9. Atticus #4
Feeding a thick black leather belt through my pants, I fasten the buckle, then move to the cabinet that holds my watches and jewelry.
I select a heavy rose gold watch and several matching rings.
I bought the watch and rings to match the collar, and it’s the first time I’ve worn them.
Rose gold isn’t usually my thing, but I want both Lemon—and anyone else we might happen to encounter today—to see that we match, that we’re together.
Of course my hand on her ass or holding her close will probably do the same thing, but I don’t care.
Quickly styling my hair with a little product, I pull on socks and slip my feet into black leather shoes. Once I’m done, I take a seat on the bench and wait, watching her style her hair and apply her makeup.
Getting up, I saunter over to her once she’s finished and stand behind her, moving a little to the side so we can both see how we look together. We’re a contradiction that works and doesn’t all at the same time.
Lemon looks like a fucking Disney princess in her huge pink dress, and I look like a Mafia villain. But the differences between our aesthetics are what makes us look so perfect together. She’s light, and I’m dark. She’s sweet, and I’m not.
She’s mine, and I’m hers.
“You look beautiful,” I rasp, winding my arm around her waist and pulling her back against me.
“Thank you,” she whispers, turning her head to look up at me with trusting, innocent eyes.
“Are you ready to go?”
She nods, and I turn us, guiding her toward the doorway that leads back into the bedroom.
Her dress flows behind her as she walks, and I do my best not to step on it as we make our way out of the loft and into the warehouse below.
Slipping my cell from my pocket, I turn down the ear-splittingly loud heavy metal music Felix has blasting through the speakers until it’s a quiet roar, not an angry scream, and tug Lemon over to where my brother is furiously drawing on a huge sketch pad.
Floored for a moment, I look around at the chaos surrounding my brother. We’ve only been here for a few days, and instead of a sea of lines and marks, the images pinned to the walls and hanging from easels are already intricate images.
“Jesus, bro, usually it takes you weeks, and sometimes even months to get to this point,” I say, trying to take in each of the images in turn.
Angels. He mentioned it last night, but I should have guessed, given the wings he’d been drawing yesterday.
I’ve never seen him work this fast before.
In just a few hours, his vision has morphed from vague shapes to a series of moving drawings.
Each sketch shows the evolution of his idea from feathered goddess to Mother Earth as a stunning angel with wings made of vines and flowers, each strand of vine already resembling a living thing, even on paper.
“When did you do all this?” I question, wondering if Lemon and I were actually upstairs for a month, not a night.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Lemon says, smiling up at me.
“They’re amazing,” I agree. “Is this what he showed you last night?”
Lemon nods. “A lot of them, yes, although I think some of them are a little different.”
“The light,” Felix says, like those two words should explain everything, and maybe it does. He told me it was perfect, and clearly, it’s inspired him.
“Have you eaten? Lemon and I are going out for breakfast. Do you want me to bring you anything back?”
“I made him a sandwich,” Marcus says, appearing from behind us.
“Good morning, Marcus,” I say, turning both Lemon and me to the side so we don’t have our backs to him.
“Good morning, Atticus, Lemon,” he says in his polite and always professional tone.
“What time did you get here this morning?”
“Eight thirty a.m.,” he says, a hint of pink tinging the tops of his cheeks.
Nodding my approval, I squeeze Lemon lightly. “Have you eaten, Marcus?”
“I had a sandwich too, thank you. Do you need me to take care of anything for you today?”
“No, we’re all good. We’re going to the bank, then to get breakfast, then Lemon is going to be my guide while I get my bearings around town,” I tell him.
Marcus nods, a faint smile curling the corners of his mouth, but when I turn to Felix, his attention is already back on his drawings.
Letting Lemon go, I cross to my brother and place my hand on his shoulder, capturing his attention again. “Call me if you need anything.”
Nodding, he curls one arm around me and gives me a halfhearted hug before he releases me.
I expect him to go back to his work, but he shocks me by storming to Lemon and hugging her quickly, before letting her go just as fast and rushing back to his paper, immediately adding a line here and there, rubbing and blending the charcoal with his finger, like no one else is in the room.
“This collection is moving much faster than his others have, so I’d start ordering stone now, because I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already working with clay in the next few days,” I tell Marcus.
“I thought the blocks we transported with us might work, but if not, I’ll try to get some idea of how big he needs,” Marcus says, his expression hardening into the ultra-focused workaholic he was when he first took the job as Felix’s PA.
“Let me know if you need me,” I tell him.
Instead of speaking, he nods, already tapping at his screen before bringing his cell to his ear.
“Let’s go,” I tell Lemon, leading her out of the warehouse and into the bright morning sunlight.