Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Evander watched from the doorway as Miss Finch put her brother to bed. He was already asleep, his eyes closing the second he lay down his head, but she pulled up his sheets and kissed him lovingly on the head.
She was not the boy’s mother, but she acted as if she were. In this way, she set an example that Evander had started to follow. Before they carried Henry to his room, Evander had put Aaron to bed. The first time he could remember doing so in… since Aaron was born.
What sort of father can’t remember the last time he tucked his son in?
But he was getting better. Day by day, he was turning into the father that he had always wanted to be, not the one he was told that he should be. Better yet, Aaron could see it, and their relationship grew in leaps and bounds.
This is what it felt like to change. This is what it means to grow. For so long, Evander had been a certain way, and while he’d always hated himself for it, he hadn’t known how to be different. But Miss Finch changed all that… she changed him.
“They’ve had a big day,” she said softly as she crossed the room toward the doorway where Evander stood. “I’m surprised they lasted this long.”
“I can’t remember ever seeing Aaron so… calm,” Evander said. “You have a way with him.”
“No, you do,” she said. “While I do so love being told how good I am, in this instance, you are to thank.”
“Always disagreeing with me,” he chuckled.
“Only when you are wrong,” she said back with a wry smile. “Is it my fault that you are wrong so often?”
The room was dark, and she stood in its shadows.
Dressed in a plain gown, her hair worn back in a tight bun, no make-up on her face to speak of, she was without a doubt the most beautiful woman that Evander had ever seen.
She seemed to shine, her skin sparkled, and her eyes burned with passion and intensity that he could not look away from.
As Evander studied Miss Finch, he found it hard to believe that they had not kissed or touched one another in such a long time. There had been plenty of chances to do so. Every night… plenty of moments alone… but Evander had controlled himself.
Why had he done so? It wasn’t because he thought it was wrong to take advantage of her. If anything, he should have wanted to, if for no other reason than to dispel the possibility that their relationship, whatever it was, might be more than one of mere attraction.
Even now, alone again, and Evander was caught between wanting to take Miss Finch by the hand, pull her body into his, and ravish her with kisses until she moaned his name. Only… that felt wrong to do, as if she deserved more than just his lust.
Evander cared for Miss Finch, he knew that now, and he wanted to show her just how much before he did anything else. She deserved that much, at least.
“There is something I’ve been meaning to show you,” he said to her as an idea came to mind.
“Oh?”
“What are you doing right now?”
She looked at him curiously. “I would tell you that I am busy, but I doubt that you would believe me.”
“Come with me…” He took a step backwards into the hallway. “If you dare.”
She laughed. “I think I can take the risk.”
Evander walked ahead, a smile on his lips when he heard Miss Finch following closely behind. While he might have imagined it too, he sensed hesitation in her steps, unsure of where she was being led to…
Was it so strange that Evander was just as nervous?
He and Miss Finch had already shared so many personal moments, but what he meant to show her was the most personal yet.
And when he did show her, he felt in many ways as if his transformation would finally be complete.
No more hiding. No more ignoring who he was.
He not only wanted to change, but he wanted Miss Finch to see it and know it too.
He led her down the hall, past his office, and into his art gallery.
Once he reached it, he strode ahead through the dark to a candelabra that stood tall by the easel. The painting was covered by a sheet, and he left it there as he lit the candles’ wicks, setting the room in a dull orange glow that stretched just a few feet.
Miss Finch stood on the edge of the light…
“Come closer,” he commanded of her. “I won’t bite.”
“That’s not what I am afraid of,” she said, even as she stepped forward and into the light. It washed over her, setting her skin aflame, making it so that she glowed orange and red… so that she seemed to burn, just as Evander was burning too.
“Is that…” She hesitated as she looked at the covered painting.
“No doubt you’ve given some thought to the other day,” he said as his hand moved to the sheet. “I figured that as my muse, you deserved the right of first inspection.”
“Should I be worried?”
“I painted you how I saw you…” His hand gripped the sheet, shaking now with anticipation. “So, I guess that depends.”
“Depends on what?”
He turned to look at her, making sure to meet her eyes. “On how you think I see you.” And then, he ripped the sheet away and revealed the portrait.
Miss Finch gasped.
Evander kept his stare locked onto Miss Finch as she took in the portrait. He didn’t care about her words or her affirmations. What he cared about was what he saw in her eyes. The way she looked at the portrait… the way she responded to it… that is what he focused on.
“Your Grace…” she began softly as she took a step closer.
The orange light of the candles reflected in her eyes. In them, he saw her take the portrait in. She studied it closely, she inspected it without blinking, and she smiled in a way that told him how much she loved what she saw.
His heart began to flutter the longer that she looked. As her smile grew, his heart soared. She came close, reaching out as if to touch the painting, but hesitating, biting into her lip now as her hand moved down the lines of her face.
Not once did she look away. Not once did she suggest that she was anything but captivated. Evander glanced from her face to the portrait, and while he was proud of his work, he knew that it paled in comparison to her natural beauty.
“It’s beautiful,” she said at last.
“It is barely a facsimile of your beauty,” he said softly. “I did my best to capture it, but…” A shake of the head. “I could only do so much.”
“My eyes…” She reached up, and her fingers ran around the outside of her eyes. “What… I wonder what she is thinking.”
“Can’t you tell?”
“I would rather you tell me.”
Evander looked at the eyes of the portrait. He stared into them, thinking back to when he had painted them and what was on his mind… what it was that he was trying to capture.
“She was nervous…” He stepped around Miss Finch so that he was right behind her. Her body stiffened as he came close. “Curious also, not sure what was happening or why.”
“Excited too, I am sure.”
“Cautiously excited,” he corrected. “Mostly, she was thinking about the artist. Why he asked to paint her. What he wanted. And why he chose her, of all people.”
“And?” she pressed gently.
Evander looked into the eyes of the portrait. “He… he wanted to show her something. Something that he was afraid to show, just as he was desperate to do so. It was a secret, one he had never revealed to anyone before, but he trusted her with this secret… he knew she would understand.”
“And what was this secret?”
Without thinking, Evander’s hands moved to Miss Finch’s shoulders. She gasped as he held them, then she relaxed as he stepped in closer so that their bodies were pressed together. He breathed in deeply, able to smell her, just as he was able to feel her heavy breathing.
“The artist… he is not who she thought,” he said in a whisper.
“For so long, she and everyone have looked at him one way, thinking that they know him. But he doesn’t even know himself…
not really. When he asked to paint her, he was showing her his true self, and as she watched, she…
” He breathed in deeply. “She started to see him as he wanted to be seen.”
“And how does he want to be seen?”
“As more,” he said. “As so much more. Not as a tyrant. Not as a cold monster. He is a man like any other, and this painting… when he asked her to sit for it, he wanted to show her that he could be that man. A father…” He squeezed her shoulders. “Someone his son would be proud of.”
“I think she sees it,” Miss Finch said. “I think she knows.”
“Does she?”
“She does,” Miss Finch said firmly. “Maybe she doubted it at one point. Maybe she didn’t want to believe it. But I see it there…” She indicated to her eyes and her lips. “She knows who this man really is, just as she likes what she sees.”
“She does?”
Miss Finch stepped forward so that Evander was forced to release her. Then she turned around and looked up at him. Her expression was compassionate, it was real, and her eyes looked at him as that portrait did: they saw the true him, as he had started to see himself.
“She sees it, Your Grace,” Miss Finch said, reaching forward and taking his hand. “Just as she knows that it is real. Maybe she doubted it once, maybe it took her some time to accept, but there is no denying it. You are that man.”
“Miss Finch… are you actually agreeing with me for a change?”
“Like I said, I only disagree when you are wrong. So often you are…” She laughed softly and took his other hand. “In this instance, even I cannot doubt the truth of your words.”
They held hands before the portrait. They looked into one another’s eyes. Alone, truths bared, Evander could feel the distance between them close fully.
For a while now, he had refused to accept what he wanted. His feelings for Miss Finch, as confusing as they were, allowed him to avoid and deny their truth. Desire. Attraction. Lust. These were easy to focus on, and he forced himself to believe that was where it started and ended between them.