Chapter 9
“Ican’t believe he lied to me,” Iris huffed while she paced her room.
She felt like an empty canvas. No, she felt like a repainted canvas.
Which was worse. It meant that something beautiful—or at least something attempting to be beautiful—had been there, and now it wasn’t.
It was worse than emptiness. It was draining.
Empty but never having been filled was bearable.
Empty after having been full to the brim was soul crushing.
“Did he lie?” Violet questioned from her cross-legged position on her bed.
“Yes! How can you even ask that? We are best friends. We tell each other everything.”
“Like how you’ve told him how you feel about him all these years?”
A loud, most ungenteel harrumph exploded from Iris. Quite possibly the loudest of its kind. “Violet, of course I didn’t tell him that.”
“So you’ve been lying to him all these years then?”
“He never told me how he felt either.” The retort felt as ridiculous inside of her as it sounded on the outside, but still, she held firm.
“So he loves you?”
“Yes, but that’s besides the point—”
“Because you both have been lying to each other?”
“Yes—”
“And have you told him the truth about why you won’t do a self-portrait?” No, she had not. Mostly because every time she sat down to one, she couldn’t even determine the real reason she felt incapable of doing it.
“Ugh. No.” She paused, her pacing temporarily defeated. “We have been lying to each other this whole time. This is no way to start a relationship. A relationship must be built on trust.”
“As far as lies go…those aren’t so bad, really.”
“Whose side are you on, Violet?”
“Both.”
“You can’t be.”
“Yes I can.” She stood up and approached Iris, placing her hands on her shoulders.
Iris could feel a speech about to start, the kind typically given by an older sister to a younger one, but the roles here were reversed.
“I love you both. You love each other. You deserve each other. You deserve to be happy.”
“But the lies…”
“The truth always comes to light. Once the lies are exposed, you can move forward in truth together.”
“He’s betrayed my independence. My pride. My privacy. How can I forgive him?”
“He hasn’t betrayed your heart, Iris. He acted out of love. This was not something maliciously done.”
“You’re right.” And as an afterthought, she added, “Probably.”
Violet only laughed. “You know I’m right, Iris. Sometimes the younger one can be the wiser one.”
“Perhaps.”
“Sleep on it. And decide tomorrow when he calls on you.”
“How do you know he’ll call tomorrow?”
“Oh, he’ll call tomorrow.” With a wink, Violet quit the room, leaving Iris alone. Far too alone.
And yes, Tristan did call the next day.
Before tea could even be served, he was reaching out for her hand.
“Forgive me, Iris. I have known you my whole life, yet I still have much to learn about you. I shouldn’t have assumed what you wanted in life.
” By that, he was referring to the gallery.
“And I shouldn’t have assumed what you didn’t want.
” And by that, he was referring to him. “I should spend less time trying to read your mind and more time simply asking you what’s on it.
I want a future with you. Whatever that looks like.
Please forgive me. Please marry me. Please say you’ll be mine.
Without you in my life, I’m just an empty canvas, waiting to be painted. Please paint me, Iris.”
She was not expecting a marriage proposal in the apology, but it was there all the same.
But that wasn’t the most shocking aspect of his plea.
The most shocking aspect was that she was not expecting his words to tear into her soul and reveal her darkest secret.
One that she had hidden from herself. To have him use the same words, empty canvas, exposed a truth.
And the strangest thing happened. Her own image permeated her mind.
For the first time ever. Fully saturated.
In great detail. How utterly bizarre, yet how utterly inspiring to finally see oneself.
And she knew it was because of him.
“Yes,” she managed to say past the enormous lump of sand in her throat.
“Yes?” he echoed hopefully.
“Yes, I forgive you. And yes, I’ll marry you.”
And then her brain absorbed more images. Those of the future. Her wedding. Her family. Her future children. And her husband in all of them.
Truth rushed out of her. “I never gave you a self-portrait because I could never paint myself. And that was because I couldn’t really see myself. But now I do. I see myself. Because of you.” She threw her arms around him. “All because of you, Tristan.”
“I love you, Iris. It’s always been you. It will always be you.”
“I love you, Tristan. You’ve always seen me, known me. Been there for me. I will love you always.”