Page 21 of The Devil's Canvas

I need to get out. Away from the expectations, away from the unspoken tension that lingers in every corner. I don’t want to think about why. I just want to be anywhere but here.

"Picture time!" Melanie yells. "Come on, Arabella, Ophelia!"

Great.I sigh, stepping back from Julian. I miss his touch immediately. Like I never wanted to leave his side, or even his arms for that matter.

"Thank you for the dance. Maybe I’ll see you around." My voice is even, but I don’t quite meet his eyes.

"I’ll wait to make sure you’re okay," he says, his tone calm, certain.

I shift, glancing toward the crowd. "You don’t have to," I say. "You don’t even know me."

"But I want to," he says.

Something flickers in my chest. I ignore it. Before I can even comprehend that statement, Melanie yells again. "Ophelia! Let’s go!"

I hesitate, my pulse still too fast, my skin still too warm. I look at Julian one last time.

He’s staring at me, and he doesn’t look away, unashamed. Not when I step back, not when I turn, not even when I move toward the flashing cameras. I feel his gaze on me the entire time.

The photographer directs us into position, arranging us like perfectly placed dolls in a family portrait. Melanie at the center, Dominic at her side, my father standing tall with his pristine, handpicked family.

I take my place, but I don’t belong in the frame.

I don’t belong here at all.

"Smile," the photographer calls out.

My lips don’t turn up, the camera flashes, and I have to hold back a flinch. My focus doesn’t stay on the camera, I can't do what they’re asking me to do, instead my eyes drift to the side of the room, toward him. Slowly, an electric pulse starts at the mark and spreads throughout my body.

The mark.

The sensation isn’t painful, but it’s there—burning softly, an echo of something I don’t understand.

The camera flashes again. My pulse jumps, my body is still aware of Julian’s touch, the ghost of his hand on my back, the imprint of his fingers against my skin.

I shouldn’t be looking at him, but I can’t tear my eyes from him.

Another flash. Another second of pretending.

He holds my stare unflinchingly, and suddenly, this entire performance doesn't feel so heavy. I can hear Melanie say something, but I don’t know what she says because Julian lifts his chin slightly and smirks as his gaze rakes over my body.

The mark ignites again, heat licking beneath my ribs like it’s reacting to him, like it recognizes him.

Heat coils deep in my stomach, but I tear my eyes away before I do something reckless.

"Ophelia," Melanie snaps under her breath, voice sharp. "At leasttryto look like you want to be here."

My fingers curl slightly into the fabric of my dress, but I don’t answer. The mark is still thrumming with energy, pulling my focus.

Because all I can think about is the way Julian is still watching me.

And the way my body wants him.

Chapter Four

Ophelia

ThefirstthingIfeel is the heat.

---