Page 24 of The Devil's Canvas

"You’re an actor."

"Actors can be intellectuals."

"Uh-huh." I narrow my eyes, reaching for my phone. "I’m checking the dictionary for that one."

Before I can unlock it, he lunges, grabbing it from my hand and scrambling backward across the couch like a child trying to escape a time-out.

"Cheater!" I yell, laughing as I dive after him.

"Strategic genius," he corrects, ducking just in time to avoid my swipe.

"Strategic my ass!"

"Your ass is very strategic," he mutters, and I punch him in the shoulder, hard enough that he almost loses his grip on my phone.

"You’re ridiculous," I say between laughter, climbing over him, wrestling my phone from his hands, half-trapped in his lap now.

"I’m adorable."

"You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you’re still sitting here, all tangled up in me."

I freeze just long enough for him to take advantage, flipping me onto my back against the couch, hovering over me with that same smug, knowing grin. "You play dirty," I murmur.

"You love it," he says, kissing me before I can argue.

I don’t fight him. I never do.

Those moments, those times. I want that again, I miss that. I hate that he started to notice me change.

The slow shift in my personality happened in a way that I was able to convince myself that it wasn’t happening. I still laughed at his jokes, still kissed him in the morning, still cuddled at night.

Still painted in color.

But there were cracks—tiny, hairline fractures that I ignored. Until I couldn’t anymore.

"Are you okay?"

I blink up at him, pulled from my thoughts. We’re in bed, Dominic lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, watching me.

"Yeah," I say automatically.

His brow creases, a flicker of something uncertain in his eyes.

"You sure?"

"I’m fine, Dom." I reach for him, trying to make it true.

He lets me pull him in, lets our mouths meet in a slow, familiar kiss. But when I open my eyes, he’s already staring.

Like he’s trying to see something beneath my skin. Like he’s searching for proof that I’m still here.

"You don’t look at me the same anymore."

It’s not an accusation, it’s something much worse. A realization.

My stomach twists.

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