13. Bianca

13

BIANCA

Alexei perches on a stool beside me as I paint. “Did you go to college?”

I think he secretly likes watching me paint, especially when the subject is his naked body.

“Yes, it’s where I met Zara.”

“Did you study art?”

I can’t help but laugh at his question as I dip my brush into my jar of water.

“What’s so funny?”

“My father would never let me study art.” I shake my head. “He thought it was a nice hobby to keep me out of trouble, but when it came to picking my major, I had to study marketing and advertising so I could go into the ‘ family business’ .”

I give Alexei a knowing smile, and he nods.

“It’s a shame you weren’t encouraged to pursue your art when it’s clear you have a talent for it.”

I shrug. “I gave up on my dream of ever pursuing a career in art a very long time ago. I was always destined to work for my father, being his only child and all. ”

Alexei is quiet for a moment, watching me as I start to add some shading to his abdominals.

My cheeks warm as he leans in close, his thigh brushing against me as he regards my work.

“It’s so detailed.” He glances at me.

I ignore his gaze, focusing instead on mixing the perfect shade of pink to add some dimension to his skin tone.

“You paid very close attention.”

“Stop being crude.”

Alexei laughs, and I can’t fight that smile that pulls at my lips.

It’s nice how easy we’ve become in each other’s company over the last few weeks. Though I suppose when you’re stuck in a house with no one else to talk to, you’re likely to form some sort of relationship.

And the mind-blowing sex is also an added bonus that I wasn’t expecting from this arrangement.

Alexei looks at the painting again. “Have you considered taking an art class at a local college in the evening?”

“Not really. My dad worked me very hard so I never had a lot of free time.” I frown at my use of past tense.

It feels as if I’m talking about someone else’s life rather than my own. A life that no longer exists to me.

“Hmm…”

I frown as Alexei gets to his feet and pulls his cell out of his back pocket and starts tapping away.

“What are you doing?”

He ignores my question as he continues to scroll on his phone, his eyes narrowed as they dart back and forth across the screen.

“Alexei?”

“They have an art class at Queen’s college twice a week in the evening. ”

“So?”

Alexei looks up at me and nods his chin in the direction of his painting.

“So, I think you should nurture this talent, Bianca.”

“You want me to go to an art class?”

“Yes, I think it would be good for you.”

“Uh…” I’m so taken-aback by Alexei’s suggestion that I don’t know how to respond.

I’m not used to people encouraging me like this. Sure, both my father and Zara think I’m talented, but my father has already laid the path of my life out for me, and Zara is realistic, and life as a creative is not sustainable in her eyes.

“I-I’ll think about it.”

“It’s running tonight and it starts in an hour.”

It’s like he hasn’t even heard me.

“Alexei.” I sigh, setting down my paintbrush. “I appreciate you wanting to help but?—”

“This will be good for you, Bianca.” He tucks his phone back into his pocket. “And it’s close by, so I can drive you there myself.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. We leave in thirty minutes. That should give us enough time to sort out the enrollment fees and documents before the class.”

I know I should be excited to be leaving the house for the first time in almost four weeks, but the truth is I’m not. Because once again the terms of such freedom have not been dictated by me.

I’m still a prisoner. Just a prisoner on a leash being driven to what I assume will be an overpriced still-life- painting seminar with a bodyguard who also happens to be my husband.

“I wish you’d let me look through the syllabus before making a decision,” I mutter as Alexei pulls into the parking lot of the arts building.

He was quiet the entire drive over to the campus, and I was too busy sulking to care.

I glance around and notice a few students leaving the building carrying portfolios of their work and cases of supplies. I don’t miss the fact that they glance at Alexei’s car.

He was set on taking some ridiculous supercar, but I refused to get in.

I already feel out of place, and rocking up to class in a car that costs more than the tuition fees made me want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

We compromised on a blacked-out Range Rover which isn’t much better, but the look Alexei was giving me implied that he would throw me over his shoulder and carry me to campus if he had to.

“Sometimes, it’s better to just be pushed,” Alexei says. “So many people become paralyzed by indecision, they never take a step forward.”

“And you assumed I would be like that? I’m not being funny, Alexei, but you don’t know me at all.”

“I know you enough.”

I ball my hands into fists and stare straight ahead, my stomach knotting at the sight of the sign on the front of the building before us.

Queen’s University Art Department .

This has been all I’ve ever wanted, to study art and spend my days painting, so why can’t I be more excited ?

Perhaps it’s due to the fact that Alexei Koslov is the one to see me for who I am, and that scares the hell out of me.

The man has barely known me for four weeks, and yet he’s actively going out of his way to nurture my talent.

My eyes start to prick with tears.

This is something my father should have done, but instead, he took this choice away from me too.

“If you’re only doing this out of guilt, then don’t bother.” I swallow the lump in my throat.

“What do you mean?” Alexei unbuckles his seatbelt and turns in his seat to face me, but I keep my eyes forward, not wanting him to see me so upset.

“You feel guilty for marrying me, for taking me away from my life. So, you’re trying to ease your conscience by giving me the chance to paint.”

“I’m giving you the opportunity to nurture your talent. Something you weren’t allowed to pursue because your father decided otherwise. I thought you’d be more pleased?”

I bow my head, hating the fact that I feel guilty for even questioning his motives.

I wish I could be more detached, but I ruined any chances of that the moment I sat down at the easel he bought me.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll see you after the class.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the car door.

Alexei’s eyes stay on me as I walk over to the red-bricked building, but I don’t give him a second glance before I open the double doors and head inside.

It’s fairly quiet as it’s almost seven in the evening and most classes are finished for the day. But there’s a door at the far end of the hall which is ajar, and there are quite a few people milling about inside.

My stomach is a bundle of nerves as I walk down the hall, taking in the artwork that’s hanging on the walls on either side of me. There’s a mixture of abstract work, still life, and portraits, and the level of skill is enviable.

I wish Alexei had given me more time to think about this.

Art has always been something just for me, a creative outlet that helps me work through my emotions when I can feel myself falling into a dark place.

Though I thought about studying it before, it’s not necessarily something I want to be graded on.

It seems Alexei called ahead and spoke to the head of admissions as the moment I knock on the door and peer round into the classroom, a woman in her late thirties rushes over to me, a huge grin plastered on her face.

She has a mass of dark curls piled on her head, and she’s wearing paint-covered overalls and a white T-shirt.

“You must be Bianca.” She holds out her hand.

There’s at least one ring on every one of her fingers, and heavy bangles hang from each of her wrists. “I’m Ella, I’ll be running this class.”

“Hi.” I force a smile as I glance behind her at the rows of easels laid out.

Most of the other students are already sitting at one and pulling out their supplies, their projects already started.

My stomach sinks.

Was I meant to bring my own paints?

Ella seems to follow my train of thought as she drops my hand and wraps it around my shoulders, ushering me inside.

“All supplies will be provided for you, don’t worry. But you’re always welcome to bring your own if you prefer your own paint brushes or paint.” She brings me over to a vacant stool at the back of the classroom. “You’ve only missed the first week, so you’re not behind. ”

I glance to the person beside me, a girl around my age with blonde curly hair. She’s working on a painting which seems to be very harrowing, with lots of dark colors and blood dripping down the edges.

“The theme of the first few weeks is grief,” Ella explains.

I almost roll my eyes.

How on brand for me .

“You’re welcome to use whatever medium you wish, I only ask that the piece reflects your own experience with grief. Not what you think grief is, but what you know it to be.”

“Sounds great.”

“Have fun!”

I take a seat at my stool and glance at my empty canvas.

A cart of supplies is beside me, with everything from chalks to watercolors.

I run my fingers over the tubes of paint, my mind already racing with ideas for my piece.

I settle for filling my palette with various shades of yellow, wanting to create a sort of contrast between the life I was meant to have and the one I ended up living.

The one where I ended up marrying Alexei Koslov…

I clear my throat and dip my brush into the paint, letting myself fall into a rhythm, enjoying the hustle and bustle around me as the other students work.

It’s such a contrast to the quiet studio at home. Suddenly being surrounded by people after only seeing mainly Alexei for the past four weeks has me feeling nervous to talk to anyone.

The girl beside me leans in a bit. “You’re new, right?”

I look over at her and nod, feeling my cheeks flush.

“Is it that obvious?”

She laughs, shaking her head of blonde curls.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” She chuckles, her brown eyes crinkling as she regards me. “I’m Marnie.”

“Bianca.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She smiles.

“You too. Are you studying at this college or…”

“I’m studying Art history, but I’m taking some extra art classes in the evening to build up my course credits. I’m hoping to graduate a few semesters early.”

“Good for you.” I look over at her canvas.

“What about you?”

“I graduated from NYU last spring. I majored in marketing and minored in advertising.”

“Whoa, that’s very different from art.”

I sigh, picking up a fresh paintbrush. “It is. But this is my true passion.”

“Good for you for making time for it. Many people don’t. They just get sucked into the corporate world and leave everything that makes them happy behind them in exchange for a paycheck at the end of the month.”

“I suppose…”

“What’s your piece going to be on?”

I hesitate, putting down my brush and looking at my piece. I’ve done a rough outline of the shapes, though it’s still yet to make much sense even to me.

“My mother died giving birth to me.” Grief coats me. “So, I want to paint a contrast between two lives. One with her and one without.”

“I get that.”

I look to her and find her eyes filled with sympathy.

“My mom died when I was eight. We were in a car crash, and I survived.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. ”

She waves me off. “It was a long time ago, but I’ve felt guilty for living ever since.”

It’s as if Marnie reached into my own mind and shared what she found out loud.

No one has ever understood what it meant when I spoke such feelings, and to know someone else feels the same is comforting.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

We fall into an easy conversation as we work for the rest of the hour, choosing to share a little of our pasts but mostly our love for art.

As the class starts to wrap up, Ella gives us instructions on where to put our canvases to dry, and we get to work, tidying away our supplies.

“It was great having someone to chat to.” Marnie smiles as we tidy our supply carts. “Maybe we could swap numbers or something?”

“Uh…” I no longer have a cell phone. Alexei took it after the wedding, and I’ve not been given a new one.

I try to ignore the anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach as I think of how little autonomy and freedom I actually have.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to?—”

“No! It’s not that. Sorry, I lost my phone and haven’t got a new one yet. So, why don’t you write yours down, and I’ll text when I sort out my new number?”

“Sounds good.” Marnie smiles. She scribbles down her number on a scrap piece of paper, and I tuck it into the pocket of my dress. “See you next week?”

“I’ll be here.” I offer her a genuine smile in return.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all…