Page 57 of Merciless Union
My heart begins to beat faster.
Maxim did such a nice thing for my father and me and never even told me. I wonder why.
The rest of the reception passes in a blur. Guests greet us, offering their condolences. People talk and eat food.
Finally, when it’s time to leave, I’m bursting at the seams, wanting to ask Maxim about the funeral planning.
Once we’re back in the car on the way home, I ask, “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Plan my mother’s funeral for my dad and me.”
He locks his blue eyes with mine, making me feel lightheaded. “Because it was the right thing to do. And I wanted to do my part to help ease your pain.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “I guess I should thank you again.” I laugh softly. “I’m doing that a lot today.”
His lips quirk. “That’s fine by me.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t do it to win brownie points. I did it for you, Arina.”
When he says things like this, I worry about how easily I could fall in love with him.
We’re silent the rest of the ride home.
When we return, a large couch is waiting in the hallway for us.
Maxim frowns. “What’s this?”
In all the drama and pain over these past couple of days, I forgot all about ordering a new couch. “I, uh, bought it.”
“You bought a couch?”
I drop my hands to my sides. “I hate the couches you own. They’re not comfortable. And if I’m ever going to see this house as my own, I need cozier furniture. I’m sorry I didn’t mention this. I honestly kind of forgot.”
Maxim stares at me for a moment before nodding. “All right, then. I guess a new couch wouldn’t hurt. And truthfully, I never cared for the couches I have now. My mother picked them out as a housewarming gift. I just never got rid of them.” He pats the couch. “I’ll get some guys to set it up.”
We enter the house, and I immediately head to the bedroom to change out of my black dress into something more comfortable. Maxim doesn’t follow me, still giving me space.
Once I’m changed, I’m about to search for him when I see my new art supplies in the corner of the room. I stashed it there after finding it, somehow worried Maxim would come and take it away again.
Now, looking at it, I have an idea.
I grab one of the smaller canvases and bag of paints and brushes, along with my easel, and leave the room to find Maxim.
He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lost in thought.
“Maxim?”
He jerks, breaking out of his reverie. Turning to face me, he eyes the art supplies in my hand. I set the easel down, placing the canvas on it.
“I was wondering if I could paint you?”
He blinks. “You want to paint me?”
“Yes. I want to bring you more into my world, share something with you that I love. And I’d like to do that by painting your portrait.”
