Secrets of Us A Forbidden Love Romance (Alina)

Chapter 228

Chapter 231

A Year 1 Week Later

I crinkly my nose at the dried paint under my fingernails, then scratch the skin

of my palm where I have a streak of blue paint. I swipe at my face and sigh when I realize I just

dirtied my cheek.

The air in my room smells faintly of paint and canvas. The tip of my brush moves slowly, carefully, as I blend the shades of shadow around my grandfather's eyes.

Elena gave me enough pictures of him and my grandmother that I've finally convinced myself to attempt to paint them. At this point, I've memorized the slope of his cheekbone

like it's my own.

She actually gave me a stack of old family photographs and some of my dad's paintings earlier this week. I cried the first night I looked through them.

Now I paint them the photographs. It feels like a small way to keep them here when I know they've all left this life.

My therapist says painting is a healthy outlet. That it's good for me to have something to do with my hands, something that helps me process the sadness and the heat that still lingers under my skin from time to time.

The ache of a breakup, the frustration of a body that still wants instead of processing.

So I paint. And I forget, for a little while, that the world is bigger than this canvas. It feels good to create, to have something that's just mine.

A soft knock breaks the silence, and I smile.

"Come in," I say, turning from the canvas.

The door creaks open and Zaid leans against the frame, arms crossed, head tilted slightly

as he watches me.

"You've got paint, everywhere," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement.

"Occupational hazard," I tease, smiling.

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A Year

steps into the room and closes the door behind him, his footsteps soft

me. His fingers reach out, gently, as

my cheek.

touch. It ignites me, calms me, and sets me on

the

what time it

my seat and

smiles softly, his eyes shining as he traces the curves of my eyes. He cups my

lightly around my jaw, his touch so familiar now it feels like the only thing keeping me

lump in my throat.

blink again, startled.

knocking over my water jar in the process. "We

need to, ugh, my

peeling off my paint splattered shirt and hopping out of the room, already halfway

bathroom.

the reminder," he

glance back just once, catching him leaning in my doorway. He's still smiling, and the look on his face makes my chest do something light and unfamiliar. Like he could stay like that forever, watching me run around like a maniac,

we drive through the

house smells like rosemary and something buttery when we walk in. Dinner's already

and I leaning into each other as we tell

2/4

3:25 pm L

A Year

talk to her about this new oil paint I've

dry, the

she says, looking over

process."

of roasted potato around my plate. "But I'm not sure oil and

things are,"

Zaid, then back to me. There's something in her face that

eyes.

some news," she

stomach dips. I don't know why I have

curatorial fellowship in Florence," she

fork pauses halfway to my

Renaissance works, pieces that were either destroyed, stolen, or simply never seen by the public. They've invited a handful

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