I knew she was joking, but a fucking insane wave of jealousy swept through me, and I bit out, “You fuck a lot of guys?”
Aliyana’s head drew back as if I’d struck her, but I couldn’t help it. The thought of her with another guy had me spinning.
“No, I don’t!” she hissed. “Do you fuck a lot of girls?”
Feeling the tight coil begin to unwind in my gut, I tossed my still lit smoke on the floor and replied, “Not in years.”
Aliyana’s mouth dropped open and her lashes fluttered in shock. “You haven’t been with anyone in years?”
I didn’t answer her question, but my mouth tightened and my eyes narrowed.
Aliyana wasn’t deterred. Inching closer, putting her palm on my cheek, she asked, “Why? Why haven’t you been with anyone for so long? I don’t doubt you could get some serious interest.”
I shook my head, telling her without words that we weren’t going there, and releasing my arm from round her shoulder, I sat up, dragging my hand down my face.
This conversation was getting way too close to things I didn’t ever want to talk about with her.
I heard Aliyana sigh in defeat from behind me, then I felt her cheek press against my back. I closed my eyes and breathed. I more than liked the feel of her touch.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” she whispered. I felt the pain in her voice slice through my heart. “I wouldn't tell another soul anything you revealed.”
Dropping my head and finally losing the wall I kept around me at all times, I whispered back, “‘Cause I really can’t fucking stand the thought of you hating me.”
Aliyana rolled her cheek until her forehead pressed against my shoulder blade. “I could never hate you.”
“You could and you would if you knew the fucked-up shit I’ve done.”
She didn’t respond for several seconds, but then her arms slid around my waist and pulled me down to the bed. Flattening me to the mattress, hands on my shoulders, she straddled my waist, leaned down, and pressed her lips to mine. But the kiss was softer this time; she wasn’t letting me take her mouth aggressively like I had every time we’d kissed before… No, this chick was determined to make me feel, dredging up shit I’d buried down deep.
Breaking from the kiss, Aliyana put her hands on my cheeks and said, “You are worth your weight in gold, Elpi. You are someone, someone real special.”
My nostrils flared as I fought back a lump clogging up my throat. She had no fucking idea how much that meant to me. She was dead wrong. But still, those words fucking pierced me.
Shifting her legs off my waist, Aliyana jumped off the bed and wrapped a bed sheet around her chest. I didn’t move from my place on the bed, choosing to watch her as she walked about the room. Her inquisitive eyes drank in every part of my studio: my tool station, the area where I molded the clay templates of my sculptures, the desk that normally held my sketches… and finally, her eyes fixed on my current work in progress.
My stomach clenched as I watched her cautiously approach the nearly finished piece, her experienced curator eyes assessing every inch of it. And I saw every single emotion slide across her gaze: excitement, curiosity… then sadness, real gutting sadness.
As Aliyana circled the sculpture, she stopped when she reached the front, and I noted her mouth dropping open as the full effect of the sculpture came into view. Her eyes filled with water and she stepped closer to the finished young boy unsteadily holding a gun in his tiny hands, his unnaturally wide eyes crying blood and bullets. Then I watched as her gaze traveled to the twenty-something man behind him, holding the little boy’s gun arm steady, pushing him to fire.
The marble man wasn’t finished yet. His face wasn’t yet carved. I hadn’t quite brought myself to add his features. My features on that fucking guy I didn’t recognize as me no more, forcing his baby brother to kill…
I tensed, waiting for the damn storm of questions Aliyana would no doubt ask about its inspiration, but to my surprise, she simply wiped her eyes, not once glancing my way. Instead she moved to the far side of the room, to the big-ass piano Vin had sitting in here.
As Aliyana’s hand ran over the shiny black grand her head whipped round to me. “Is this yours?” she asked breathlessly.
“Vin’s,” I replied, my eyebrows furrowed with curiosity as I watched her stroke it like it was a precious stone.
Aliyana turned back to the piano and made her way to its front. She lifted the lid to reveal the keys. “It’s beautiful,” she admired in awe and looked to me again. “It’s a Steinway concert grand.”