44. Mourning in the Shadows #2
“I didn’t know that about your mom—mum.”
“I suspect you wouldn’t. Grandfather crafted a fictional family history.” Lev laughed. “Whenever Lucian needed money or was feeling vindictive, he threatened to tell the tabloids. You sound adorable saying mum , pretty American.”
Asher retaliated with an even more adorable look of irritation Lev couldn’t help but plunder with a kiss.
“Who did these?” Asher paused before a row of life-size sculptures.
Lev didn’t answer. The sculptures in that row weren’t ones he cared to see. Father had sculpted Mum, Wendell, and made casts of their hands before they died, as if the ghastly stone replicas would keep them alive. He’d assigned Lev the punishment of making one of Silas too.
Asher reappeared, lips pushed into a troubled pout. “Lucian sculpted your mum and Wendell?”
“Morbid, aren’t they?”
“I was going to say sad.”
They passed a few more rows in silence. Asher lingered over glass art displays. Lev had collected an entire series of glass threads knitted into fabrics. Theo’s Ophelia-inspired creation was there too. It was a brilliant bit of art, after all, even if its creator had been his romantic nemesis.
“I could spend days here and never finish,” Asher said, some time later, after he’d pulled out half a dozen custom-built partitions carrying framed art for viewing like a rolling wall, before tucking them back in like a pocket door.
“You may stay as long as you wish and return whenever you like.”
Asher stopped. “This is too much.”
“Blakely, we’ve been through this. Gifts are to be accepted. Apologies are to be given only when absolutely necessary. Nothing is transactional.” Lev covered Asher’s mouth with his hand. “I could give you every penny I own, all of Lichenmoor, and it wouldn’t be enough. Understood?”
Asher nodded.
“Use words,” Lev commanded, keeping his hand in place. He wanted Asher’s voice to resonate on his skin.
Asher rolled his eyes, but acquiesced, muttering a garbled “Yes, sir” against Lev’s palm.
“Good lad.”
Lev lowered his palm and kissed him before he could spout a snarky retort.
“There’s one more thing I want you to see.
” Lev trailed his fingertips along the labels for each pull-out partition until they reached the last one.
“Ah, here we are.” He pulled the handle and dragged it over to reveal the final hidden room, the one that contained Asher’s art, framed and displayed on each hexagonal wall of the turret.
Asher sucked in a sharp inhale.
“I used to display your paintings on the paths I frequented.” Lev wrapped his arms around Asher from behind and looked over his shoulder. “I must admit, some days your art was the only reason I left my room.”
Asher turned, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “My art comforted you and kept you company? I was there for you the way you were for me?”
Lev nodded.
“I don’t know what to say.” Asher shook his head. “I could retire now and be satisfied.”
Lev kissed Asher’s neck, then nipped. “I would be very cross if you were to deprive me of your future art.”
“Ouch. You’re always so bitey.”
Lev laughed against Asher’s skin.
“That tickles.” Asher squirmed.
“So many complaints, little mouse,” Lev whispered, relishing the resulting slide of Asher’s arse against his cock. “Little did I know when I bought these pieces that one day I’d hold you in my arms.”
“It doesn’t feel real.”
“No, it does not,” Lev agreed and kissed him again. “I’d love to display them again if that’s alright with you.”
“Maybe a few. It’s hard for me to look at something I made and not see all the flaws, all the ways I could improve it.”
“We’re all our own worst critics, aren’t we? Imperfection makes you human and turns paint into art.”
“Yeah. I mean, objectively, I know that. It’s just…” He tossed his hair back from his face. “My brain is such a dick. Critiques are so much louder than the compliments.”
“Tell your brain to remember my rule, or the next time you’re unkind to yourself, I’ll take you over my knee and massage your prostate until you come all over my lap like the good boy I know you are.”
Lev would never punish Asher. Praise and pleasure were far more effective anyway.
“In that case, I hate my hair at this length.”
“Very funny,” Lev said, and sobered. “I’ve always felt similarly when it comes to critique.
I needed Father’s approval so much that I lost myself.
It took a long time for me to shake it, and even now, I struggle with it on occasion.
It’s funny how the ones who raise us are the ones to hurt us most, even when they don’t mean to. ”
Lev laughed without humor. “Lucian had never wanted to be like his father, but no child is untouched by the echoes of their past. It doesn’t matter how far the apple falls if the roots are rotten and the trunk infected.”
“What part of your father infects you?” Asher asked.
An incurable neurological condition that would carve out his soul until the only thing left was confusion, sadness, and rage. But Lev couldn’t tell him that. Asher would leave, or worse yet, he’d promise to stay.
“My father wanted his father’s approval too. He was lucky though. He accepted who he was early on and was unapologetically himself forever after. Meanwhile, I’m still haunted by his disapproval.”
“It sounds like his expectations were so high, you never had a chance.”
“Perhaps.” Lev released Asher. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me which of yours is my favorite?”
“You already told me. Falling in love through a painting is a pretty obvious declaration.”
Oh. Right. The chain around Lev’s heart loosened some. “The painting of the guilty man. Please tell me you still have it.”
“I do, but the man wasn’t guilty, Lev. He was grieving.”
Lev blinked. “What? Sorry. I don’t understand. You captured guilt so perfectly it’s like a mirror.”
“I never titled that painting. You’re the only one who calls it the guilty man.” Asher cocked his head. “Why do you see guilt instead of grief?”
“Because I’m guilty.”
“Of what?”
Lev wanted to look away but he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready, but if he lied, Asher would put his walls back up.
“You could craft an alternate death for me that you wrongfully blame yourself for,” Silas said behind Asher.
“Perhaps I took a tumble down a stairwell? Or I got so high I threw myself off a cliff because I thought I could fly? You could always build on the old curse about the high tide’s insatiable hunger. ”
“Enough!” Lev roared.
Asher jumped and dropped his hands from Lev’s neck.
“Ash…”
“It’s okay,” Asher said, too eager to placate him. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Silas cackled. “You should stop listening to me. If only you could.”
Lev wanted to break something. Multiple things. A dangerous state to be when surrounded by art.
But he needed to focus.
“No. The fault is mine.” He pulled Asher into a hug, only inhaling after Asher relaxed against him. “I’m knackered. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m not angry with you.”
“I know, Lev.” Asher held Lev’s face with his palms. “It’s okay.”
“He knows , Levvy. He knows you’re crazy. He knows you’ll hurt him.”
Lev exhaled through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”
Asher’s eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw twitching, then nodded. “I’m tired too.” He attempted the most obvious fake yawn Lev had ever seen. “Let’s go take a nap.”
“For such a sulky black cat, you are so very patient with me. Thank you.”
“First I’m a mouse, and now I’m a cat?”
“That’s because you’re everything to me.”
Asher rolled his eyes. “Smooth.”
Lev wasn’t flirting. Asher did mean everything to him, and soon Lev would have no choice but to break his heart before he hurt him.