The Consequence (The Evolution of Sin 3)

I was careful to shrug casually even though it did make sense.

“It would have been hard not to notice how much you love him if this was the portrait you were planning on painting for me.”

I cocked my head as I stared at the beloved lines of his form spread over nearly three meters of canvas. There was nothing overtly sexually about the image, it was just a very beautiful man in a very commanding position, but if you looked closely, there was no doubt about the sexual power that emanated from him; the way his fingers curled around the edges of the broad throne, how the veins in his corded forearms bulged and in the slight but provocative tilt of his full, firm lips. There a glittering menace, a calculated coldness in his eyes that spoke to sexual deviancy instead of violence, at ruthless pleasures to be had if only you had the courage to let him exploit them.

I knew this was the man that I loved, the man that I knew him to be but I had been worried about the subtlety of the image in the critic’s eyes. Would they see him in all his constrained glory?

“It makes me realize how much I made him keep from me,” Elena said quietly.

I shivered at the depth of remorse in her tone.

“I saw this in him at first, all the sex wrapped up in this controlled, intellectual gentleman. I think maybe a part of me was even intrigued by it, the fucked up part of me that never got over Christopher’s abuse.” She sighed, crossing her arms tightly under her breasts as if she could physically restrain her emotions. “I can confess that I didn’t love him the way I should have. We could have been right together if either of us had been willing to be brave, to stand up to the other and actually talk about all the things that made us broken.” She shrugged. “I can admit that I could have loved him better but I will never forgive you from exploiting that flaw, for taking him from me so God damn ruthlessly.”

I sucked in a deep breath, wanting to say something but having nothing to say.

Finally, she turned to face me. Her eyes raced over every inch of my being, setting me on fire with her condemnation.

“I always knew you had it in you. Mama, Seb and Cosima saw this fragile little girl with her head in the clouds and thought you harmless. Only I knew how dangerous a girl made out of fantasies could be.” She laughed darkly. “Apparently even knowing that wasn’t enough, even avoiding you for years, you made your way back into my life and made it a fucking nightmare just so you could have your bloody happily ever after.”

“Elena,” I began, but she shook her head.

“No, don’t. I came to say this stuff to you so that our family doesn’t suffer. I don’t love you, Giselle, and I think we both know that I never really did. I don’t forgive you either. You knowingly ripped my life apart. Our family will forgive you, society will forgive you and I think you’ve already forgiven yourself but my hatred is one consequence you will have to live with forever.”

I nodded; too busy swallowing back the urge to cry to respond to her.

She nodded curtly and turned on her heel to walk away to another painting across the gallery.

I saw someone approach me out of my periphery but I knew if anyone talked to me before I got a handle on the emotions wrecking havoc with my system, I would dissolve into tears and the critics would have more drama to speak about than the scandalous nature of my art. With my head down, I sped towards the small back room, only stopping when I had slammed the door shut behind me. I cupped my hands to my mouth, trying to stuff the sobs back inside fruitlessly. Giving in to the misery, I curled forward into the only uncluttered corner of the room and squeezed my eyes shut.

Chapter Twenty Two.

“I’ve missed watching you.”

I froze mid-sob, my chest expanded in a shuddering breath even as my heart constricted inside me. There was no other voice that could make me feel so afraid, so instantaneously. It was a voice that had haunted my youth and eventually, chased me out of Paris.

Slowly, drenched in paralyzing panic, I straightened.

Christopher stood across the tiny, darkened room. He wasn’t a large man, average height and build with an open, engaging face that was somehow quintessentially British. He had large, round eyes that were the soft blue of faded denim and that lulled you into trusting before he had even opened his mouth to speak. There was absolutely nothing threatening about Christopher’s appearance, which made him all the more frightening.