Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
ZALEA | FLORENCE
“So…yesterday was interesting,” Paolo says, peeking at me from behind the canvas. “Are you okay?”
I finally made it to his studio to model today, but my mind keeps drifting to Gabriel back at the apartment, especially after learning about his panic attacks this morning.
“Yeah. I helped Gabriel wash up and get to bed after you left,” I say, doing my best to hold still.
Paolo’s pencil stops.
“I didn’t ask about him,” he says. “I asked if you were okay.”
I meet his eyes.
“I’ll be okay,” I answer quietly. “I just need time.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods and returns to sketching. Classical music softly plays through the studio, filling the silence until he breaks it again.
“Why do you stay by his side when he hurts you?”
The question startles me, and he must see it in my expression.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” he adds quickly. “It’s just that you’re beautiful, and you’re a young woman. You could have anyone, yet you stay with the one who causes you pain.”
I swallow, choosing my words carefully.
“I don’t expect perfection from him,” I say slowly. “But whenever I picture my future…it’s always Gabriel. I’d rather be alone than be with anyone else.”
Paolo glances at me again.
“You love him,” he says, and it’s not a question.
I nod. “Very much.”
He clears his throat and focuses back on the canvas.
“Sometimes love can trick you,” he murmurs.
“What do you mean?”
“Just because you love someone doesn’t mean they’re right for you. I don’t think Gabriel knows how to love you the way you deserve.”
Anger burns in my chest because it feels like he’s attacking Gabriel. But underneath that, I know there’s some truth to what he’s saying. Gabriel loves me, I know he does, but loving someone, and loving them well, are not the same thing.
“We’ve been apart more than together,” I say carefully. “We’re both still learning how to love each other in the way we need. And yes, we’ve broken each other’s trust, more than once, but I believe we’ll get there. It’s just going to take time.”
Paolo watches me for a long time.
“So you’ve decided,” he says quietly. “To be with him?”
“I have.” I see the disappointment flash across his face. “I think it was always going to be him, Paolo.”
He nods, but the air shifts between us.
After a long pause, he asks, “Have you decided where you’re going for your exploration trip this weekend?”
Giovanna assigned everyone in the program the task to pick a destination in Italy to visit for artistic inspiration.
Most of the places I could think of were ones I’d imagined seeing with Gabriel, but after spending three weeks thinking about nothing else except for him, I know I need to go somewhere where I can focus on myself instead.
“Pisa,” I say.
“For the whole weekend?” His brows lift. “Lea, Pisa is somewhere you only go for half a day.”
“Oh.” I did not know that.
Paolo sighs, sets down his pencil, and moves to sit on a stool in front of me. I drop my pose and straighten.
“What do you like to do?” he asks. “Back home?”
“Surfing,” I answer. Even if it felt more like a career than a hobby.
He snaps his fingers. “Then why not visit one of our surf towns?”
I blink. “Italy has surf towns?”
He rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, typing away before he turns it toward me to show a beautiful sunny, sandy beach where surfers cut through the water.
“Where is this?”
“Varazze,” he replies. “It’s about three hours from here, but it’s the perfect weekend trip. Much better than Pisa.”
I grin, already reconsidering my train ticket.
“That’s actually a great idea. I’ll think about it.”
He nods then stands. “Want to see?”
“You finished?” I frown. “I didn’t even see you use paint.”
He chuckles and turns the easel toward me. “I used charcoal for this one.”
I’m usually drawn to colour, but I can’t deny that it’s stunning. It looks moody and alive. Paolo is incredibly talented.
“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he says, carefully.
I raise a brow. “And that is?”
He walks to the far wall and flips around several canvases, eleven in total.
All of me in different poses, different expressions, a mix of charcoal, and some with paint.
My breath catches as I take them all in.
Some of them look similar to the rough sketches I saw in his book weeks ago, and I wonder if he used those to create them while I was blowing off our sessions.
Has he just been locked away in this studio working away?
“Wow,” I whisper, staring at all the different versions of me. “They’re beautiful.”
“Giovanna has asked me to submit pieces for her upcoming gallery,” he says. “These are the best work I've done in months, maybe years. I was hoping you’d be okay with me submitting them.”
I stare at him stunned. “You want your submissions to be of me?”
He nods. “It would be an honour if you would let me share them with the world.”
Emotion rushes through me and I launch out of my stool and rush over to him, wrapping him in a hug.
“Paolo, the honour is mine. This is amazing!”
He laughs and spins me around as I giggle, but a knock at the studio door ends the happy moment. Paolo sets me down and we both look to the doorway where Gabriel stands, carefully watching us.
Giovanna steps out from behind him, grinning.
“I found this one waiting downstairs,” she says, nudging him. “I thought he should see what Paolo’s been creating with you.”
Gabriel’s gaze moves from me and Paolo to the paintings, and instead of shying away from Paolo, I hold out my hand to Gabriel. He doesn’t hesitate to walk over and take it.
“These are beautiful, aren’t they?” I say softly. “Paolo is submitting them to Giovanna’s upcoming gallery exhibition.
Gabriel studies each piece carefully. “Are they for sale?” he asks Paolo, and it’s the first time he’s spoken to him without any animosity or jealousy, making me blink several times in surprise.
Paolo nods. “I was thinking of listing them at three-thousand Euros each, if Zalea is okay with it.”
Gabriel nods before reaching into his wallet. He counts out three-thousand Euros for each painting, handing the wad of money to Paolo.
“I’ll take them all.” My stomach drops as silence fills the room.
“T-thank you,” Paolo says, stunned. “But then I won’t have anything to display at the exhibition.”
“Display them,” Gabriel says, evenly. “But I want them delivered to our apartment after. No one is hanging paintings of my girl in their house.”
My cheeks burn as Giovanna looks over at me with a devilish grin, her lips curling as she winks at me.
“Of course,” she says smoothly. “Paolo will take excellent care of them.”
Paolo nods, still in shock. “I’ll personally deliver them after the show.”
Gabriel nods, and takes my hand. “Let’s go.”
I wave goodbye to Paolo—who’s still holding the stack of money like it’s not real—and to Giovanna, who’s still grinning my way.
When the elevator doors slide shut, the world narrows to just the two of us. Gabriel drops my hand, and backs me into the mirrored corner. His palm braces beside me, the other sliding to my waist as his mouth finds mine.
The kiss isn’t casual or playful, it’s hungry and desperate. Like he’s been holding himself together all day and the second the doors closed, whatever restraint he had snapped.
His mouth moves against mine with urgency, like he needs to feel me breathing, needs proof that I’m still here and that I chose him. That I didn’t change my mind in that studio surrounded by painted versions of myself and Paolo’s admiration.
I gasp softly when his hand tightens at my waist, and he swallows the sound, deepening the kiss until it feels possessive.
Mine, the kiss says. But it also says Please don’t leave me.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath uneven.
“I hated that,” he murmurs.
I blink. “Hated what?”
“Seeing you like that with him.” His jaw ticks. “Laughing and letting him spin you around.”
I frown. “He’s my friend, Gabriel,” I say quietly.
“I know.” His thumb drags along my hip, grounding himself. “And I trust you.”
The elevator hums as it descends, the numbers ticking down one by one.
“I just…” He exhales shakily. “I spent weeks convincing myself I’d already lost you, and standing there today, watching him look at you like that felt like I was watching it happen for real.”
My chest tightens. “You didn’t lose me,” I say.
His eyes soften. “I know.”
The elevator dings, but neither of us moves. When the doors slide open, he steps back just enough to let them close again.
I laugh softly. “Gabriel.”
“I need another minute,” he admits, adjusting the bulge in his pants.
My jaw drops as I watch, and he grins before cupping my face again and kissing me less desperately.
“I didn’t buy those pieces because I’m territorial,” he says against my lips.
I raise a brow and he grins again. “Okay,” he corrects, breath ghosting over my mouth. “Maybe a little territorial.”
“A little is an understatement,” I say, smiling.
He squeezes my hip, and I squeal and jerk to the side, but he pulls me back to him and stares into my eyes with so much admiration, it almost hurts.
“I bought them because I missed every version of you in that room. The quiet version, the smiling version, the one that looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.” His voice lowers. “I wasn’t there for any of it.”
The weight of his words settles between us.
“You don’t get to fix that with money,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says immediately. “I don’t want to fix it with money, I want to fix it by staying.”
The elevator dings and the doors open again, and this time he doesn’t kiss me, he just takes my hand instead and leads me out. His grip is careful, as if he’s scared that if he holds on too tightly, he might lose me for good.