Chapter 28
Emilia
"What are you doing here?" I asked Duncan who was working on his laptop at the dining table. "And how did you get in?"
"I'm working and keeping an eye on you. I got in with a key," he replied patiently. "You look like shit."
"Thanks." I walked up to the coffee machine and started it. I was a 'a cup of coffee before you talk to me in the morning' kinda girl.
I sat on a dining chair and stared at Duncan, hoping to make him uncomfortable. Fat chance. He was eating a croissant and looking blissfully unaware of my perusal of him.
"Duncan, get out of my house."
"Sorry, can't do." He didn't even look up from his computer. "Apparently, when you're upset you exhaust yourself so we're taking shifts keeping an eye on you."
"Who is this we?"
"All of us, well, except Dean. He was ready to get on a plane but we told him we'd be fine. He's chasing down a sculpture from 300 BC India or some shit in Pakistan."
I drank some coffee. "When was Damian's shift?"
"Midnight to six AM. I'm six AM to noon."
"He hurt me," I simply told him.
Now, Duncan did look up, his eyes soft. "I know, sweetheart. He has a temper, and he gets creative when he's angry."
"I'm so tired of being the lesser sister, the wrong wife, the ugly daughter…I don't deserve that."
Duncan nodded patiently. "Your parents are crap, and your sister is a piece of work. You're the better sister, the good one. Damian is the wrong fucking husband…who should've been honest with you. You're beautiful."
Tears filled my eyes. "I can't believe you."
"I know. Give it time."
"I don't want you here," I said again. "And if you stay, I'll leave."
"That's fine. I'll just follow you around, until noon."
"What happens at noon?"
"I think it's my dad's shift."
I frowned. "Why are you doing this? I know you Archers think I'm unsuitable to be one of you."
"I sleep with escorts, Emilia," he quipped. "I don't give a shit about suitability. I never have. That's Damian and our parents. They're very focused on what it means to be an Archer."
"And what does it mean?" I put down my coffee cup and went to my easel to look at what I'd done so far and what needed more work before I continued. Painting was all trial and error for me. I kept refining until I was truly satisfied. My art teacher at university warned me that I would cripple myself by pursuing perfection in art. I didn't care. With all my flaws, this was one place where I didn't have to compromise. I wanted to produce the best I could—better than even that by pushing myself hard.
"To my mom and Damian, it means keeping the family name scandal-free."
I chuckled as I picked up a brush. "That ship sailed when we got married in Las Vegas."
"He wasn't thinking and by the time he was, the media had caught up."
I mixed paint to work more on the hourglass that stood at the center of the canvas. I wanted the sand to take my pain—I wanted it to stand witness to my hurt.
"He married me to hurt my sister. I get it. He stayed married to avoid a PR nightmare. But why the rest? Why be nice to me? Why live here with me? Why any of that? And why not divorce me or annul the marriage or whatever? What did he get out of carrying on like this?" I could now see the sand in the hourglass. It was as if a weeping woman filled and refilled each side, unable to escape her agony.
"Because he fell in love with you."
The brush fell from my hand and paint splattered all over the floor and my feet. "Does he even know what that means?" I whispered.
Duncan came up to me then. He picked up the brush and set it on the table I used for my paints and brushes. He picked up a rag cloth and wiped my feet.
He rose and brushed off the tears on my cheeks with his fingers. I couldn't stop crying. It was humiliating to do it in front of others, which was why I wanted to be alone.
"Once I transfer it all onto the canvas, I'll stop feeling so bad," I assured him.
"Is that what you do, take your pain and paint it?"
I nodded. "Not just pain…sometimes its joy so I can see it again and again and feel that, remember that."
He kissed my cheek. "You're a very special person, Emilia. And so very easy to fall in love with. I know your parents did a number on you and we didn't help by believing Bianca's stories about you—but trust me when I say, we're going to fight to keep you an Archer."
I looked at him confused. "I don't understand."
"He loves you. You're his and he's yours. That's all there is to it."
I painted for several hours, and after Duncan practically forced a sandwich and all the pineapple juice Liza had made down my throat, I went back to sleep. The intense emotions and long hours of painting were exhausting me. I felt like I had a constant hangover.
He married me to hurt Bianca. I was a means to an end. I'm so tired of being the means…I want to be the destination for someone.
When I woke up it was evening and I felt disoriented. I knew I should take a shower, but I didn't have the energy for it.
Sitting on one of my armchairs that had been moved to my studio area sat Tate. He was staring at my painting.
"Is this your shift?" I mumbled.
"Hello, dear. Yes, it is. This is a remarkable painting."
"It's not finished," I snapped and went into the kitchen to find some coffee. I needed to cut down, I knew that because it was making my stomach churn; but it was that or wine and I much preferred not being drunk when I painted.
"It's already fucking awesome so I can only imagine what it's going to look like when it's finished."
I sat at the dining table with my coffee.
"Your friend Moana asked you to call her when you woke up," Tate informed me.
I had no idea where my phone was. I had turned it off and didn't give a shit who was reaching out to me. "If you see Moana, tell her I'm cocooning. She'll understand."
Tate cocked an eyebrow, and he looked so much like Damian that my heart hurt. "And what does that mean?"
"It means I'm trying to heal."
I ignored him for the rest of his shift as I painted. I didn't eat the dinner he ordered. I didn't feel like it. But I let him hydrate me.
He brought me a glass of juice and waited until I drank it all before taking the empty glass away.
It was a cycle. I painted. I was fed and hydrated. I slept. After two days of that and because I could smell myself, I took a shower. Every time I woke up there was an Archer in my house. Duncan, Tate, or Marcela. I knew Damian came at night when I was sleeping. I could smell him as I slept. I knew he held me at night, curling his body behind mine, comforting me as I healed. I ignored him. Even if I was awake when he was with me, I pretended I was not.
"Whenever you're ready, we'll talk," he whispered one night.
I wasn't ready. I didn't know when I'd be.