Chapter 18 #2
“The stool,” he commanded firmly. “Bring it here.” He looked at her with warning, she hesitated, he held his look, and she relented. “Good.”
“Here?” she asked as she picked it up and carried it back.
“There.” He pointed to a space five feet away. “Place it there and sit for me.”
“What are you…”
“I am going to paint you,” he said without flourish.
She balked, looking nervous for the first time. “Excuse me?”
“Is that a problem?”
He expected her to argue. That was, after all, her primary mode of operation. Evander almost wanted her to, as he enjoyed their banter, just as he enjoyed any chance given to overpower Miss Finch and remind her who was in control.
But she must have seen something in his eyes, the way he looked at her, how serious he was being. This wasn’t a normal request; this was a deeply personal moment, and Miss Finch recognized it the same way she had yesterday when he found her in the eastern wing.
“As you command.” She placed the stool down where he pointed, and she sat.
“Your legs,” he directed her. “Fold them.” She did so without question. “Your hands, on your lap… yes, like that,” he said as she did his bidding. “A straight back… yes. Chin pointed…” She did do it immediately. “As for your face, relax, Miss Finch. No need to be so nervous.”
“Who said I am nervous?”
He chuckled, shook his head, and turned back to face the canvas.
Although Evander was the one in control here, he felt as if Miss Finch was testing him.
No doubt she was nervous, just as she was curious about this sudden request. But she also knew how hard it was for Evander to be vulnerable, just as she must have known that his paintings were a way for him to be vulnerable without having to admit it.
Kissing her was one thing, but this is something else entirely…
He started to paint her.
It was done on instinct. Every few moments, he glanced back and took a closer look at Miss Finch, wanting to capture her raw beauty and presence. But mostly, he painted with his memory and the feelings that she evoked from him.
Evander felt her eyes on him. He felt her watching, assessing, wondering about what was going on in his mind. It was a little unsettling, and the longer that he painted for, the longer that the silence stretched, the more intense and intimate the moment became.
“Tell me about yourself,” Evander spoke after some time, just as he finished his initial outline of her face.
“About myself?” she asked carefully. “What do you —”
“I can’t help but recall that the last time we spoke, I was the one who did all the talking. It is time that you return the favor.”
“Is this not me returning the favor?” she fired back. “I don’t let just anybody paint me.”
“Think of it as part of your employment contract.”
“Another rule?”
“No,” he said. “But I can make it one, if you need me to.”
She laughed softly. “Very well. What would you like to know?”
“Your past,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
“I wasn’t born into poverty,” she began warily. “Even if it might look as if I was. I told you about my father and his gambling addiction…”
“You did,” he said without turning back. But his heart started to race, sensing the importance of this moment.
“That does not mean I did not love my father,” she continued. “While we were poor in the most general sense, we were rich in love.” She laughed. “A silly thing to say, but it is the truth.”
“You miss him?”
“I do,” she said without pause. “And I hate that his memory is tarnished by the effect his later actions have had on my life. I want to remember him for how he was, not what he became. Henry, too, I want him to know that his father… that what has happened to us was not done on purpose.”
Evander nodded along as he started to paint his outline.
He found that his hand shook, and he was unable to look back at Miss Finch again. As personal as this painting was, Miss Finch’s willingness to speak about her past was even more so.
I should not care so much about her past. I should not care about anything more than what she can do for my son…
But he did care. Gone was the false belief that Evander was detached, cruel, and uncaring. Perhaps he never really was? Perhaps, all he needed was someone in his life with whom he wanted to be himself… a version of himself that he did not know existed, until it did.
And as for his true feelings about Miss Finch? No doubt they would be revealed by whatever it was he painted.
“I guess that is part of the reason that I work so hard,” she continued, her voice turning soft.
“Henry is so young, he still has so much of his life ahead of him. And if I can make that life… if I can give him more than I have had these past few years, then maybe he won’t have cause to hate our father. ”
“I hope you do,” he said. “Both of you. You both deserve everything.”
She laughed. “Maybe not everything. But a little bit more will do for now.”
“And what of your mother?”
Her voice turned warmer immediately. “Oh, well, she was another matter entirely…”
For the following hour, Miss Finch sat on that stool and spoke to Evander about her childhood as if the two were old friends.
She told him of how her mother had raised and educated her.
She told him about her fondest of memories from when she was a little girl.
She told him about her past jobs, some of her darker days after her parents’ passing, and everything in between.
Evander listened to it all.
He had not meant for the night to turn out this way.
When he found Miss Finch in the kitchen, his first thought had been to pick up where they’d left off.
In his mind, that sort of physical contact was a most personal and intimate mode of exploration, and he wanted it for him and Miss Finch… he wanted to know every inch of her.
But as he painted, as she spoke, he came to realize that this right here was far more intimate. He was learning about Miss Finch in ways that he never could have done through physical intimacy. And she was learning about him, just the same.
“There…” Evander sighed when he finally finished the portrait.
Well, it wasn’t finished entirely. He would spend more hours with it still, touching it up, adding to it, making it a perfect reflection of the woman who sat just behind him. But the first layer was complete, a good start… with so much more to go.
“Oh, we’re finished?”
“We are.” He turned and looked at her. She sat back up, she licked her lips, and her body started to shake with anticipation.
“Might I…” She tried to peer around him.
“Not yet,” he said. “I have finished the initial stages, but there is still some work to be done.”
“What sort of work?”
“Capturing your likeness is one thing, and that’s what I did tonight. But that is only the first step. Before it is finished, I will need to…” He considered her for a moment. “I will need to learn more about you. Not facts or your history, but who you are. Not to mention, who I am too.”
“And who are we, exactly?” she asked him, meeting his eyes.
“I suppose we will find out, in time.”
Now that they were done, Evander’s mind went to the natural place. Alone as they were, having experienced a most intimate moment, it was the perfect time to cross the room, take her by the hand, pull her body into his, and devour her.
Only… as strange as it was to realize… the moment did not feel right for such a thing.
Evander had convinced himself that he wanted Miss Finch for her physicality only. Her body. Her sexual appeal. The way she made him shake and shudder and moan. That was what drew her to him, and that was what he desired most of all.
After tonight, what they had just been through just now, he was starting to see her differently than he had done. He knew her physically, that was true, but to know her on a deeper level… he realized now that this is what he wanted most of all.
And just as he wanted to know her, he wanted her to know him.
“I think it is time for bed,” he said.
“Oh…” She deflated. “Are… are you sure?”
His heart raced. An energy rose inside of Evander, demanding that he cross the room and take her right now. But he resisted, pushed that energy down, and reminded himself that such moments were sure to come later.
“I think so,” he said softly. “It has been a long night for both of us.”
“If… you say so.”
He saw clearly the disappointment on her face, which made him smile. “Thank you for tonight, Miss Finch. For looking after Aaron, and for… well, this. I won’t forget it.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You better not. And I expect you to show me the finished product when it is ready.”
“You will be the first person I do,” he said. “I only ask that you do not judge.”
“I think you know that I never would.”
Tonight had been more important to Evander than words could possibly describe. While there was still a small gap that existed between himself and Miss Finch, he felt it closing, just as he felt them growing closer.
But did he want them to grow close? Was that not the antithesis of what this relationship was supposed to be? It was easy for him to claim that he was strong enough to resist her… that he wanted to resist her. But then he would remember that look in her eyes and how it made him feel.
Evander had changed much, he knew, but not that much. Not yet, at least…