Page 32 of The Billionaire's Claim: Redemption
“A knight and a dragon.”
I tilt my head to the side as far as I can bend my neck. Maybe the picture’s done sideways. Some modern artists do funky angles to add their own unique mark. Still, I don’t see anything resembling a knight or a dragon.
“It isn’t finished yet, but I can visualize the entire thing.” She gestures, her fingers spread out as she moves her arms around on the left, slightly off-center. “Here…a knight. His face is hidden behind a helmet, but you can tell he’s something special from the bright blue of his fierce eyes, the brave stance of his big, strong body. Blood coats his armor, but he doesn’t notice as he holds a sword in competent hands and faces the monster.”
“Fearless?” I add teasingly.
“No. Not fearless. He isn’t stupid. Of course he’s afraid of the dragon’s power, but he’s making a stand, and he won’t run away. True bravery.” She moves her right hand over the other side. “This is where a golden dragon is, glaring at the knight. Its pale blue eyes are full of evil hunger. It only cares about consuming the world, destroying everything in its path. It crouches before the courageous, unwavering knight, its haunches coiled tight for a final strike to bring him down. But the knight’s legs are steady, his feet wide apart. And he’s ready.”
That’s an intense scene, but I still can’t see it, not with the splatters of color on the canvas. At the same time, I don’t want to admit I don’t see it.
“It isn’t complete yet,” she adds. “So only I can see it all, but it’s crystal clear to me.”
I look at her. Her eyes are shining like polished silver, and excitement sizzles in her voice. I stare, in awe and adoration. This…this bright, amazing Elizabeth is someone I haven’t seen in a decade, and I realize I’ve been waiting for this part of her to emerge for a long time.
Her pleasure is raw and unrestrained, but it’s so genuine, so contagious, I can’t help but share it. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“I can’t wait either. So you can see what I’m seeing.” She spins around and faces me. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“This! The studio. You gave me an outlet to center myself, help me express what’s in my heart.”
I search her face for any signs of restraint or that polite society veneer. Nothing. Her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is as natural as the water around us.
“My pleasure, Liza. I’m glad you like it.”
“Anyway, why did you come up? Did something happen?”
“No. It’s past time for lunch. I made some sandwiches. We can sit outside and eat ’em.”
“Okay. Let me wash my hands first.” She goes to the en suite and washes her hands thoroughly.
Her step light, she starts to come forward, her freshly dried hands free of paint, then reaches for me.
Just as her fingertips are about to brush my arm, she hesitates, retreating.
Enough of this. I take her hand and pull until she has an arm wrapped around my back, then I put mine around her shoulders. My issues are my own. I don’t want them dimming the brilliant light inside her.
At first she’s a bit stiff, but she relaxes as we walk down the steps together and go outside. The table’s under a huge parasol, and we face the ocean. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” I say. “I’m going to grab our drinks.”
I bring out the tropical fruit smoothies from the fridge, both spiked with a shot of vodka after some deliberation. This is a vacation. Why not enjoy ourselves?
She looks at the sandwiches on the platter, then waits for me to sit before asking, “Which one’s mine?”
“The turkey. I’m a roast beef guy.”
She gives me a smile. “Thanks.”
“Let me know if you don’t like anything.”
“Everything’s perfect.” She takes a small bite and nibbles. “I’m sorry I ruined our morning.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
“But—”
I take her hand,
