes blur into pure emotion.”

Amelia’s usual guarded expression softens. “You’re a musician?”

“Jazz pianist at The Blue Room.” His smile reaches his eyes. “Your work... it speaks to that same place music comes from. Raw, honest, unafraid to explore the shadows.”

Amelia’s shoulders relax, her defensive posture melting as she and Gabe discuss artistic expression more deeply. She leads him to a smaller piece tucked in the corner, their heads bent close together as she explains her technique.

Adrian appears at my side. “Well, this is an interesting development.”

I watch my best friend laugh at something Gabe says, her hand unconsciously touching his arm. The connection between them is electric, immediate—and completely genuine. For all the secrets Gabe keeps, his appreciation for Amelia’s art is real.

I weave between guests with Adrian’s silver tray, each truffle a tiny work of art.

“The dark chocolate with gold leaf,” I murmur to a woman in pearls, carefully steering her away from those special pieces. “Perfect with the Merlot.”

Adrian’s hand brushes my lower back as he passes. “Saving the best for last?”

I watch him glide through the crowd, every movement calculated. He pauses to discuss wine pairings with Gabe, who’s still deep in conversation with Amelia near her most provocative piece—a study in crimson and shadow that makes my mouth taste of copper.

“The depth of flavor in these is extraordinary,” Gabe says, accepting a truffle from Adrian’s tray. “Amelia, you must try one.”

My heart skips, but he’s offering her one of the normal pieces. The relief makes me dizzy.

“Speaking of flavors,” Gabe’s eyes sparkle as he turns to Amelia. “I’d love to show you my wine cellar at The Blue Room. The private tasting room, just the four of us? We could pair some vintages with Adrian’s chocolates, maybe even improvise a little jazz...”

I see the moment Amelia’s professional facade cracks. She glances at me—checking if I’m okay with this—before meeting Gabe’s gaze. “That sounds... intriguing.”

“Tomorrow night?” Gabe suggests. “After closing?”

Amelia nods, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. “I’d like that.”

I feel Adrian’s presence behind me, solid and possessive. “Perfect,” he purrs. “A proper double date.”

The word “date” hangs in the air like dark chocolate melting on the tongue—rich with possibility and just a hint of danger.

I grab Adrian’s arm and pull him into the gallery’s empty back room, my heart pounding. The sounds of the art show fade behind us.

“What is Gabe planning with Amelia?” My fingers dig into his sleeve. “If he hurts her?—”

I grip Adrian’s arm tighter, my voice desperate. “I know what Gabe is. What he does. The way he kills?—”

“Is different from me.” Adrian cups my face, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “I’m precise, calculated. Gabe...” He pauses. “Gabe is more... passionate.”

“That’s what terrifies me.” I pull back, pacing the small storage room. Paint supplies and blank canvases crowd the shelves. “Amelia is the only person I have left. If he?—”

“Maya.” Adrian traps my wrist in his grasp. “Gabe wouldn’t harm someone important to you. To us.”

“But he kills like you do.”

“No.” Adrian’s pupils dilate, consuming the blue of his irises. “I select my targets carefully. Create art from their end. Gabe...” He sighs. “Gabe is more impulsive. He eliminates threats and people who cross him. But he’d never hurt Amelia.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ve known him since we were children. He respects boundaries, especially mine.” Adrian pulls me against his chest. “And you, little critic, are mine. Which means Amelia is protected.”

I breathe in his scent—chocolate and something musky. “He seemed genuinely interested in her art.”

“He was. Gabe appreciates beauty, just as I do. His music, her paintings...” Adrian’s fingers trail down my spine. “We’re not monsters who kill indiscriminately. We’re connoisseurs of life’s darker pleasures.”

“And Amelia?”

“Is safe. Gabe sees something in her that resonates with his own darkness. Like I saw in you.”

I let Adrian’s words sink in, his steady heartbeat against my back, grounding me. The storage room’s dim light casts shadows across his face as he kisses my temple.

“Come,” he murmurs. “Your friend needs her critic’s support.”

We slip back into the gallery’s main room, where the crowd has thinned. Amelia stands by her centerpiece, gesturing animatedly as she explains her technique to Gabe. Her usual reserved demeanor has melted away, replaced by genuine enthusiasm.

“The layering creates depth,” she’s saying, “like harmonies in music...”

“Building to a crescendo,” Gabe finishes, and they share a look that makes my stomach twist—not with fear this time, but recognition. I’ve given Adrian that same look.

Adrian guides me toward them, his hand possessive on my lower back. “The show’s been a success,” he says, nodding at the red dots marking several pieces as sold.

“Thanks to your chocolates,” Amelia admits. “They perfectly complemented the mood I was going for.”

I watch her carefully but see no sign of distress. Her eyes are focused entirely on Gabe as he describes a jazz piece that reminds him of her brush strokes.

The tension eases from my shoulders. I lean into Adrian’s touch, accepting his protection of what matters to me.

“More wine?” Adrian offers, but I shake my head. I’ve had enough intoxication for one night—both from the alcohol and from watching my two worlds collide in unexpected ways.