Page 82 of Ruined By Blood
I touch the still-wet paint with my fingertip, feeling the texture. "I didn't know I could make something like this."
"That's the thing about art," she says, turning to her own canvas where she's painted something abstract andwounded. "It knows things about us that we're still figuring out for ourselves."
I feel like there might be a version of me that exists beyond what my father made me into. A version that creates rather than endures.
A knock on the door startles me from my artistic trance. I jerk my brush away from the canvas, leaving a streak of blue where it shouldn't be. My body tenses automatically.
"Come in," Lucrezia calls, seemingly unconcerned.
The door swings open, and I feel my shoulders relax when I see it's Enzo. His eyes find mine immediately, as though magnetized.
"You're painting," he says, his gaze moving from me to Lucrezia and then my canvas.
I self-consciously step in front of my work. It feels too raw, too revealing to share, even with him. Especially with him.
"What time is it?" I ask, noticing the changed angle of sunlight through the windows.
"Almost noon," Enzo replies, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "I've finished what I needed to handle."
I blink in surprise. "Noon? We've been in here for hours."
"Time passes quickly when you're creating," Lucrezia says, setting her brush down. Her canvas shows more progress than I'd realized. Unlike mine, hers has structure. A darkness being pushed back by something undefined but powerful. "I'd forgotten that feeling."
Her voice holds a mixture of wonder and sadness, and I understand completely. To lose yourself in something that isn't pain. It's a gift I'd forgotten existed.
Enzo steps into the room, his eyes moving between ourcanvases. "I didn't want to interrupt, but Damiano's called a family dinner tonight. Everyone will be there."
"Everyone?" I echo, anxiety immediately climbing up my throat. More people means more variables, more potential threats.
"Family," Enzo clarifies, his voice softening as he notices my tension. "You'll be safe. It's just dinner."
Just dinner. As if anything in my life could be that simple anymore.
"Will there be pasta?" Lucrezia asks, her tone deliberately light as she begins cleaning her brushes. "Because Ettore's carbonara is worth dressing up for."
Enzo smiles at his sister, and I see the deep affection between them. "I believe he mentioned something about his lasagna recipe."
"Even better," Lucrezia says with a smile that almost reaches her eyes. She looks at me. "You'll love it. Ettore guards that recipe like it's nuclear launch codes."
I nod, attempting to match their casual tone while my mind races through what this dinner means. It's another step into their world, into whatever this temporary sanctuary is. Another opportunity to forget, just for a moment.
Enzo's eyes haven't left me. "You have paint," he says, stepping closer and gesturing to my face.
I freeze as his thumb brushes my cheek, warm and gentle. Blue paint transfers from my skin to his finger.
"There," he says. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the room seems to shrink around us.
Lucrezia clears her throat. "I should shower before dinner. Paint in my hair is not the look I'm going for tonight."
But neither of us move as she slips out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Istand in front of the mirror, smoothing down the simple navy blue dress Zoe lent me. It's casual but pretty. A soft cotton material that falls just above my knees with short sleeves and a modest neckline. My reflection shows someone I barely recognize: cheeks with a hint of color, eyes less haunted than they were days ago.
"You look beautiful," Enzo says from the doorway. He's changed into dark jeans and a crisp button-down shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. The sight of him makes my heart skip.
"It's just something Zoe gave me," I say, suddenly self-conscious. "Is it appropriate for dinner?"
Enzo crosses the room and stands behind me, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "Perfect," he murmurs, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. The warmth of his touch sends tingles down my spine.
