Page 33 of Unresolved

That he was clearly a famous artist who hid behind a pseudonym because of his infamous mafia background made all too much sense now.

What made even more sense was the portrait that had hung in the gallery where I’d worked.I’d assumed Evander had known Chase and had paid big money to have the painting done by him.I shook my head.Little wonder Evander had snorted at my assumption and asked how I’d hadn’t put two and two together.

I couldn’t have got everything more wrong if I’d tried!

I stumbled back even as I glanced around at more of the portraits.He really was a man of many talents.Hew as gifted, a master of his work!Each creation was brilliant and detailed, his creative side flawless, faultless.

My eyes were drawn to three pictures hanging side-by-side, all of them done in thick, rich sepia oil colors that made them look like old photos.My heart stuttered as I recalled the time and place these memories had been created, probably long before any paint had been applied to the canvases.

The first portrait showed me looking down, my dark lashes sweeping low and my lips curled into a fledgling smile.My whole face glowed, radiant with joy after Evander had told me he loved me.

I swallowed heavily.That might have been the best day of my life, with his love and devotion shining in his eyes, his voice thick with emotion.

The next portrait showed me looking straight back at the man who’d spoken those three little words.The sepia painting popped with the glaring-yellow of a wildflower he’d picked from the side of the road.I’d stuck the flower behind one ear, my smile wider now and my teeth white, my glistening stare full of returned love.

In the third portrait, a tear was rolling down my cheek, my effervescent joy captured after he’d whispered how much he wanted to make me his woman in every way, including in name.

I took a step back, my emotions in turmoil, my heart in shambles.I’d loved him so deeply, so unrestrainedly that I’d never really gotten over having to leave him.I’d become a shell of my former self, a living and breathing husk.

Perhaps that was also why I now felt like a trespasser, a voyeur of my own once joyous façade staring back at me.The portraits might show my deepest feelings, but they also showcased Evander’s from his perspective behind the brush.

I shook my head.How did someone so deadly and dangerous paint with such loving and passionate intensity?It was as if he lived a double life.Hedidlive a double life!Or perhaps painting was a way for him to let go of the darker side of his nature and fill his soul with light.

So why was every painting in this room of me?

It should have been disturbing, yet a deep, visceral part of me basked in delight knowing he was still so obsessed with me.

That I returned those feelings turned my love into an even deeper despair.He’d ruined my life from the moment he’d told me the truth about his mobster life.Mafia.It was akin to saying he was the devil.

I pressed a hand to my cramping stomach.If he’d been normal, an everyday person with everyday aspirations, I had no doubt we‘d still be together.Gotten married.

Had a family.

My hand fisted and pressed tighter against my stomach.

Instead I’d losteverything.

That Evander would never be normal wasn’t lost on me.If he had been I wouldn’t have developed such overwhelming feelings for him.

I took another step back.

Squick.

I lifted my foot off the floor and checked underneath.I gasped at the sticky puddle of red beneath my foot.I’d been so captivated by the paintings I hadn’t noticed just how strong my menstrual flow had become.

I needed another shower, then I’d clean up any and all evidence of me being inside his studio.

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