Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Hours pass by unnoticed by me as I work. I become completely absorbed in the meticulous task of cleaning and lifting centuries of grime off the canvas without damaging the paint. To the great satisfaction of restoring the original vibrancy of the painting. As tiny flecks of old varnish come away under my careful ministrations with a cotton bud, and reveal hidden depths of color and shadow, my pulse slows down. For those few hours, I am entirely in my element, a restorer of beauty, a caretaker of history.
But after a while, the vault’s sterile air and artificial light press down on me. I need some real air and to be somewhere open. I replace the painting’s protective sheet and stretch, letting my back pop audibly, before walking towards the door.
Leaving the vault, I find my way back to the familiar part of the mansion. From there, I step out of a side door into the bright afternoon sun.
Manicured lawns stretch in every direction, bordered by flowering shrubs, tall trees, and winding pathways. Fountains glint in the sunlight, and the air carries the mingled scents of roses, earth, and fresh greenery. I walk slowly, letting my hands brush over the hedges, the breeze cool on my skin.
I round a corner and stop short when I spot Axel. My stomach starts fluttering like a mad thing, even as I try to look away. He is crouched down near a boy Betty has pointed out to be the head gardener’s young son. As the boy chats away happily, Axel’s hand comes up and gently strokes the boy’s head, ruffling his hair in a way that is real, tender, almost fatherly. The boy laughs softly, and Axel’s lips twitch into a genuine smile, an expression I’ve never seen on his face until now. It suits him. It makes his eyes sparkle, and he looks younger and beautifully carefree. He should smile like that more often. Maybe at me.
I push that thought aside the second it lands inside my head.
But I remain motionless, watching Axel interact with the child. Perhaps he isn’t the monster I imagined then, not entirely. He has a human side, one that is capable of being gentle and kind, and a capacity for care I couldn’t possibly have guessed from his interactions with me. My mind flashes to Betty’s words when I asked her about him at my father’s wake: a reachable and decent guy. I guess she’s seen this side of him before.
And then, from somewhere deep down, a dangerous thought rises. I wonder what he’s like in bed? I shake my head and chastise myself. This is madness. While it is true that he is smoking hot, the attraction is dampened by the fact that he is also infuriating, abrasive, and absolutely impossible to deal with. But looking at him now, and seeing this softer side to him, I know I can’t deny it anymore; there’s a large part of me that is very much taken by him. Quite smitten, actually.
The angle of his jaw, that sexy slant of his mouth, the green granite of his eyes, and the controlled power in his movements. My mind starts wandering to places I shouldn’t let it go, imagining him in ways that are completely inappropriate, considering him in ways that feel like a betrayal of my own senses.
I stop my little mind movie abruptly.
Focus, I tell myself.
The paintings, the work. That’s what matters. Axel, with his beauty, his dangerous allure, his heartbreaking looks, none of those things matters. Not now. Never. Besides, for whatever reason, he can’t stand the sight of me.
I turn sharply and head back towards the house, going straight back to the vault. My steps are brisk and determined, but my heart is still hammering. The chemical smell of varnish strippers and aged wood greets me again, and I sink back into my work, glad to have a focus other than Axel. The paintbrush feels solid in my hand, the bristles soft against the delicate surface of the canvas. I immerse myself completely, losing myself in the tiny details, the careful removal of decades of accumulated grime.
But even as I work, I can feel the tension coiled inside of me. I have been doing restoration work long enough that I can do it on autopilot and still let my mind wander to other things. Things I shouldn’t dwell on, if I know what’s good for me.
Things like the way Axel was with the gardener’s son. As if his natural state were of tenderness. Seeing that side of him both fascinates and frustrates me. He’s an enigma, infuriating in his coldness towards me, yet impossible to ignore. I had kind of made my peace with him just being an asshole, but now I am left wondering why he dislikes me so strongly. Is it because he feels like I shouldn’t be here or I shouldn’t get any of my father’s money? Maybe. But he was rude to me before we even heard the will. I push the thoughts away and concentrate on the delicate task before me, and for a while, it works.