Page 113 of Fresh Canvas
I was damnation incarnate. Possessed by darkness and cursed with grief. I could only ever offer half of me to someone after Stella. And who would want that? Wantme?
Amantha deserved a knight in shining armor—not a night of eternal darkness.
Pressing send on the text that ended our relationship had sent me straight to hell.
I reasoned it would be okay, since I already lived there.
Amantha was sure to try her hardest to fight for us, but I had prepared for that. She didn’t know what I knew. It was best for her. How long would it be until she tired of my unrelenting grief? How many years would she waste on me, made captive by her rose colored glasses? Ryan had already robbed her of a decade, and I couldn’t do that to her. Amantha needed to be freed, even as she fought to stay within the confines of our gilded relationship.
Ignoring her texts and calls had sucked, but if I had even used one breath to explain, I would have caved. I was weak. I was a coward. Amantha was right.
Iwaslike Ryan.
Offering Brandon my assistant position after she left my apartment that night had been a stroke of genius. I’ll admit, I was surprised that he accepted so fast, and even more that he honored my stipulation to begin the next morning. My human shield had been as necessary as it was pathetic.
I would never forget the look in Amantha’s pale, vacant eyes that morning across the conference room table. I had been the cause—and I loathed myself because of it.
Passing by the break room later that day, I spotted my new assistant chatting with Amantha. Her warm smile had been aimed at Brandon, not me. Unexpected jealousy had overcome me, and I had almost fired him on the spot.
The following days were torture.
I reasoned it would be okay, since I was used to torture.
A dark chuckle rumbled out at the memory of our collision outside the copy room. That woman had two left feet and all the curves in the world. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to slam my copies to the wall and crush my mouth to hers, red lips and all. I just couldn’t stomach the sad look in her eyesanymore. My plea for forgiveness had rested dangerously close to my tongue.
Avoidance became even more paramount after that.
Besides trying to investigate the forged painting on my own, I fell into a pattern of leaving work early and staying at the gym too late. Even as I faded, life trickled back into Amantha’s eyes. She began striding around the office with purpose. Stirling’s account had been good for her. My plan was working.
Sure, I’d have to suffer a life of misery without her.
I reasoned it would be okay, since I was used to misery.
At least Amantha was free.
All it took was one unprepared glance between us at Stirling’s soirée tonight to completely wreck me. I had been immediately lost in the gray smoke and mirrors of her gaze. And if wardrobes could be weaponized, she had meant war. I cursed the shimmering sapphire nestled in the hollow of her throat.
That space had once belonged tome.
It had been an unbearable honor to watch Amantha in her element. She was made for this life.
I only lasted a few minutes in her orbit before a few glasses of prosecco helped to dull my senses.
But they also had dulled my inhibitions.
My gaze began to linger for longer. Smiling had felt so good, my facial muscles were unable to do anything else. I struggled to remember why it was so important to keep my distance. Surely, we could be friends, couldn’t we? It all seemed so childish. We were adults, after all.
Before my logic could kick me in the crotch like it should have, I had approached Amantha. Even her cold shoulder couldn’t stop me from blabbering like an idiot, but she rushed away in the end. Away from the monster I was.
The monster I had forgotten I was.
I cursed myself under the emerging stars, the fountain gurgling in agreement.
My tuxedo jacket felt like a straightjacket. After clawing out of the sleeves, I still couldn’t stop myself from folding it neatlyand laying it on the bench. I scowled at my inability to toss the stupid thing wherever I pleased like a normal person.
I rested my forearms on my knees, my eyes tracing the lines on my palms.
How could she think I’m a thief?
