The Cat Leans On The Artist

The weekend away was a poor plan.

Too many plates were balanced precariously, and I knew everything could come crashing down—which it did. I sat through the family intervention—a silent, angry dinner—and now, I am stepping out of the shower before I have a few hours of downtime with Rafe. He looks ragged, but my housemates told me it was much worse when he got home.

Add guilt to the top of my list of recent failures.

The clone in question is drying his hair while giving me a rueful look. "I tried to tell them you wouldn't take well to being ambushed like that."

"I didn't, but it doesn't make them wrong. We have to decide eventually. You can't take the brunt of their punishments forever. One day, he'll go too far and we both know it."

Plopping down on the bed next to me, he sighs, "This time was bad, love."

For Rafe to admit that, it had to be nearly intolerable. "I won't ask, but if you want to talk, we can. Come here." Reaching over to the table, I click on the TV. I flip through the movies, looking for one of our favorites that isn't emotionally tied to someone. "Let's find some hooch, watch movies, and you can paint my toes."

He snorts. "Making me feel better includes manual labor, eh?"

I run my fingers over the long, shiny French braid his hair is tied back in. "This is pretty. I'd offer to run my fingers through your hair because you like it, but I don't want to take it down. Who did this?"

"The bitch did." He smiles and rolls to his feet to locate the mani-pedi kit. Bringing it over to the bed, he places it nearby before sitting down next to me.

"You let her touch you?"

"She didn't give me much of a choice."

Huh. "Well, it looks lovely. I like it."

We curl up in the pillows of the gigantic bed, content to decompress in the waning light of the afternoon. The movie rolls on and we laugh—something that's been in way too short of supply lately. Leo drops in with food and drinks, hanging out for a few as the pirates clash on the cliffs.

One movie ends and we turn on the next, the atmosphere cozy and calm. I've missed this. He picks up the kit and position me with my foot in his lap, working on my toes. He's just as proficient an artist with nail polish and brushes as he is his paints, so his choice of decoration is elaborate and beautiful.

"You'll get a call before the night's over," Rafe murmurs, working on my middle toe with a flourish.

I tilt my head, wrinkling my nose. "I doubt it. Taurus said he has to think. When someone like him wants to stop and think about things, our little affaire à retenir is kaput. It's a shame; I feel a kinship with him I haven't felt with anyone before. I think it's because of the beast."

His brow arches as he looks at the quivering feather on my chest. "I dub thee, Queen of the Understatement, my Night Bloom. You dove into the deep end of the ocean without a life vest. It won't be easy to swim away."

I close my eyes as he works quietly, painting miniature Van Goghs on each toe after the base coat dries. He's right and I know it. When Taurus breaks it off, I'm going to be raw and bleeding inside for a long time. Sighing, I rub my chest as I consider it. Hell, we may have to wall off from everyone. I may not survive unless I stop letting everyone in until I heal. "If he hotfoots it, I'm going to have issues—a lot of them. Perhaps volumes."

"Uh-huh." He starts with the pinky toe on my left foot, working quickly. "Maybe that's not what's going to happen, though."

I blink. "What do you mean?"

"I doubt the git's ever had this thought before in his life, and he voiced it out loud. Words have power, my love. Saying it out loud makes it real. I don't think he would have said it unless he was testing your reaction. It's a matter of clearing the channels and reconciling desire with core beliefs now. This feels more like a when' not an if."

Feeling like a cannonball hit me in the chest, I take a deep breath and try not to panic. "Do you really think so?"

"Yup." He looks up, his expression serious. "I'm okay with you being happy. I'm always okay with that."

He's not happy, though, and Taurus is demanding about my time. I can't imagine it would get less so if we mated. "What about you?"

"I'm fine. I have art, friends, and you. Troubles don't last forever. I'm a simple clone, love."

"That is an act. You are more complex than you let on."

"Perhaps," he says, sipping his merlot. "But I adjust to change well; I always have. We'll be okay."

"What do I do, Rafe? I'm scared."

His hand reaches up, cupping my jaw as he looks at me. "When we met, you ruled this place with the aplomb of badass bitch who made no apologies for who she was—not even to the judgy overlords of the Cabal. All the pain and betrayal made you retreat into a scared, self-doubting shadow of the woman I fell for. I will always love you, no matter what facet is showing, but I know you miss being the real you."

I can't look at him as I contemplate that because I know that he's one hundred percent right. I have let them fill me with self-doubt and fear that I never used to let get the best of me.

"What do you do with the asshole who is luring that woman out of hiding? You decide to be strong, bold, and brave; be the queen you always have been and always will be."

I chuckle. "Man, aren't you a feminine product commercial tonight."

"In vino veritas, my Night Bloom." He smiles and pours me another glass.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I have been since the day we met." He kisses my forehead, and I feel comforted. "Trust your gut. It worked for us, eh?"

"That it did, baby. That it did."