Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Isla
“That arrogant asshole,” I seethe, mumbling to the walls of my empty apartment.
Yes, Universe—you bitch—I’ve officially gone crazy. Talking to myself and everything.
My paintbrush hits the canvas with more force than necessary, sending crimson splattering across what was supposed to be a delicate landscape. I don’t even care anymore.
Painting was meant to distract me, to help me focus on something that wasn’t him, but it’s not working. Not one bit.
I can’t go two seconds without thinking about Knox Vale, his overbearing arrogance, that damn kiss, and the orgasm he gave me.
I’m angry at myself again. One touch, and I fell into his trap, allowing his skilled fingers and possessive charm to unravel my dignity. It won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of that.
It’s been four days since I last saw him. Four days, and I’m still fuming at ten o’clock on a Sunday night. I’ve grown more on edge with each passing day and hour.
Though, I’m sure that’s perfectly understandable. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t be fuming. And then, to add insult to injury, he kept me waiting to hear about his next steps.
I spent all of Thursday and Friday with my phone nearby waiting for a call. Did I get one?
Noooo.
Yesterday morning, I left Mom with Aunt Bernice, Mia’s mother, and decided to head to my apartment.
With my mother in the safe hands of her older sister, I needed time to myself.
That’s when the fucking call came through. But I didn’t answer.
No way was I going to answer after waiting around like an idiot for two days. Besides, it’s the weekend, and I already decided it was going to be mine.
Whoever it is—maybe Knox—has been calling randomly since yesterday and leaving text messages asking me to call back, I ignored them all.
I already signed the contract, so I planned to own this little slice of time.
They can wait until tomorrow. Knox is a Monday problem.
The strange thing is, I do want to know what those next steps are, but at the same time, I don’t want to know. The bruised, grieving part of me wants to stay in this blissful bubble of ignorance for as long as I can. Or at least until tomorrow morning, when I have to face the world again.
No doubt I’ll be told details about the actual marriage and wedding, which I’m certain will be sooner rather than later. Knox and I have as much in common as a dog and bird, but I’m sure we’re both eager to get everything over and done with. Especially the marriage.
I shake my head. Mia was right. I need to stay positive and focus. Those are the only things that will help me now.
Red bleeds into blue on my canvas, creating a muddy purple that matches my mood perfectly. I load my brush with more paint and drag it across the surface.
Earlier, it looked a mess, especially when I allowed raw anger to take over, but somehow, it took shape and became something beautiful.
That always happens with my paintings. Even when I veer off the path. Somehow, I bring it together. I just wish I could do the same with my life.
This started out as a painting of the Russian countryside where my mother's family are from.
Yesterday, there was sunshine, lilies, lush green grass, and a waterfall that caught the sunlight. Now, there's darkness and shadows on the surface of the silver waters with accents of red. It could be a Neo-Noir painting nestled in the heart of one of Tim Burton's worlds.
I’ll add it to the collection I'm putting together for my new portfolio.
I've been working on the portfolio since early last year, when I decided I was going to try for Broadway again. Or something of that caliber.
Years ago, when the studio burned down, all my finest pieces were destroyed. Pieces I knew would have landed me any artist’s job in a theater. Maybe not the dream job, but if I had them now, they would certainly get me something better than what I have.
It was my fault for leaving them there in the first place. But everyone did that. The theater was the kind of place that had a chilled atmosphere that sparked creativity.
Since I was part of the main design team, I was given free rein of their large, spacious studio. I used to live for going in and painting whenever I wanted. Night or day.
I don't have that luxury now, but I need to keep my dreams alive. For me.
More importantly, I need to ensure that I maintain some control over my life.
Going into this thing with Knox, I know I need money coming in. Real money.
I need to be able to take care of myself, and now that Mom won’t get the insurance payout, I’ll have to cover the bills my father used to handle. Which means something has to change.
I can’t stay at the theater forever on my meager salary, and I can’t keep helping out at the restaurant, either.
Once I finish a few more paintings, I’m going to apply at one of the Broadway theaters.
I’m actually going to do it. Take the plunge and stop talking myself out of it.
I’ve always had my heart set on the Lyceum. But honestly, working at any of them would be a dream. That’s me trying to be positive. Hopeful, even. Until then, I’ll work my ass off.
At least I won't have to pay rent anymore.
The thought gives me pause, and a slither of sadness curls in my stomach. My hand stills mid-stroke, and I look around my apartment.
I've lived here since I graduated college.
It's not the best apartment with its small, small space, cracks in the walls, barely-there windows, and that musty smell from downstairs seeping through the vent. But it's mine. My space. My place.
I could have stayed with my parents for a while. Their doors were always open to me, but I was eager to spread my wings, and they let me.
I'd always planned to buy a home once I could save for it, but just as I started, the theater burned down. I've had no choice since.
Now it feels like my choices have been taken from me, and I’ll be leaving my little sanctuary here sooner rather than later.
I read that Knox lives in the Hamptons. Of course, he does.
A person like me could only ever dream of going there, much less living there.
His entire family lives around that area, and they each have multimillion-dollar houses that were featured in some exclusive I found about the family. Even his eighteen-year-old sister has a summer cottage.
God, to be eighteen and already own property. How lucky.
It's all so grand and glorious, but I can't even muster the strength to be intrigued.
My phone buzzes with a text message on the table beside me. I set my paintbrush down and pick up the phone hoping it's not Knox or one of his people again.
I’m mildly surprised when I see the message is from Chad. My ex boyfriend.
I open it. It says:
Hey, there. Just checking on you.
Hope you're feeling better. Remember, I'm here if you need me.
Despite the awful way he left me, he kept in touch. He still messages every so often. But he’s been texting me a lot more since Dad died.
I drag in a breath and read the message again.
It’s sweet. And admittedly heartwarming. The kind of heartwarming I definitely need. I would love to allow myself the moment of reprieve that comes with knowing you have people there for you.
But I stop the feeling before it can take fruition.
It's nice of Chad to message and keep in touch the way he has, especially during this time. But I have to remember I'm not his problem anymore.
I knew he felt bad when he dumped me, and maybe he really did think he was doing what was best for both of us. But sometimes, I just wish he’d leave me alone.
I thought he would eventually. But every couple of months, he’ll text or email.
In the beginning, he sent pictures of Australia—sunburnt beaches, kangaroos in the morning mist, the life he built without me.
He became a wildlife cinematographer. When National Geographic offered him a filming contract on the Great Barrier Reef, he used to share footage from his drafts, knowing I’d appreciate it. But as the years went by, he stopped.
Sometimes I’d check his socials. But I stopped early last year, when I found a picture of him and his new girlfriend kissing on Instagram.
She was pretty. Prettier and less stuck-up than the other women I’d seen him with. And she didn't look like her life was a mess. Not like me.
So, I guess he made the right choice.
While I'm grateful for the olive branch he's always extending me, I have to decline the offer, because no, he can’t be there for me.
I stopped needing him years ago. I accepted that I had to be strong, move on, and remember he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore.
At first, it was hard. Chad broke me when he left. I’d known him since I was five, and he was my first everything. But I did it. I moved on. I may not have had a serious relationship since him, but I moved on.
I always message back straightaway, but this time, I won't.
My life's about to change again, and I don’t want Chad to be a part of it.
Although my marriage to Knox is a facade, and not real to me, it's real on paper.
When the dust settles, I’ll tell Chad I’m getting married. That’ll probably be the last message I ever send him.
I don’t owe him anything. But I don’t want him finding out from the press, who will be all over me the second word gets out that Knox and I are together. They talk about the Vales like they’re the Kennedys or the Bransons. Getting married to the eldest son is going to be big news.
I set the phone back down on the table and stare at the clock on the wall.
It’s almost ten thirty.
I should stop painting now, especially since I’m pleased with what I’ve done so far.
I also need to rest. I've been at this all day.
A glass of sweet wine and a long hot bath with my favorite oils will hit the spot to end the day. Then I'll head to bed and think about tomorrow.
I pack up my paint and put everything away.
Just as I grab the bottle of Pinot Noir from the cabinet, the phone rings.
It rings out loudly and vibrates even louder against the table.