Chapter 39
chapter thirty nine
i think persephone cursed me
Istepped back, blinking away the haze that had clouded my eyes, and stared at the finished painting before me.
I didn’t know what time it was. It was early; I knew that much. I could hear the car horns begin to pick up. I could smell coffee brewing downstairs. It was probably Rory—now that sectionals were round the corner, she was at the rink from the crack of dawn until the sun went down.
I’d had way too much coffee. I had to stop after my fourth cup because my hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t paint straight. But I also didn’t want tiredness to claim me and ruin the momentum I’d worked so hard to build.
I set down cup number seven as I stared ahead.
After Lana left last week, our conversation was all I could think about.
Truthfully, I thought she was just saying it because she knew it was what I wanted to hear.
That things would be better one day, and all I had to do was wait.
But the more her words became my morning rituals, the more I realised that the girl I was was gone; I appreciated it.
In fact, it was clear that if I was waiting for my life to be perfect again to let myself do what I loved, then I’d never paint again.
And so, I sat with it. I didn’t do anything for the first few days. But eventually, I lifted the brush. It was hard, but with time I did it. Then I chose my colours, and I painted, and painted, and painted. And now I was staring at my final piece for the Nouvelle gala.
And I don’t know why, but as I stepped back, the back of my hand covered my mouth, my face scrunched, and I began to cry.
It’s beautiful, if I do say so myself.
It was like if Monet’s Water Lilies had the opposite colour palette. Except instead of water lilies, I chose magnolias, for no other reason than they made me happy.
They’ll probably say it’s too much. Too loud, too jarring, too wrong for a subject like florals. But that was the point. I didn’t want soft greens and tranquil blues. I wanted contradiction. I wanted the chaos.
The pond in my painting burned, not with fire, but with colour.
Oranges bleeding into red like something scorched.
The magnolia petals pulsed with an electric blue, like they were never meant to grow here, and yet somehow they bloomed anyway.
The water doesn’t reflect the sky, it rejects it.
It cuts across the surface in jagged strokes of teal and violet, fractured and wild.
It shouldn’t have worked. None of it should.
But somehow, it did.
Because broken things could still be beautiful. Still hold space. Still survive.
And if you think I’m wrong, then just look at me.
I stared at the painting a moment longer, the silence around me like those blankets that runners get after finishing a marathon. My tears eventually stopped flowing. Part of me thought it was more due to exhaustion than actually finishing a painting. Maybe it was a healthy mix of both.
Regardless, it made me flop down onto my bed, paint smeared across my hands, my clothes. And just as my stinging eyes finally closed, there was a knock on the front door.
I would have ignored it had the others been home. But alas, they weren’t. Couldn’t tell you where. Now that classes had started and everyone was in love with everyone, it was hard to keep track. But I knew from the silence that I was the only one here.
My eyes slowly pried themselves open, and I sighed one big sigh before aching up and dragging my body down the stairs. It took me three stomps to reach the door and open it, prepared to death glare whoever had impolitely disturbed the 0.5 seconds of sleep I’d had in twenty-four hours.
Only no one was there.
I peered left and right, staring at Marcus’ door, then down at the empty steps.
Weird.
I looked around again, but this time, as my eyes dipped, I found a box. It was a small, white rectangular box, tied with a lilac silk ribbon and a card tucked underneath the tie. I picked it up, not thinking about how it could have literally been anything, and took it inside.
I went back up to my room and sat down on the bed, placing the thing on my lap.
My fingers picked at the bow.
“If this explodes, I swear to God…” I muttered under my breath, squeezing my eyes closed until the ribbon was off.
The card fell into my lap, and I opened it, reading the words inked onto it, and feeling like an idiot as my smile grew.
Curiosity nipped at my fingertips, and I didn’t waste another second before lifting the lid.
After peeling back the layers of tissue paper, I found it.
Inside was a mask, the kind people used to wear to masquerade balls.
It was probably the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.
Delicate ivory and soft lilac, dusted with glittering gold swirls and lined in rich violet.
Regal. Feminine. Beautiful in that curated, intentional way, ornate but not loud, sharp around the eyes but soft around the edges.
As pretty as it was, why I had it was a mystery. But underneath, at the very bottom of the box, was another note. And as I read it, stars danced in the corners of my eyes, every word making me want to pinch myself harder.
Seeing his name made the tension in my shoulders melt away. And as much as I wanted to roll my eyes, I didn’t. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be in a bad way. It would be fuelled by nothing but giddiness and the sheer disbelief that maybe… he’d asked me out.
Me. Marcus Romano had asked me out. Via handwritten note.
Maybe I had fallen asleep.
I ran upstairs, fell back on my bed and found my phone, his name appearing immediately.
Today at 14:54pm
Marcus
i need context
Shoot
where exactly are you taking me?
Do you like surprises?
actually, i do.
Then i’m not telling you
then i’ll see you at 7
Whenever I had to get ready for an event, a premiere, or a launch party for some ridiculous influencer brand that everyone would forget in a month or two, I never, ever cared about what I looked like.
I got dressed up, obviously, but never had I stressed about my hair falling the right way.
Never had I worried about my outfit showing off my favourite parts of me.
Never had false eyelashes been so fucking hard to stick on.
“Fuck it,” I said, throwing the things to the ground.
It took me two more minutes to realise they were still stuck to my fingertips.
“Pair of twats,” I cursed, peeling them off and running frantically to find my mascara bottle, drenching my lashes in as much of it as I could.
I was lucky I’d been blessed with such long eyelashes—which the girls never failed to remind me about, telling me how chosen I should feel.
And after fanning them enough that the didn't ransfer onto the eyeshadow I'd spend an embarassing amount of time on, I headed downstairs.
Finn caught me on the staircase as he came in, helping me with the straps on my little heels.
Daisy quickly re-touched a curl I'd missed and I said a silent thank you two whatever fates decided to send the Rhodes twins our way.
Then, when I felt a little out of breath, I gave myself a once-over in the hallway mirror like this was the most important outfit choice I'd made up until this moment.
It was just a simple black silk midi dress. Cowl neck. Diamond straps. Black tights to keep out the cold.
Just another dress until right now.
On the surface, tonight was nothing special—but it was also incredibly special, because it had just dawned on me again that Marcus Romano had asked me on a date and I was about two minutes away from seeing him.
A soft knock sounded before I could even start to wonder if I was ready.
Of course I wasn’t ready. Not emotionally. Physically, yes. The silk hugged me in all the right places, the heels fit, my hair was shiny. But my heart? My heart was a jittery mess, thudding against my ribs like it was trying to make a run for it.
Still, I opened the door.
And my breath hitched as I found him, standing there like sin, wrapped in a something that made him feel like sunshine.
He was clean-cut and razor-sharp in black—no tie, just an open collar, hints of his tattoos and devastating intent. But it wasn’t the suit that got me. What got me was his face.
The way he looked at me.
Like I was something sacred. Like I’d just stepped out of a dream and he was afraid I might disappear if he blinked.
His eyes dragged over me slowly, reverently, like he was cataloguing every inch of me—not with lust, though there was plenty of that, but with something softer.
Something I didn’t know how to hold with someone so beautifully complex as him.
“Cora.” He said my name like a vow.
I tucked a curl behind my ear, trying to summon the armour I always wore, something to make this moment less serious. Less real.
But all that came out was, “You’re staring.”
He didn’t look away. “I know.”
There was no tease in his voice. No bravado. Just quiet honesty.
Why did I love it just as much as when he did tease me?
Then he held out his hand and I took it; its warmth keeping me by his side as he guided me down the steps.
I let a laugh slip. “Look at you, being gentlemanly. Who are you and what have you done with Marcus?”
His smile was everything. Truly everything. It was one I rarely saw on him. One that told me he was happy for all the right reasons. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Holland.” He nodded his chin at the car, pulling the door open. “After you.”
We drove through Manhattan, and all through the drive, he had the audacity to roll up his sleeves, showing off his tattoos and his muscled forearms, doing nothing but making my stomach swirl like I was a teenager seeing that one picture of frat boy Harry Styles.
I know you know the one.
It didn’t take long for us to park, for Marcus to take my hand again and guide me into a building that I recognised.
“The headquarters?” I asked, my voice echoing off the marble.