12. Rosenna
Chapter twelve
Rosenna
O nce again, I subjected myself to the mercy of the man painting my portrait.
Why was I taking such a risk? Why did I put my marriage on the line simply to prove a point to my husband? Why was I growing more comfortable daily with a man who didn ‘ t care whether he was ruining my life?
As I lay on my side, I closed my eyes and held the knit blanket against my chest as Beckham fixed my hair the way he wanted it. I made the mistake of looking over my shoulder, only to see him hovering over me, his muscles on full display, his jaw clenching in concentration, his eyes focusing on every detail. He looked into my eyes for a moment, and I turned back as I let him finish.
“Have you ever… painted another woman before?” I asked after a beat of silence, trying to gauge where he was mentally. I bit my lip as he placed a hand on my hip to keep me still and continued fixing my hair and the petals that were arranged around me.
“Besides my mother… no,” he muttered.
For a minute or so, he meticulously organized a few more details: the curve of the blanket, the spread of the petals. Then he walked over to his wall of canvases and supplies.
I took in the way he clenched his muscles when he was confused, the way he furrowed his eyebrows as he thought about which shades would complement one another, and the way his shoulders relaxed slightly when he was able to visualize his next move.
He made eye contact with me in the mirror by the corner for a short while, and I blushed profusely as he approached his easel to begin shortly thereafter. I was confused as to how I was able to feel at ease and exposed to him at the same time.
Being in his studio made me feel a lot of things, actually. Under the nervousness and guilt of being here, I almost felt alive in a sense, like I hadn’t quite been living to my full potential with Gavin at home or when I stressed about bills, loans and expenses for my galleries.
You shouldn ‘ t be thinking like this, I mentally reprimanded myself.
“You shouldn’t think so much about this,” Beckham said, practically reading my thoughts as his footsteps approached me. “Your nervousness and hesitancy are too prominent in your posture. I want you to feel relaxed for this painting.”
I sat up a bit more as I looked over my shoulder to see him crouching down at eye level. I felt utterly vulnerable with a slight mix of desire as he ran his eyes along my covered figure.
“Well... forgive me for being a bit apprehensive about being here essentially against my will.”
He hummed, his eyes growing a bit darker as he tilted his head. I wanted to look away from his heated gaze but I felt utterly stuck gazing into his eyes.
“Are we going to talk about the other night?” he asked.
“…I don’t particularly recall us needing to discuss anything about it.”
“Oh. You don ‘ t want to talk about how good you felt on my tongue while your husband was waiting for you at your table? Or maybe you want to talk about how the rest of the night, you were solely reminded of me…? I’m sure your lack of panties was definitely a reminder.”
“Beckham,” I warned, ignoring all of his attempts to get me to admit the sinful night we engaged in. “Finish the painting and let me go home.”
In response, he simply stood and walked back over to his station. I softly let out the small breath I’d been holding, getting back into the position from before.
For the next hour, he didn’t say anything, and neither did I. Eventually, he was done, and I stood, wrapping the blanket around me and slowly going over to see his work.
If it wasn’t absolutely perfect, then I didn’t know what it was. It was stunning. Every single detail, as always, was drawn perfectly, and although he would be going in to finish it up later, what he had so far was nothing short of perfection.
He handed me his phone, and I looked down to see he’d captured a few photos of me once again.
“Delete them if you want to,” he muttered.
I stared at the trash icon, my mind contemplating whether or not I wanted to delete the photos he had of me. It wouldn ‘ t make a difference. What does one photo say when his painting of me and my presence in his home has already said quite enough?
Wordlessly, I handed the phone back before I turned to grab my clothes.
“You’re lying to yourself.”
I froze as I looked over to him. “About what in particular, might I ask?”
“About not sensing what’s going on between us. You want to be here just as much as I want you here.”
“Excuse me, Beckham, I didn’t choose to be blackmailed and manipulated.”
He scoffed as he tilted his head. “Like that’s what I did.”
“That is exactly what you are doing, yes. I’m going to assume that you’ve never been told no in your entire life since I keep telling you that we can’t keep doing these kinds of things, but you won’t listen.”
“I could’ve listened to you that night, but then you wouldn’t have cum on my tongue.”
“Go to hell,” I seethed as I went to walk to his bathroom to get dressed; however, I felt resistance. Looking over, I noticed his hand on the fabric of the blanket by my hip. It was clenched in his fist as he looked down at me dangerously, almost as if he was aroused and displeased with my defiance at the same time.
He pulled me closer by the blanket abruptly, and I gasped as I tightened it around my chest. In one swift motion, if he really wanted to, he could rip it from my grasp and leave me bare to him. The thought alone left goosebumps on my skin.
He ignored my utter shock as he remained fixated on my eyes, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do the same. His eyes flickered down to my lips for a moment, and I gulped softly as he tightened his fist on the blanket even more.
The moment we shared, however, was cut short as his phone rang. His eyes lingered on me for a short while before he pulled away and answered the phone angrily.
Taking that as my chance to get dressed, I walked into the bathroom and threw my yoga attire back on in haste.
When I stepped out, he was waiting by the door, keys in hand.
“I’ll take you home. I have to plan the next setup I want for you.”
I exhaled sharply. “And what did I say about you not taking no for an answer?”
He didn’t respond, just walked past me, opening the car door.
When we stood only a foot away, he leaned in, his breath ghosting my ear.
“You can say no all you want, Flower, but you and I both know you’re not done with this. No matter how much you try to convince yourself.”
A day or so had passed, and I was slowly easing back into my regular routine. After a long day at the gallery, I slipped into a burgundy long-sleeve top and black leggings, throwing on a white cardigan for extra warmth. Grabbing my planner, laptop, and notebook, I headed to the kitchen to work while the water boiled for tea.
The soft whistle of the kettle broke the silence, and soon, I was settled at the kitchen island, mapping out the next week with Kira’s shared calendar. Stirring honey into my tea, I sent off a few urgent emails, taking slow sips, allowing myself a moment of calm.
Then, the door unlocked.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Gavin stepping inside, his expression tense, almost panicked.
Placing my mug down, I furrowed my eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”
He hurriedly approached me, his hands gripping my shoulders.
“Promise me you won’t be upset.”
I tilted my head as I heard distance voices from outside as well as two car doors closing.
“Gavin,” I cautioned as the voices got louder.
He rubbed his temples. “They just dropped in, and I couldn’t say no. It’ll only be the afternoon, I swear.”
My mood instantly went south as the two people who I wanted to see least in the world entered into our home.
“Goodness, it’s such a mess in here. Where’s a good wife when you need one?” came a treacherous voice.
I turned a deathly glare to Gavin.
“Oh, Rosie, I didn’t see you there! How are you!?” She smiled beside her husband, her voice like nails on a chalkboard.
I mustered up the best grin I could as I stood from my chair, ignoring Gavin’s guilty gaze. Doing my best to relax my shoulders, I reluctantly walked over to greet Gavin’s parents, aka my in-laws from hell .