Chapter 22
22
O divine art of subtlety and secrecy! Through you […] we can hold the enemy’s fate in our hands.
THE ART OF WAR , SUN TZU
‘Where are we going?’ Chase asked as the cab took the side streets to avoid the commuter crush.
‘Sascha has something for us to see,’ Bella said evasively.
She was such a bad liar that he almost smiled. It didn’t help that Chase knew Sascha had moved all of her pieces out of the studio. He glanced at Bella, twisting her hands in her lap and, without thinking, reached across the seats and placed his hand over hers. She glanced back to him, a nervous smile on her lips and went back to looking out of the cab’s window.
Maybe this was Bella’s attempt to fight Sascha’s corner against Zadzisai as the feature artist. Bella had shot him glares throughout the whole meeting after he’d dropped the bombshell. Eight months ago, he’d not have even told the rest of the staff that Zadzisai had been in touch, let alone asked for their opinions. Christ, he’d been out of his depth. He’d kept everything to himself, just like he always had, so that no one would know if he made the right or wrong decision. But Bella had helped him see just how much better the gallery worked when they worked as one.
As an artist, Chase would have told Zadzisai to stick it. But as director he had to make decisions for the gallery. He thought back to when he’d taken Bella to the gallery warehouse, informed her imperiously about gatekeeping. He still felt that way. But he was now part of that, whether he liked it or not.
The cab pulled up to where Sascha was waiting with a grin on her face.
‘Sascha,’ he greeted with a nod as the tall woman smiled at him, but grinned at Bella. She handed Bella something and then waved goodbye and walked off.
‘Where is she going?’ Chase asked as Sascha disappeared into the crowded street.
‘I don’t know,’ Bella said, shrugging as she walked into the large building that housed the studio.
‘Bella,’ he said, tempted to act like a stroppy child and refuse to walk any further. ‘What is going on?’
‘You’ll see,’ she said, holding the door to the studio open.
Knowing gnawed his gut. He wasn’t going to like this at all.
Chase followed her into the studio space that, last he saw, had been covered in paint spatters and streaks, cast off, wiped-off, dripped and smeared. But now, the entire space was covered in large blank sheets of paper that made him shiver and want to run. Adrenaline dumped in his system, like ice dropped into water, displacing ripples of anger, fear, resentment, longing and so much more.
He cursed. ‘What did you do?’ He turned to Bella accusingly. He should have known that she’d not leave it alone.
‘I wanted to try something,’ she offered, twisting her hands.
He went to walk out, but she stood in his way, palm against his racing heart.
‘Bella, this isn’t something you can fix with pop psychology and well meaning,’ he growled. Hurt flashed in her eyes but was wiped away by a blink. ‘I want to leave.’
‘You can. But I’d like you to hear me out first.’
He pressed against her hand, testing her determination. She didn’t move and he wasn’t such a bastard that he’d push right through her. He clenched his teeth together to stop something stupid escaping his mouth like ‘please’.
He stepped back and circled the space like a caged animal.
‘When was the last time that you created a piece of work that wasn’t for sale?’ Bella asked, her voice echoing around a room bare of canvas, movement, people, noise.
He bit his lip and shook his head. He couldn’t remember. From the moment that he’d been discovered at university, everything had been geared towards a show, selling paintings, meeting buyers, and gallery directors.
‘A while.’
‘How long?’
‘I get your point, Bella,’ he informed her curtly.
‘Do you? Do you really?’ she asked, looking at him in a way that made him think that he didn’t. ‘Because you picked up a colouring pen without a single thought and helped that little boy see his drawing as something worthy of a gallery. You didn’t even think about it.’
‘That was different.’ And he wouldn’t say entirely without thought.
‘It was different. I know why. But do you?’
‘Yes, I get the very heavy-handed, painfully obvious point you’re trying to make. That I can’t paint because I don’t like the pressure of making it financially viable.’
‘Oh. Actually, I was going to say that you can’t paint because it’s not fun any more, but yeah, your suggestion works too,’ she said, flippant and furious at the same time.
He bit his tongue, unsure whether she was being sarcastic or not.
‘It’s the reason it’s not fun any more. You don’t play with it, the way you used to. You’re afraid of wasting it.’
‘Because I needed to make money, Bella. We weren’t all born with a trust fund?—’
‘That’s not fair,’ she whispered.
‘It’s not fair,’ he agreed, ‘but it’s true . It took five years for me to earn enough to pay off the medical bills from my mother’s illness. It took another year to be able to pay off my father’s mortgage. Those things aren’t nothing, Bella.’
‘They’re incredible achievements, Chase. Admirable and amazing. But what debt are you trying to pay off now?’ Grey eyes, wide like orbs, glowing like stars, levelled him where he stood and knocking all the words out of his mouth.
He fisted his hands, fighting an invisible band holding him in place, tension in every line of his body.
‘Spit it out, Bella. Stop beating around the bush and say what’s on your mind.’
‘I think you’re spinning out of control, because you achieved everything your mother said you would. And it didn’t make you happy. I think you’re stuck because you don’t know what you want next, because you’ve never had to ask yourself that.’
‘And you have?’
‘Yes. Recently, for the first time, yes. Everything I thought I wanted… it was… passive . I didn’t know why I wanted it, I hadn’t had to think about why I wanted it, I just did. A marriage, a home, children. The Hamptons . They were just things I thought I should want, that I should have. Stages of my life I just assumed would happen. And maybe Olly not turning up on the day of the wedding might actually have been the best thing that happened to me,’ Bella said, as if admitting it for the first time, to herself as much as to him.
‘And I think you’re the same, in a way,’ she said with a small shrug. ‘You did all this to make your mother happy, but it wasn’t because you’d thought about wanting it, or questioned why you wanted it.’ Her words were a near-fatal body blow, his heart knowing how true they rang and his soul wanting it to be different. ‘I think she’d desperately want you to be happy, because she loved you. And I… want you to be happy,’ she said, her words losing steam and confidence for the first time since they’d arrived.
There was something in what she said that he’d missed, but he couldn’t quite keep his train of thought, because somehow Bella Carmichael had unlocked the dam that he’d spent years shoving things behind and it was near all that he could do to stay standing.
* * *
Bella gave him a minute to process what she’d said. And if she were being honest, she needed a minute too. She walked over to the table Sascha had prepared for them, fiddling with every single conceivable type of artistic tool, pencils, paintbrushes, glue, paper, scissors, charcoal, erasers, coloured chalks, spray paint even.
She catalogued them in her mind because that was so much easier than facing what she’d nearly blurted at him.
She wanted you to be happy because she loved you. And I…
Fighting the crashing realisation, she focused instead on why she was here. It wasn’t about her. It was about Chase. It was about helping him find what was missing. Because she felt it when she was around him – the hole he tried to hide. It didn’t stop him from being witty, sharp, devastatingly sexy, which was quite annoying when she thought about it. But it was like a scar he was constantly trying to pull a piece of clothing over. And the more it stayed hidden, the more damage it would do.
She reached into her pocket for the blindfold she’d brought, though it was looking increasingly unlikely that he’d allow her to get through the full extent of her plan. She turned to face him, running the silk through her hands.
‘Unless that involves you being naked, I’m not interested,’ he said, glaring at the blindfold.
She fought the smile. At least he hadn’t left yet. ‘Perhaps after we leave here.’
‘I can have a cab here in under thirty seconds.’
‘ No one can get a cab in under thirty seconds in New York.’
‘Watch me,’ he replied, his eyes glowing with determination and just a hint of the humour he always surprised her with.
‘Do you trust me?’ she asked.
He looked at her, his gaze losing some of that humour. For a moment she thought he might say no.
He nodded, slowly. Carefully. But at least he agreed.
‘Will you take your jacket off?’ Bella asked, not wanting to get paint all over the rich piece of clothing.
He did as she asked, without taking his eyes from her and threw it over the back of the chair in the corner of the room. He undid the sleeve button and rolled the cotton back over his forearms, and Bella nibbled her top lip to stop herself from giving in to temptation and letting him call the cab.
He smirked at her as if he knew what she was thinking and she let him, because really this could only be incredibly painful for him. And if it didn’t work… it could just make things worse. That had to be on his mind as much as it was on hers.
She went to him and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips as she slipped the silk over his eyes and heard him inhale, felt the change of air at her collarbone as she came off her tiptoes from reaching to tie the silk behind his head.
‘So what’s the plan, I just pick up a brush and start painting with wild abandon?’ he snarked defensively.
‘No,’ she replied simply, reaching for an orange piece of charcoal. She’d decided that she didn’t actually want him to pick up anything he didn’t want to. She knew that had to come from him and wouldn’t force that on him. But that didn’t mean he still couldn’t help create something.
She reached for his hand and wrapped it around hers, pulling him against her back so that they could move together, as one. He could simply let her draw, or, if he wanted to, he could guide her hand. He could also remove his hand any time he wanted to.
But she hoped that he’d give this a chance.
She started off with a wide arc of her arm, heavy with the weight of his hand on hers.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, the puff of his words cresting against the sensitive spot just behind her ear. She hoped he didn’t feel the shiver ripple through her body but the way he stiffened behind her told her that he had.
‘I’m drawing…’ She narrowed her gaze at the thick line of chalk. ‘Kind of,’ she admitted with a laugh. And she bisected the arc with a long vertical line down the centre, the movement catching Chase by surprise as his hand nearly slipped from hers. Then he tightened his hold a little and hope flared deep down inside her.
She wasn’t a huge fan of the luminescent colour, but it didn’t matter. She just wanted to mark the paper. To leave something behind. To be seen, or to at least leave something behind that could be seen. Was that what Chase was missing? The feeling of being seen and understood. The knowledge that he had made a literal mark on the world.
‘I don’t think I like the charcoal much,’ she admitted, the flecks of tiny bright orange colouring the large white paper-covered wall.
‘It’s not the easiest,’ he admitted.
She bit the inside of her cheek. No matter how much this was for him, she couldn’t help but think that if he saw it, he’d think all this was childish and silly. Bad. Not good. Certainly not good for him and she tried to ignore the discomfort of failing, of not doing something perfectly.
‘You’re thinking again,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Know what you could be thinking about?’ he teased. ‘You in that blindfold, stripped bare, while I?—’
‘Paint! I want to try some paint,’ she cried and he laughed gently behind her.
She reached for the cheap acrylic that Sascha had given her. The point was not to have him worry about anything remotely artistic, and she needed to get over herself if she was to help him achieve it. Only Sascha’s encouragement with her plan had given her enough confidence to get here. Now she just needed to keep going.
They were beginning to move more easily now; she’d adjusted for the weight of him, and he’d relaxed enough to let her guide him. She didn’t bother mixing paint, it wasn’t about colour, it was about feel as she loaded a brush and swept it across the page, zigzagging to catch him by surprise, and dotting and stabbing which made him laugh.
She turned, because it was easy, because he was there, and because she couldn’t stop herself, and pressed a kiss to his lips, half wrapped in his arms and tucked against his chest. He tried to deepen the kiss, but she leaned back, the smile on his face that matched her own made her heart flutter. She picked a thick marker and drew circles and stars, and coloured them in with splodges of highlighter pens. When Bella returned to the paint though, she began to feel the smallest of guidance from his hand. And she let him pull a little more, loosening her hold as he strengthened his.
The only sound was of the brush against the paper, different streaks and slashes, all in the same colour, because Bella didn’t dare break the movement. It was something else entirely feeling the change in his grasp, the turn of his wrist, the movements that were a physical memory for him and nothing to do with sight.
The paint had run out but the brush still mixed what was already on the page. The rhythm of Chase’s breathing changed as his gestures became more like movements, and the movements became more determined.
‘Do we need more paint?’ he whispered into her ear and she nodded, Chase slowly stepping back to allow her to cover the brush. ‘Grab a pallet and put some paint on it,’ he said, clearing his throat, his tone reluctantly dark.
She did as he said, and he let her lead him over to a new fresh wall of paper. She dipped the brush in a rich green and made the first mark on the paper. She’d expected to have to lead him into it, but he instinctively took over. He swirled the brush into shapes and shades, letting her choose the colours, but creating the patterns and textures.
‘Was there spray paint?’ he asked as if excited by the prospect.
‘Yes, but please remember that I’m not wearing overalls,’ she groused as she walked them back to the table. She wouldn’t have cared a bit if she got paint everywhere, but he took her words as a challenge.
‘Poor Bella, we wouldn’t want you to get all dirty now, would we?’ he teased into her ear.
Damn this man . Her entire body heated from head to toe, her core throbbing and?—
‘Bella. The spray paint.’
She jumped and ignored his laugh as she reached for it, shaking the can and returning to a wall covered in crazy patches of paint and streaks, some marks leaving drips and others barely scraping over the colour beneath.
‘Ready,’ she told him and started spraying as he moved her hand to where he wanted her. The hiss surprised her, but he steadied her with his other hand, moving them at a pace a few feet across the gallery. He held the spray on one point until the paint hissed and spat and dripped, until he called out, ‘Next.’
‘Next?’ she asked.
‘Next thing ,’ he said, this time leading her to the table. She picked up a pencil as his hand encased hers. He might not be holding it himself, but he was most definitely now in charge.
It was fascinating seeing him on the brink of losing himself in this, even though he couldn’t see what he was doing. Every now and then she’d wrestle him for control, to remind him that it was still fun, that it wasn’t one of his artworks, and he’d laugh and let her lead for a while.
It was a dance. And she wanted to tell Astrid about it, knowing that she’d understand, she wanted to tell all the girls about it, knowing they’d find it funny, the image of her leading Chase around blindfolded. And without thinking, she grabbed her phone and snapped a selfie, Chase flinching at the sound.
‘What was that?’
‘Proof that I got you blindfolded,’ she teased as she turned down the volume and snapped a few pictures of the walls. She had planned not to let him see it, but she was pretty sure that he’d want to destroy any and all evidence of the playful, childlike splashes of colour on the walls.
‘Does that mean I get to take pictures?’ he asked, and she knew that he wasn’t talking about the walls. He pressed a kiss to her neck and goosebumps rippled out over her skin. ‘Call a cab, Bella,’ Chase demanded, his voice gently insistent.
‘Do you want to see the walls?’ she offered, still tucked into the side of his body.
‘Right now, all I want to see is you. Naked in my bed, except for the blindfold covering your eyes.’
She knew it was a distraction, from what he feared he’d find, but she’d wanted it to be his choice from the beginning and she would honour that. She tapped across the screen of her phone as Chase slipped the blindfold from his eyes.
‘The cab will be here in five minutes.’
‘Then I’ll show you just what I can do in five minutes,’ he said, backing her out of the gallery without taking even a glance at the walls.
Bella locked up as Chase rubbed his hands together in the cold, a little unsettled and hating that she was.
Chase met her at the steps.
‘What is it?’ he asked, a hand cupping her cheek.
‘I… Was that okay? I didn’t make a mistake?’ she asked hesitantly.
Chase looked deep into Bella’s gaze and saw it. The need in her, the fear. That she might have done something that would make him push her away, or leave. And he hated that she even had to ask.
‘It was okay,’ he said nodding. ‘And if it wasn’t, we’d talk about it, or even argue. But it would still be okay,’ he explained, because he’d learned that from her. ‘I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you,’ he said, placing a kiss on her forehead, feeling the truth of what he’d said fill him with something he wasn’t sure he wanted to look too closely at just yet. But they’d have time for that after the gallery opened. They’d have time for so much more.