21. Quinn
CHAPTER 21
QUINN
T here’s a knock on my door at promptly 6:30 the following night and it’s the one time I’m thankful that Ace has taken Rory out on a date.
My heart stutters uncomfortably fast in my chest and my hands shake with nerves as I smooth them across the skirt of my dress one last time.
Yesterday afternoon, after I parted ways with Reid, I’d taken a solo trip to the mall in search of something to wear to the opening of Knox’s exhibition tonight.
After trying on too many dresses to count, I settled on this one: simple, black, and elegant. The fabric clings to my curves in all of the right places and a rush of confidence has me straightening my shoulders. I look good. Even the store employee had halted in her tracks on her way through, while I was staring at myself in the full-length mirror contemplating on whether it was too much for the event.
The woman complimented me so many times that I wasn’t even sure how to acknowledge her gushing after the plethora of nervous “thank you’s” I’d offered in response.
I don’t know why I’m so anxious. Knox had made it perfectly clear that he’s not trying to impress me tonight, and I shouldn’t be trying this hard anyway, but I want to look nice for the occasion. I’ve straightened my hair and am letting it lie long down my back where my dress is cut low, revealing the length of my spine. I’ve even put more effort into my makeup than I normally do, going with a shadowy look that makes my hazel eyes pop.
I quickly slip into my kitten heels, flattening my hair and dress one last time. They’re short enough to be considered appropriate for the occasion and tall enough to give me a boost of self-assurance.
Eating up some of the height between Knox and I wouldn’t be so bad, either.
Another knock comes from the door. It’s gentle, not impatient like I’d expect Knox to be. I made sure I was ready on time so we wouldn’t start the night off on the wrong foot.
With one last breath, I open the door.
It’s Knox, of course, and the sigh I was in the middle of releasing whooshes out of me with force as I drink him in.
He’s handsome, shockingly so, but tonight he looks like a model. He’s wearing a simple pair of black trousers with a matching black button-up. The top three buttons are undone, showing off the beginnings of the tattoos that span across his collarbones.
His hair is clean and brushed, and it looks like he’s taken a pass at it with a bit of gel because it’s perfectly set in a naturally tousled look.
Knox looks incredible.
Good enough to eat.
Heat floods his eyes and my core goes molten as his hot gaze traces me up and down, drinking me in. I shift in my spot, trying to dispel the need to clench my thighs together as my girlhood whines at me to say hello .
I clear my throat at the tightness lingering there.
Knox blinks once, twice, and his eyes meet mine again.
“You look…” He trails off as if he’s at a loss for words. His eyes dip down again and my grip around the strap of my purse tightens so that I don’t reach out and tug him to me by the collar of his shirt. “Beautiful,” he finishes, and the word settles in my chest like a brick, my cheeks going red.
“Thank you, Knox,” I respond softly. I don’t invite him in because I’m still too stunned to say anything else. “You look very handsome.”
He nods, offering me a soft smile that makes my knees wobble. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah,” I answer, stepping out into the hall.
I lock my door and follow him to the elevator. The muscles of his shoulders strain against the fabric of his shirt and I wonder if that’s why he hadn’t fastened any of the top buttons, because they’d surely burst if he had. He pushes the button to go down, the elevator finally back to its normal—and scary—working conditions. I let my gaze travel lower while he’s distracted, into betrayal territory, and bite my painted lip at the sight of his taut waist and tight ass.
Good enough to eat, indeed.
“Are we taking your bike?” I ask when we reach the lobby. My dress is snug around my ankles, so I’m careful with my steps, but trying to maneuver my way onto his motorcycle is going to be a problem. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get on it in this.”
“We’re taking Slate’s car,” he tells me, pulling the keys from his pocket and twirling them around one long finger. There are a few keys attached to the ring, along with a fluorescent keychain with the words ‘getaway car’ scrawled in white ink. “I hope that’s all right. ”
“More than,” I exhale thankfully, taking the hand that Knox offers to help me into the car.
He directs me to mind the rust and the hole in the floorboards where I’m pretty sure I can see the road. He makes sure I’m all the way in and that my limbs aren’t going to get hit by the door when he closes it. He seems so unlike the Knox that I know that I almost ask if the real him has been abducted.
Knox slides into the driver’s seat, tucking the key into the ignition. The vehicle starts with a rough cough and Knox waits until it settles before pulling out into the street.
The ride is bumpier than I remember it being the first time I was in this car, but I’m pretty sure I’m being hyperaware of everything happening right now because I’m so nervous.
“Is Slate staying home tonight?” I ask, breaking the silence.
Knox shrugs. He’s tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel and I can’t help but stare, noticing each groove and scar of his marred skin. The beauty of something so hurtful. I don’t know what caused the scarring, but for it to not stop him from creating his art and following his passion, I’m in awe.
“He lets me use his car sometimes, if I let him use my bike.”
I raise a brow in shock. “You really trust him on that thing?”
Knox huffs a laugh and my heart stutters. When he glances over at me, it completely stills at the gleam of amusement in those beautiful green eyes. “I trust Slate with my life.”
The rest of the short ride is silent except for the sounds of the hardly running Bronco and the tires against the road seeping in through the hole in the floorboards between my feet. If Knox doesn’t speak because he’s nervous, I don’t know. I don’t know him well enough to know his tells, but he’s still tapping along the steering wheel. Otherwise, he seems as cool as a cucumber.
I, on the other hand, am stewing in my own unease. I feel jittery, on edge the closer we get to the building Knox’s exhibition is being held in. It’s not far from our apartments, but with each rotation of the tires, I’m becoming just as high strung as Knox.
I shouldn’t be reading into this the way I am. Joining Knox tonight isn’t anything more than someone not wanting to be alone. I know that he doesn’t care much for my opinion, he’s made that more than clear, but with the attention on him all night tonight, there’s bound to be a little on me, as well.
On the other hand, this feels like more than just an event he needs someone to attend with. The mere twitching of his fingers gives away how important this is to him. I can’t help but to wonder again why he hasn’t invited his roommates, if he trusts them with his life.
Knox rolls the car to a stop between a packed, well-known restaurant and a jewelry shop. Flanked by each store is an elegant, sleek looking gallery. The outside is covered in black marble and the lighting looks expensive and bright. The sign above the door reads the name of the gallery in large black letters.
OPULENT.
The font matches the name.
There are black curtains pulled down across the large windows beside the door. They must be opening them later in the night or even later in the week when the exhibition is open to the public.
I turn to look at Knox who is staring out the windshield, hands twisted tightly together in his lap .
With a sudden burst of confidence, I gently place a hand on his shoulder. Knox flinches and I rip my hand away, mortified. He looks over at me, eyes wide, and for the first time since I’ve met Knox, he looks nervous as fuck.
“You ready?” I ask, softly.
Knox nods once, then again, firmly. “Yeah.”
He opens the car door for me again and helps me find my footing before he’s locking the vehicle behind me. There’s a bit of a breeze now that the sun has dipped down behind the large buildings and I shiver a little, more so when Knox places a warm hand at my lower back to usher me inside.
His skin doesn’t breach mine, touching only the sliver of silken fabric just above my ass. Knox’s palm is a heavy weight against me and the mindless motion he’s circling his thumb in has my knees unsteady as I walk, warmth stirring to life between my legs.
My breath catches in my throat so harshly I almost choke, stepping inside of the well-lit gallery. It’s empty of patrons, and will remain so until the exhibition begins. Some of the most beautiful charcoal drawings I’ve ever seen line the walls. Most of them are drawn on large canvases, bigger than my torso, and I can instantly tell how much work and passion has gone into the creation of them because they’re simply breathtaking.
“There he is,” a man greets us with a broad smile. I tear my gaze from the artwork on the walls as Knox gently nudges me forward. I blush, not realizing that I’d stopped in my tracks in the middle of the doorway. I don’t know where to look because it’s all so beautiful, but I politely drag my stare to the man headed our way despite wanting to stare at all of the artwork. “The man of the night! And who is this lovely lady?”
His voice is rich and deep, much like the color of his upswept eyes, glowing bright with excitement. He approaches Knox and I, patting him on the arm as if he knows that he doesn’t favor shaking hands or hugging. I watch, waiting to see if Knox flinches like he had in the car when I placed my hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t. There is a tightness to his body and an edge to his jaw that tells me that he might have been anticipating the move.
Knox eases slightly when the man finally removes his hand.
“Silvio, this is Quinn. Quinn, this is Silvio. He owns Opulent.”
“Quinn,” Silvio greets me with a firm handshake and a knowing look in Knox’s direction. He rolls his eyes in response as Silvio turns back to me. “So nice to meet you.”
“You as well,” I answer politely. I don’t know why Silvio had given Knox that look, and I’m not sure I’m going to find out because he’s quickly whisking Knox away, talking of some loose ends that need finishing up before the doors open to the show in a half hour.
Knox quickly untangles himself from the silver haired man, making his way back to me.
“Are you going to be okay out here while I go with Silvio?” He asks me and it’s almost jarring, how polite he’s being tonight. When I wave him off with a nod, he continues, dark brows furrowed like the thought of leaving me alone with his art bothers him. It’s blasphemous, I wouldn’t dare do anything to ruin this for him. “I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. Feel free to look around if you like. I’ll bring you a drink on my way back.”
“Thank you, Knox,” I answer. His gaze lingers before he turns away, leaving me and his exhibition alone.
Assessing the gallery, I’m unsure of where to begin. The only sound throughout the space is the clacking of my heels on the floor. I refrain from pulling out my phone and texting Rory and spilling the entirety of what I’m up to tonight. I’m so nervous I hardly even know what to do with myself. I feel awkward, like an imposter as I decide to view the one nearest to the entrance, keeping a few paces away from the large drawing lit brightly on the wall.
The artwork before me is so dark I can barely make out the forms. The entire canvas is black with deep sweeps of heavy charcoal. The lighter areas of the work have been reigned in with an eraser. I stare at it for a minute, two, allowing the picture to speak to me.
It feels lonely, despairing, almost. The one next to it is an angry stroke of work, lines thick where Knox had clearly pressed harder into the rough canvas as he drew. A puddle of something spilling across a floor in waves. Two eyes ripple in the reflection of the liquid, their pupils malignant and cruel.
It sends shivers crawling up my spine.
Each piece is more beautiful than the last. I find myself both enthralled and rushed, wanting to spend as long as I can in front of each picture while I have the space to myself, rushed because I want to see the entirety of the work before everyone arrives.
The charcoals become lighter, happier, as I follow the path that I’m walking around the room. In the middle of the gallery, well-lit and clearly the centerpiece of the collection, is a canvas so large I’m not entirely sure it could fit through the front door of the building.
It’s titled ‘Not an Accident’ as the plaque to the side of the canvas reads. It towers over me on the wall and I feel so small, glued to my spot, my throat thick and eyes prickling with tears as I admire the piece, absorbing it’s utter, raw beauty.
It’s of a pair of hands, fingers intertwined, pressing into each other in a desperate way, as if seconds from clawing through the skin. One is perfect, smooth, clean skin, while the other is marred, so familiar that it makes my chest ache.
It’s is puckered and patterned, tortured by something great, something that is carried by both memory and sight. They’re Knox’s hands. I would be able to recognize them anywhere, and the unmarked skin of the other must have been what they looked like before the accident changed them forever.
A tear escapes the corner of my eye, but I don’t move to wipe it away.
His artwork is a harrowingly beautiful sight.
Footsteps nearly silent against the freshly washed floors capture my attention, but I’m unable to tear my gaze away from the masterpiece before me.
Knox strides up to my side, staring at the artwork with me.
It is a long time before either of us dare speak, but when we do, it’s Knox that breaks the silence first.
“Are you ready for the event to start?”
I nod, wiping the lone tear I’ve allowed to escape. I don’t think Knox notices.
“Yes, are you?”
“Yeah,” he breathes, finally looking at me, his jade eyes shining with pride. “I think I am.”