The bodyguard reemerged from the apartment. “All clear, sir.”
Zoe pushed open the door that led into the modest living room. She stepped inside and waited for him. “Welcome to my place.” She rushed over to the radiator and grabbed some shirts and a black lacy bra. They’d been laid out to dry since clothes dryers weren’t common in the region. “Sorry about the laundry.” She moved the articles of clothing behind her back. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Don’t worry. I’m the one who is intruding. I’ll admit I’ve always wondered about your home life.”
Her eyes widened. “You did?”
He nodded. “You always kept this part of your life such a mystery. I never even had the opportunity to meet your mother. I would have liked that. Maybe she could have told me some stories about you when you were a kid.”
“She would have enjoyed that. Mum loved to tell stories.”
He repeated Zoe’s words in his mind. “You said that in the past tense.” He stepped closer to her, wondering if he’d solved the reason for the smudges beneath Zoe’s eyes and the pained look reflected in her eyes when she didn’t think he was watching her. “Did something happen to your mother? Did...did she pass on?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“But the way you talked about her—”
“It was nothing. A slip of the tongue.”
She snatched up a bed pillow from the old wooden framed couch with a yellow-and-blue-checked pattern. “It’s my mother’s. Sometimes she falls asleep out here.”
“Will she be home soon?”
“Uh, no. She won’t be home until the week of Christmas.”
“I’m surprised you still live with her.” He thought back to the numerous conversations they’d had when they were dating and how Zoe was anxious to move out on her own—that is until he swayed her to marry him. “What happened to your plan to get your own place—somewhere closer to the sea?”
“I...um, changed my mind.” Her gaze lowered and her face took on a pale, pasty tone. “Let me put this laundry away, and then I can get you something to drink.”
“No need.” He didn’t want to make her any more uncomfortable. “Go ahead and do what you need to. I’ll be fine here.”
“I...I’ll be back with those sketches.” She gave the area one last glance as though making sure everything was in its place before moving off down a hallway.
The apartment was tiny—much tinier than he’d been imagining. The living room consisted of a couch, a small white table for magazines and a simple wooden stand with an old television atop of it. The living area was directly connected to the kitchen. The space was one long, narrow room.
There was nothing fancy about any of it. Everything was clean, but almost everything had seen its better day. He never imagined that Zoe struggled to get by. When he saw her snappy clothes, he’d just assumed that she had a comfy life. But it looked like she, too, was a master of appearances.
He moved over to a group of framed pictures hanging behind the couch. There was one of Zoe as a little girl. She was so cute with her long braids. And there was another of her and who he assumed was her mother on the beach. Zoe looked so happy—so full of dreams. He wondered what happened to those dreams.
He turned around, taking in the white paint coating the wall behind the framed family photos. Even the kitchen was white except for the tan and aqua tiles serving as a backsplash. When he turned fully around he noticed the wall behind the television was anything but white. In fact, it was quite intriguing.
He stepped back against the couch to get a better look. It was a mural. Pastel colors blended to create a giant conch shell resting in the sand with the foamy sea in the background. Blue skies with a couple of puffy white clouds reached up to the ceiling. Wow!
He couldn’t tear his gaze from this humongous masterpiece. Zoe was so much more talented than he’d ever imagined. What was she doing hiding her talent by sorting through paint chips and picking couches? She should be creating artwork for the world to enjoy.
“I’ve got it.” Zoe rushed back into the room. “We can go now.”
“Not so fast. When were you going to tell me about this?” He gestured to the wall.
She shrugged. “It’s just something I did for my mother.”
“Well, she’s one lucky lady.” He noticed Zoe’s lack of response. He assumed that she was just being modest. “Don’t be shy. Why aren’t you painting full-time?”