Tasting

405–The Dirty Painting

Nora:

The hot water poured over me, the steady stream creating a comforting rhythm against my skin. Each drop felt like it was melting away the tension in my muscles, soothing the knots that had been tightening all day.

I remembered my babies, and my heart ached. My eyes closed as I sank deeper into the warmth, my mind blissfully blank for the first time in hours. The steam wrapped around me like a thick, soft blanket, blocking out the world beyond this moment.

Then I heard it–the unmistakable creak of my bedroom door.

At first, I froze, the sound slicing through the calm like a knife. I held my breath, waiting and listening. Footsteps followed–heavy, purposeful, and angry.

I didn’t need to see who it was. I knew.

It was him–someone who was once known as my stepbrother.

His footsteps were always distinct, but tonight, there was something different. They felt heavier, filled with a quiet aggression that made the air feel thick. Each step was deliberate, as if he were stalking through my space with an intensity that would have unnerved anyone else.

But not me.

I didn’t feel fear. Not even a flicker of it. Instead, I exhaled slowly, turning my face up to the water again as if it could wash away what I’d done.

He was angry. That much was clear in the way he moved and how the floorboards groaned beneath his weight. He was probably waiting for me to come out so he could confront me about it. The way he had placed it in the middle of the studio made me even happier when I took it.

I turned off the water slowly, letting the silence stretch. The only sound was the drip of water from my skin onto the tile. I reached for the towel, wrapping it around myself deliberately, savoring the calm before what I knew was coming.

I stood there, listening as his footsteps stopped just outside the bathroom door, my pulse steady. Then, as I met my own reflection in the fogged–up mirror, I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me.

I was not guilty of anything. Instead of immediately leaving the bathroom, I decided to casually dry my hair and then my body, picking up a purple silk nightie that I had grabbed for the night.

It had been a while since I wore such clothes. Previously, I had only a few dresses–just two before giving birth, and one more for tasks and battles that came after. It was only recently that Brody had allowed me these “luxuries,” as everyone called them.

After I finished getting ready, I opened the door and saw Cain standing there as if he hadn’t moved at all. Our eyes connected in a brief, heated moment, and I could see a flood of emotions fill his gaze.

“So you just barge in nowadays?” I said casually, trying to get past him, but he sidestepped, blocking my path.

“Okay, now that’s rude,” I commented.

“What did you do to my painting?” he asked, his tone heavy and filled with warning.

“You mean my painting? I was the model, and I didn’t like how I posed in it. I felt exposed,” I shrugged. “Besides, I think it’s inappropriate to have someone else’s painting in the room, not to mention in the state it was in,” I watched his jaw clench. Each word I spoke seemed to fuel his anger.

“Nora! It was done with your permission. It was my property–and I had made it with-” He closed his eyes, blinking hard before opening them again, revealing how red they were as if he were trying to fight back tears.

“Daphne is staying with us. I had to get rid of it.” The moment I said that, I watched his mouth part as a gasp escaped him. I didn’t expect that reaction from him.

“You got rid of it?” His question held a hint of warning, as if he wanted me to rethink my answer.

“I burned it so Daphne wouldn’t see it and the rumors wouldn’t reach Brody’s ears,” I explained. But instead of yelling at me or saying something hurtful, he just stepped back.

There was a sea of emotions in his eyes, shocking me for a moment.

And then, without saying a word, he simply left. I remained in my spot, watching him disappear. When I walked toward the door, I looked outside to see Cain bump into Nash.

The silence thickened as Nash examined his brother.

“Are you okay?” Nash asked, his eyes steadily landing on me behind them. But then Cain rushed past him without uttering a word, and I found myself facing his concerned brother.