CONTAINS CONTENT:
Mature and sensual themes.
{{Unedited}}
When your name rolls across my tongue, I taste all the delectable sweetness of a life that I never knew that I was missing. Everything was void, tasteless and momentary until I met you. You are the flavor that sprinkles my very existence with elation, peace, impartation, and desire. Everything else has turned to ash and stone, and when you touch marble, it doesn’t touch you back… It remains beautiful but lifeless and void of anything that can actually fill you. You fill me, darling; mentally, and physically. I’ve never had anything so satisfying in my primitive existence and now that I know what I’ve missed, every step I’ve taken is toward it. I lay in bed at two in the morning, and this doesn’t pass, but rolls over me in waves as I stare at your smiling face from the light of my computer screen and whisper your name… Marielle… Marielle Rancor, a raging sea; perfect and beautiful in the eye of the storm in my heart. If the words “peace be still” came over such a tempest, the peace that I experience could not be quantified, which is also caused by you. I look into your eyes and all I see is me, and you…and me forever and my life is forfeit. I’m a flake blowing in the wind destined to land and melt if only on your tongue. Your tongue that twists dreams and breathes my name… Austin… My Austin… I’ve never tasted your name before, yes, that’s a never and it’s the only name that I want to die on for the rest of this miserable existence.
-Your, Austin.
***
Austin bolted up in bed, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin as his hand went to his throbbing chest.
“It was a dream, it was a dream… it was only a dream…” he whispered into the darkness, finding no relief. Usually if he had a nightmare, he was able to remind himself that it wasn’t real and within a few moments he’d drift right back to sleep.
In such nightmares, he was usually faced with the men who’d held him and tortured him in Africa.
Generally, there were bright white lights above his groggy head and he was staring into the void just beyond them. There were usually voices nearby and often they could be heard saying what they were about to do to him. He always dreaded that part of the dream because that had been when he’d looked over at Larson, only to see that he had already been bruised and bloodied; his face distorted and misshapen, an eye sealed shut.
The other nightmare that he often had involved Sophia, the little girl from Greece. She would still stand at the end of his bed sometimes and lift a finger to point at him. “Monster,” she’d whisper. “Monster.”
He was; he was a monster, wasn’t he? In Vincent’s world, anyway, he was a real and true beast. He’d hunted women, stalked them for sport, followed them to- Oh, God… he stopped himself from thinking the next part as a flash of that woman who’d asked him if he was okay after he tripped the other day snaked its way up the back of his spine and bit into his mind.
He’d gone left when she’d gone right, he hadn’t done a thing. But for some reason he knew that this- this was how it had started for Tundra; moments like those… near abandoned warehouses at five in the morning, running and a pretty girl that looked vaguely like Marielle had sashayed by; maybe even given him a kind of come-hither look.
He dragged his hand shakily down his face, pulled it away and briefly looked down into his palm.
His dream hadn’t been about any of that.
In this vision he was Tundra, and he was married to Marielle, and it felt more like memory than dream.
He was still shaking five minutes later, and he looked up, first staring at the picture frame with the two card pieces as he briefly imagined an image of Vincent between the two, Headhunter in his hand having just blown the card – their relationship, their love – apart.
His anxiety was enormous, alive, and crowding the entire room; a giant shadow descending onto him in the darkness and he sensed the need for that very thing that the nightmare had been about in the first place; her. Her touch, her skin melting into his, their heartbeats pounding as they overlapped one another’s. Even the thought of it calmed him a little. He needed her.
Austin lay on his back and glanced at the darkened computer screen. The screen saver was on repeat again and after a moment of black, it lit up again showing him those same three photos that he’d taken of her during their weekend.
Their weekend…how he longed for it to have been fifty, sixty, or seventy years.
-My Austin, my Austin… My Austin.
His chest ached, burned, and his insides knotted until there was nothing but the feeling of falling; the dream fresh on his mind and burning inside of him. The words sticking like dried glue, the visuals doing their horrible dance before his eyes when he opened them, shut them, and tried to rest again.
There was no luck in defeating them for a long while and he was beginning to wonder if he was going to sleep soundly for more than a few hours ever again.
Turning, he tucked the pillow against him, forming it as her body was against him. He held it, squeezed it, stroked it, kissed it gently, it only gave him momentary relief.
This was bad. How could he relieve his need without doing something that he was used to doing to stave it off?
He hurriedly went to his piano, and despite it being past three in the morning, he played quietly, trying to drown himself in the feelings swirling within, without, and all around him.
***
Vincent took his glasses from his face and pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache began to bloom across his forehead. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck on one side, then the other, replaced his glasses, and looked down at the computer screen in front of him, again.
He felt hot breath on the left side of his neck and turned to see Cory. He was staring down at the screen as well and he slowly grinned. “I feel like we’re so close,” he said with excitement in his tone. He clamped a hand onto Vincent’s left shoulder and squeezed, giving him a good rub. “Can you feel it?”
Vincent swallowed hard and glanced away, not really feeling anything at all. In truth, he hadn’t really felt anything since – he glanced at Sabine – she’d gone back to ignoring him again, even after their encounter.
It had been over a month, but he still felt it like it had been a few hours ago. There were times where he wanted to grab her wrist as they passed one another in the hall, and pull her against him, whispering, “let’s try that again…” but he’d refrained. He knew what their moment had been and why it had happened, and both had a nonverbal agreement. They weren’t going to ever talk about it again.
The problem was, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The next problem was that when he thought about it, it only reassured him of just how much he needed Marielle. He looked down at the gold ring on his left hand, and used his thumb to twist it a few times, feeling the promise, the vow; the weight of gold.
He let out a ragged sigh. He needed Marielle.
Austin wandered into the lab on Vincent’s right, obviously hung over, but doing his best impression of a sober man. The rings around his eyes told Vincent a dark story about whatever he’d been up to the night before, but Austin was trying desperately to hide them with some sunglasses, he was probably trying to hide the hangover with a piece of gum.
He set something on the counter, gave Vincent the bird, thumb included without meeting eyes, and left.
That had been the extent of Vincent and Austin’s relationship since Marielle had died. Most of the time, Austin wasn’t even at Valorant. He’d been gone for four months about a week prior, chasing someone in Norway. Apparently, the job was done, and he was here again offering his services. Vincent suspected that all that he was really trying to do was be close to Marielle, even though she was gone, and keep an eye on Vincent as well.
Vincent felt much the same way; he couldn’t bring himself to leave or move on at this point, there was too much of Marielle in these halls. He would often go and sit on her couch in her office and stare at the ceiling, silently wiping away tears as he took deep breaths that attempted to detect even the faintest hint of her rose scented perfume, until he passed out.
Sabine went to retrieve whatever it was that Austin had dropped off and returned to her work station.
“I guess I can feel it,” Vincent eventually replied not realizing that he’d drifted for a moment. He twisted his ring with his thumb, feeling the absence of the reason for that ring. “Doesn’t Everette Linde have the rest of the research and notation on the larger teleportation devices?” he asked absently.
Cory pat Vincent’s forearm. “My parents have that sector.” He shook his head. “Some of it works, but they aren’t authorized for another five to ten years, depending on government, and a shite ton of other things, so…” Vincent looked down at the ring on his finger again. “Aye, you miss her.” Vincent nodded, distantly. “We all do, brother.” He patted Vincent’s back and leaned down toward the screen. “Is this doable in the other realm?” Cory’s finger drew a line across a green spot.
“I think so,” Vincent replied. “We won’t know until we try it.”
“Not like last time, though, aye?”
Last time referred to the situation that ended up with the explosion on the other side- the one that resulted in the death of Morgan and Peter. “I don’t think so,” Vincent replied, hitting the backspace a few times and typing something else in. He nodded at the screen which showed a blueprint of a piece of the larger teleporter. “I’ll have this part ready in a day or two.”
“Do.” Cory nodded and pat him again before he walked away.
Vincent bristled and stretched his back. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this up for long.
About an hour later, he sat in the courtyard by the statue of the maiden trying to take flight, and pulled Headhunter from his arm, twirling it around his finger several times. His earphones were in as they played a popular radio station and the DJ had taken a moment to announce that another body had been found, a prostitute that had been missing for about a month and she had obviously been previously frozen. Vincent had already seen the news report about this the night before and when her photo was on the screen for a fraction of a second, he shuddered at the fact that she vaguely resembled Marielle.
In the distance, Austin was playing basketball by himself and Vincent absently aimed Headhunter at Austin’s handsome face, closing one eye as he stared down the barrel. Then he pulled it back, rubbing the tip against his own temple. Marielle’s words stirred deeply within him, “don’t kill Austin… he’s so lost. He’ll either destroy himself or someone else will. But, don’t let it be you.” He wasn’t going to kill Austin, and especially not in broad daylight, at Valorant headquarters.
But even then, he’d suspected Austin of being the killer that was freezing bodies.
He looked down at his lamb sandwich and his stomach twisted. It wasn’t like hers. He missed her food so much that sometimes he would rather starve than force another bite of something so paltry down his throat.
His only reason for eating most days was so that he wouldn’t starve. Shortly after Marielle’s death, Vincent had gone so far into himself that he didn’t eat a thing for at least two weeks. When he finally managed to stomach a little French bread, the very word French made him think of her; his French wife…and he threw it up shortly thereafter. The first thing that he truly ate was a hamburger and with each bite all that he was telling himself was “take the next bite, and do not throw up.” It was one of the worst meals that he’d ever had, partly because it was all survival mode. The next time that he ate, he drank two beers first, praying that it would numb the mental load. It did a little, and this meal was a little less like staring into a chasm that was staring back…but only a little. He’d lost about fifteen pounds.
Eating didn’t feel right; not when the person who had made such extraordinary food – and that he’d enjoyed so many meals with – was gone, and no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that it was going to be okay, or that she really was gone, each reminder was like a new punch to the gut.
She’s not coming back. She’s not coming back. She’s not waiting for you at home. You’re not going to find her on the subway. You’re not going to walk down to her office and knock on her door and hear her voice. But he did some nights. He’d hear her voice…calling to him. “Vincent…” and he’d blink awake only to find himself alone. Why was she calling him? She needed help, didn’t she? She needed him.
A loud cough caused Vincent to turn to his left and remove his earbuds. This was the next thing that he didn’t want to face or talk about.
Hazal sat down beside him, cross legged, and gave him a wan smile. His breathing was ragged, like he was sick, and he was opening a bag, pulling out a container with food. When Hazal took the lid off, steam rose from it and a pleasant smell entered Vincent’s nostrils, reminding him again of the glorious nature of Marielle’s cooking. The top said – Ezogelin corba. He’d look that up later. It was rare at this time in his life that he truly wanted food, and whatever that was, he felt an urge to eat it.
Hazal stirred it around with a spoon and started taking large mouthfuls. Both glared at Austin for a while. “Do you think he’s the one doing it?” Hazal broke the silence.
“I have no proof, but…”
Hazal snarled and tapped his spoon into the bottom of the soup several times. He ate a few bites for a minute in silence, and raked some of his white hair back from his face. “How are you?”
Vincent looked down at his lamb sandwich which only had one bite taken out of it and blinked back tears. He shrugged his left shoulder. “I’ve lost all my reasons. I’m not even sure that I exist anymore,” he explained. The military had taught him how to withstand torment and torture over eight years ago… but no amount of Recall could take him away from the chasm that he found himself continuously falling down. All of his Recall scenarios had been about her.
“You’re afraid…” Hazal said, reaching a shaking hand over and putting it to his back. “I can feel it.” Vincent was silent for a moment. “Give it to me?”
“No, Hazal, I don’t want you to have this,” he replied. Hazal pat him once and went back to spooning soup into his mouth. “Not when-” Vincent bit his tongue. “How are you? What did the doctors say?”
They were silent for a long while. “It’s not good,” Hazal finally said, gravely. Austin jumped up and dunked the basketball into the hoop before landing.
Vincent parted his lips to speak but nothing came out for a moment. What could come out? It was all just too much. Hazal had been one of his closest friends, besides Cory and Austin, before Marielle had come to Vincent for comfort, love, and yes, sex which he refused to give her until her divorce was final. He sat now with his mouth open as he stared at Austin trying to disappear into the grass as he felt another deep stab at his heart. “Is it-”
“Some kind of cancer.” He paused, the front parts of his white hair falling back into his eyes. “They’ve pretty much told me to say goodbye to everyone that I care about.”
This couldn’t be happening. How could he lose his wife and one of his best and only friends in the span of three years?
Kiritani joined Austin, and the two began to play together saying very little.
Vincent forced another bite down. “H-how long?”
“It seems like maybe two years?”
“A-and Kirra or Wei Ling can’t heal it?” Vincent asked, cocking his head to the side.
“No, both have tried.”
Austin dunked again, and landed, then pat his chest coughing. Then the coughing became deeper and sounded more serious. Kiritani paused, and went to his side, concerned.
Vincent was staring at him, watching him bend over his knees and his gaze drifted thoughtfully. “That can’t be a coincidence…”
A few minutes later, he found himself darting back into the chemistry lab and to a cabinet where he took down a sealed syringe, opened it, and glancing around to make sure no one was looking, he used it to draw his own blood.
Then he rushed a drop over to a microscopic plate and used one of the microscopes to look down into it and begin a series of other tests.
When he was done about an hour later, his eyes were wide and set and the color had drained from his face. “Mon Dieu…” he breathed. They were all sick, weren’t they?
***
Marielle sat up and looked around. Tundra had been in her dreams again – the man of her nightmares – she was alone, and for a moment, she reached out hoping that her hands would find Austin and that he’d save her from himself. This situation was so odd. And yet, was exactly what she was after.
In the last few days, she was slowly understanding how much the whole thing was about herself as well. She had just as much to learn, grow in, and stand against as Austin did. She had to figure things out on her own as well. What, exactly? She wasn’t certain, but another day and another night had passed in which she barely had contact with him.
Of course, they heard one another’s thoughts at work, sometimes. But both were trying their hardest to not let those thoughts reflect their love and desire for one another. At times, this was nearly impossible.
One day the week before, Austin had been typing away at a document on Efia and he suddenly bristled, his gaze going to the wall to his left. What was she feeling? Oh… He sighed, his heart racing and rubbed his chest. -Keep your thoughts down, darling unless you want me to come in there and do something about them. He’d said.
She did. She wanted him to come in and do something about them. -I’m so sorry. She gasped in horror not realizing that the fantasy that she’d mindlessly slipped into had the two of them passionately making out on his couch.
In the last few weeks, both had learned that two things really had to be in place in order to clearly read one another’s thoughts. They had to be thinking clearly and really projecting them, and they had to really want to know and thus be open to hearing. When they put those walls and barriers up, it was a bit easier for a time.
But all of it was pure torture. When Marielle didn’t think someone could read her mind, she wouldn’t have hesitated having a salacious thought about Austin Rancor or Vincent, or heck, she’d even had a few about Sasha. Now someone could read her mind, and with both trying not to think that way they’d forget that they could be loud in one another’s heads and their entire day could be disrupted by a stray thought.
Five days ago, Austin literally said, “screw it” and just went with the feelings and thoughts and she saw, heard and felt them all to the point that she had to walk out of her office and barrel down to the courtyard whispering, -don’t do that to me.
-Why not? You want me to.
-Austin, please.
-You do it, too.
She growled in her mind. He was right. They both had to get better at this.
There had been a lot less activity since then in that regard. She was grateful, but it was horribly frustrating on a number of levels.
Now, she sat with another Tundra nightmare still shaking down her spine and no Austin to charge into her dreams on a white horse and spear him. Why did she always feel like she needed him to do it? She’d been the one that killed Tundra, after all.
“Because I’m still relying on you, even in my dreams,” she whispered. Then she sighed, realizing the truth of the statement. She had to let him go. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, and maybe she never could, but somehow, she had to go into her mind and sabotage the part that constantly asked for Austin to come and rescue her.
Turning, she checked the bedside clock. 2:12AM, and after brushing her long bangs back, she touched the space where Vincent should have been. All the warmth had drained from it meaning that he’d gotten up a long while ago.
Where was he? For a second, she panicked. Had he left her? Was he just in the bathroom? Had Cory come through and kidnapped him? It’d been two weeks since Cory’s last major visit.
The fact that he wasn’t there with her seemed odd, since they’d been excruciatingly intimate not more than a few hours ago – she felt color coming into her cheeks – and more than once.
Marielle put her feet to the carpeted floor and, draping a blanket over her shoulders, she went into the living room. He was sitting near the light by the piano, painting. He gave her a soft – if not sad – smile and she crossed to the couch where Felix was curled asleep and sat. “May I see it, love?”
“Not yet,” he said, picking at the canvas with what looked to be red paint. Her heart sped up for a moment. Was he painting her in that red dress? Why? What would the reason be? She swallowed hard and pet Felix on the head.
“May I ask anything about it?” she pressed.
“All I’ll tell you is that it will be a wedding present, depending on how things go,” he said, giving her the side of his profile for a moment where a soft smirk rested.
She smiled wantonly and put her hand under her chin as she pet Felix with the other. “Did you have a bad dream?” she asked.
“Oui.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He was silent for a moment as he lifted his glasses, eyeing some particular brush stroke or part that he wasn’t happy with. He used the tip of his pinky finger to scratch it a little, then continued. “Do you still have nightmares about me dying?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
She wanted to hug him but he wasn’t going to let her. Whatever this painting was, he wanted to keep it a secret. “Was that this one?”
He shook his head, cleaned the brush by swirling it in some water, then wiping it. “Cory and I were good friends. We were both going to strike out into the unexplored universe with our…” he fought for a word, then scoffed, “knowledge.” He dipped the tip of the brush into black paint. “We were going to change everything. Then something happened.”
“You happened.”
“I did,” he admitted. He picked at a certain area for a moment or two, then flicked his gaze to hers. She wasn’t sure if he was studying her face, or making eye contact, but he looked away again. “I realized that we were all sick. I was overwhelmed. Scared. I created a cure, I took the cure, and I left.” He sighed, and cleaned that brush as well. “But not before I got Liam killed.”
“Cory killed him, you didn’t do it.”
Vincent shrugged, then set the brushes aside and looked over the painting before removing it and setting it to the side in a way that she couldn’t see it. “Just like I didn’t kill Sasha,” he whispered. Then he let out a heavy ragged breath. “Or Tala. Or Kirra.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and shifted to sit down by her on the couch. He reached over, and squeezed her knee.
“Did you talk to Chamber?” Marielle asked. Her voice was almost a whisper. This wasn’t a topic that she wanted to broach.
“I don’t need to, he’ll do it.”
“He will?” She cut her gaze to him briefly, then back down.
“Yes, it’s you.”
“Because he loves me?”
There was a pregnant pause. “Oui, Masin.”
She was watching his hand gently knead her right knee. “I can’t help feeling a little like all of this is unfair to him.”
Vincent flicked his brows.
Silence past between them for a short time. “We’ll adopt if we don’t go down this road. I want to be a mother, but the baby doesn’t need to be from my body.”
She could see his adam’s apple move up and down from the corner of her eye. “Are you sure, Masin?”
“Oui, Vincent.”
“Come here.” He lifted his hand to her and she sat on his left knee as he cupped her face and looked into her eyes. He shook his head. “You want a baby from your body. I know you.”
She glanced away. “We don’t always get what we want, and I’ll be happy and content either which way.”
“You love me that much?”
“I do.”
He cradled her into his chest and gently rocked her like she was a small child. “I realize so many of the mistakes that I made now,” he whispered.
“Like what?”
“You are Marielle… but you are not exactly the woman that I married. You’re different.”
“Of course I am, I don’t have the same past, nor do I have the same future.” He sighed. She lifted her head to look into his eyes, “does that mean that you don’t love me?” she asked timidly.
“No!” he whispered, but loudly. “No, if anything, Masin, I love you more. I love you more than-“ He cut himself off.
“Don’t say anything,” she said breathlessly, as her lips brushed his.
Both knew that Austin’s spirit was resting on those words.
His lips drew into a line and he nodded, looking down. “I love you, that’s all.”
Their eyes searched one another. “I love you,” she whispered, putting her hand up and spreading her fingers which asked him to meet this action with his own. “That’s all,” she repeated him.
He put his fingertips to hers and they gazed deeply, intently into one another’s eyes. “What are you thinking?” she whispered.
“I’m a total screw up, and I surrender this relationship and my life to you,” he replied, the fire cast light across his face causing his tattoos to shine brightly, and bringing out the smallest hint of green somewhere in his almond-colored eyes behind the glass.
“What else are you thinking?” she demanded.
“That I want to give you to Austin, and walk away.”
“Why?”
“Because it would solve all of this,” he growled, turning his head quickly as if he’d spat.
She turned his face gently back to her. “Are you scared?” she asked, trembling.
“Yes,” he said, and his eyes rimmed.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to lose.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s what I deserve.”
“What else terrifies you right now?”
“That I’m not the man that my father wanted me to be.” He was visibly holding back tears now as his face slowly contorted into agony. “I’m not what he dreamed I’d be. He was so proud of me, Marielle.” He lost the fight for control and glanced down trying to hide his tears. She tipped his chin back up to meet her eyes. “He’d hate what I became.”
“Michele loved you from everything that you’ve ever told me about him,” she said. Then she pressed their fingertips together tightly. “Michele still loves you.”
He buried his face under her chin, their fingertips still pressing into one another. “I’m not a good man,” he said raggedly, rubbing the tip of his nose into her collarbone as tears soaked her shirt. “I want to be a good man, Masin.” He gripped her collar with the hand that wasn’t pressed against hers, fingertips to fingertips, and squeezed as if he was wringing the life out of something. “I should never have done this. I should never have killed Cory’s family. I should have waited, and found a way to come to you. Or maybe I should have just let you go… I was dying, Masin, I was sinking into myself. I didn’t see any way out,” he quietly sobbed. “I’m a failure.”
She stroked his hair with her free hand and sat back, straddling his hips, and looking deeply into his eyes again. Her tattoos flickered and did their dance that they repeated when he was near. “What’s your biggest fear right now?”
“That your choice is Austin whether you say it is or not. That you’re here because you feel trapped, and we both know that you do. I suspect it’s one of the biggest reasons that you can’t connect to me. You feel stuck, and I deceived you. I should have told you everything.” His voice cracked.
The both froze, breath and all and their heart beats escalated to an unbelievable rate. It was imagined, right? It… it couldn’t have been. They both glanced at their fingertips, and she gasped, his eyes stretched open in terror and wonder.
It wasn’t much, maybe not more than the edge of a piece of paper, but a small glow showed that her fingertips were pushing into his, melding into his.
They looked at one another, eyes wide with terrific wonder. “Y-” he started, then stopped. He looked back as she did to be sure that they were seeing it. “You do love me,” he whispered.
She nodded, but both realized then that she couldn’t press any further in. This was it. That was as far as she could go. She could feel the pounding of his heart in the very print of her fingertip, and he could feel hers.
Then the magic ended, and it was obvious that the miracle was no longer occurring. She couldn’t read his thoughts, and he couldn’t read hers, but both sat for a moment in awe, eyes flicking to one another and back.
“I don’t know why it stopped,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “I want to try again,” she whispered putting her fingertips to his once more.
He shook his head. “No, now you’re under the pressure to make it happen, it won’t happen again,” he explained, but he took her hand from his with his other hand and put her palm to his mouth, kissing, and gently biting the space between her thumb and finger. “Oh, Masin,” he said breathlessly. “You can do that with me.”
She nodded; eyes still distant wide with wonder. “I want it to happen,” her eyes began to fill with tears. “I want it to happen so badly!” She broke.
“No, no, no,” he drew her against him and hushed her rapidly, then slowly, rocking her and kissing the top of her head. “You can do it, Masin. That’s all that matters right now. We won’t push it. I won’t demand. We’ll try again someday, but you can do it! We didn’t know, but we do now! You can do it! Don’t feel pressure. I love you, I don’t mind,” he insisted.
She pulled back, a red mess of tears and dripping. “But you – you want this!”
He placed both hands on the side of her face, fingertips raking her scalp, “I’m not going to deny that,” he said sternly. Then his features softened. “But I want you! I want you whether you can do that with me, or not.” She sobbed, feeling broken; impotent. He shook his head again bringing her to her chest, “Masin, no… you’re not broken. You’re not broken.” He cried with her, “I am,” he explained.
And together, they wept and held one another until the sadness passed them over.
She shivered at his touch, despite the conversation. He stroked her cheek repeatedly for a moment. “I love you, Masin,” he said so sincerely that it frightened her. “I love you beyond the end of the universe and back.” She smiled softly and looked down, trying to hide the color blooming in her cheeks. “Let’s go back to bed,” he whispered huskily.
She nodded, biting her lip.
When she got up in the morning and Vincent was still sound asleep, she couldn’t find the painting anywhere.