Illicit Canvas: political romance and stand alone romance (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Colin avoids me. I see him moving towards me in the corridor, but then he notices me and turns around, walking in the opposite direction. His behaviour doesn’t bother me. He’s embarrassed and still a hypocrite in my eyes. As long as he stays away from me, I’ll be all right.

After all my workshops, I meet Ethan outside one of the galleries in the west side of the city. Today we are crossing another name off the list, getting closer to finding my father. The weather changes here in the beginning of November, and it’s cold and gloomy. The frigid air burns my cheeks, but I’m excited and anxious at the same time. Ethan is wearing a black coat with a blue scarf that suits him perfectly well. As usual, he makes me flustered when our eyes meet.
 

“Ready?” he asks, eyeing me with the same intensity.

“Yes, I am. Who is next on the list?”

“Rupert Belrose. He lives in Uccle and I don’t think it will be easy to track him down. I tried to research him before our meeting, but nothing came up.”

“Nothing?” I ask.

“Well, I didn’t find much at all. He doesn’t have a website and there are a few outdated addresses in the directory. It seems that he does business the old-fashioned way.”

My stomach makes a funny jolt and a shadow of doubt passes through me. I shut my head down, telling myself that he is the one that will know my father’s location. We take the Metro and ten minutes later we are in Uccle, another district of Brussels. Ethan points at his phone, showing me the map. It looks like Rupert Belrose lives near the Wolvendael Park.

Crisp cool wind ruffles my hair as we approach the residential area. There are a few detached houses and the one that we are aiming for has overgrown weeds and a broken entrance.
 

We walk through the gate and an older woman passing by says, “He’s not there, he moved out about a week ago.”

She is Belgian, and judging from her thick accent, probably Flemish.

“Are you talking about Rupert Belrose?” Ethan asks, stopping me. The woman has silver hair and a pleasant smile.

“Yes. An old guy, very unpleasant. I believe that he was evicted. Hasn’t paid his rent in months.”

I look at her for a moment and then decide to walk through the gate anyway, just to be sure. Another name and another failure. I can’t stand being in this vicious cycle of unknowns. Ethan stays and talks to the woman. I walk in and look around, peer through the window. Inside, the place seems empty and very untidy. It looks like Rupert hasn’t lived here for a long while. After some time Ethan joins me. I try to look like I’m not disappointed, but it’s hard to act around him.

“She confirmed that he was an art dealer. He wasn’t very well liked around here. Neighbours had been complaining about the noise in the early hours of the morning. She didn't know his new address, but she gave me the name of the estate agent. They might know more.”

I’m in turmoil. Maybe it’s the universe giving me a sign; maybe I’m not meant to find him.
 

“All right,” I say. “Can you please take me home? I have a paper that’s due next week and I need to take my mind off this stupid search.”

Studying should push me back to the place where I was an hour ago. For a split second I think that Ethan wants to embrace me, but then he just walks away. On the way to campus, I keep having this stinking feeling in my gut. What if my father is simply running away from me? Maybe he knows that I’m in Brussels. Maybe someone has been talking to him.

Ethan drops me home, telling me that we can try again in a few days. I head to the library, thinking that I really need to concentrate on my coursework. This degree is important to me. Dad screwed the good part of me and I came to Brussels to fix it. Tomorrow is a new day. I can start over.

***

“Arwen, can I talk to you for a minute?”
 

I lift my head from my conversation with a few girls from my ceramic class about Ethan’s business. Colin is standing in front of me, looking uncomfortable. The girls that I’m talking to are eyeing him with interest.

“Sorry, I’ll be back in a minute,” I tell them in French. It’s been only a few days and he already wants to talk to me, probably behaving like nothing happened. I walk to him, folding my arms over my chest.

“Whatever it is, Colin, it has to wait. I’m in the middle of something.”

“I want to apologise for how I behaved in the club. Can I see you later?” he asks. I don’t want to waste my precious time with him. I have to persuade a few girls to come with me to Ethan’s new gallery and show them the place. But it looks like Colin won’t move unless I talk to him.

“Fine, come over in the evening, but don’t expect anything. You behaved like a right prick,” I say.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later,” he adds and I get back to the girls. I glance back and watch Colin strolling away in the other direction. I don’t know why, but seeing him makes me so angry.
 

“He's hot. Who is that?” Patricia asks, leaning over, probably checking Colin out before he disappears around the corner.

“My douche ex,” I mutter. “Don’t bother. He’s immature and needs to grow up.”

Helena, Guru and Patricia bombard me with questions about Colin. I really want to show them Ethan’s gallery, so I tell them about what happened between Colin and me to gain their trust, without going into too many details. We have spoken a few times and I really want them to see what Ethan has to offer. I have seen their work and if I can get them interested in Ethan’s project, the exhibition will be even more successful.

The next class drags, but in the end I pique the girls’ interest enough and we agree to organise a trip up to Ethan’s new place soon. I’m pumped with excitement, so after doing some work I take a bus ride to the location of the property, clutching Ethan’s keys in my hand. I have a camera in my bag. During lunch, an idea popped into my mind. I intentionally kept it to myself, not talking to Ethan about it. He is so busy at work and with helping me, I think he might neglect his own aspirations.

I walk around the neighbourhood where the property is located, checking out all the pubs and restaurants nearby and snapping some random pictures. I realise that Ethan has made the right decision. His soon-to-be gallery is only ten minutes' walk from the Metro station. There is plenty of parking and bars are a few blocks away.

I reach the building and after struggling to open the door, I get inside. The room looks bigger than before, and in the bright daylight I see that the work inside has been completed to a high standard. In the middle of the floor I spot an elegant red chair that definitely wasn’t there before, and my three paintings by the wall. So Ethan was here during the week ... but I wonder why he bought the chair. It doesn’t quite fit in here. It looks odd, out of place. I don’t know why, but I feel its power, like this dead piece of furniture wants to dominate the space.

I walk around and run my fingers over the smooth material, smelling the leather. The chair looks brand new. My three paintings aren’t covered. Ethan just put them there, and I must admit that I feel proud and lighthearted seeing my work in here. For some reason I’m getting used to the idea that people will come here to look at and admire my creations.

Now I kind of understand his vision. If I bring the girls here tomorrow, they will see that it’s an excellent way to present their work. It’s the dream of every artist, and Ethan is giving them this brilliant opportunity.

I circle the room a couple of times, look out the window, and then I sit on the chair thinking about everything that’s happened since I came to Brussels—about my first meeting with Ethan, our first kiss and touch. The chair is comfortable and it makes me feel important. I reach for my phone, but it looks like I have no reception. I scroll through the screen a few times and then find my favourite song. Soon, the tune fills the space, pushing all the negative energy away. I’m alone, feeling like my mind is slowly shutting down. Involuntary thoughts about Ethan are slipping in. My body responds when he is near. No one else has that kind of effect on me, only him.

I start running my hand over my thigh, slowly at first, pretending that Ethan is here, standing on the other side of the room, watching me in silence with the same growing intensity.

I can feel the temperature of my body increasing as I move my hand to the other side. When I
 
trace my fingers over myself,
 
I control the way my body reacts. My fingertips trace the skin on my stomach and breasts. I feel hot, sweaty being in this room alone. Ethan’s hands are on me and I adore the way he’s touching me.

I inhale the cool air, closing my eyes once again, and the heat travels down, from my breasts to my toes. The slow pulsing sensation alerts my brain to do something, to ease the throbbing between my legs.

He is never going to be mine. Now I’m alone and pretending that he is here with me, standing close to the red chair. I toss my black hair behind me and unbutton my blouse a little and then my trousers.

I’m turned on thinking about it. No one is going to get in here. I locked the door, so I’m safe doing whatever I please. I touch my own breasts and start playing with my erect nipples. My skin feels warm and desire settles deep in my lower belly. I pinch and circle my fingers over it, imagining Ethan’s tongue doing all these wonderful things to me.
 

I arch my neck, breathing heavily, and trace my hand down to the hem of my knickers. I’m wet, I can feel my spiking heartbeat. The tension rises and when my fingers move over the pulsing warmth, it feels good. My breathing speeds up when I keep rubbing faster over my mound. It’s been so long since anyone touched me this way.

The throbbing increases and I arch my whole body, trying to shut down my brain and just enjoy this. Warmth slams into me and I slip one finger inside me, to the wetness. Ethan is a coward. This could have gone differently. Our attraction is trying to escape the cage we have locked it into, but we only need to release it. No one needs to know.

 
I can’t get hold of Arwen. Her phone is going to voicemail. A couple of days ago, I bought an expensive red chair. It was an impulse buy, something that I always liked but never thought it would fit into my apartment. When I was staring at it in the shop, I thought that it would look great in the gallery.

Last night I left it there, along with Arwen’s paintings. After Arwen showed me what she created, I needed to show them to another pair of eyes, so I took a picture and sent it to Alain. It was one innocent email. Alain was ready to buy her reproduction, and I needed to know if he’d react the same way if I showed him her other stuff. Surprisingly, he came back to me straight away, but requested to see the originals.

I manage to get out of work early. I have no more than four weeks before the opening. Alain wants to see me in an hour and the paintings are in the gallery, so I need to pick them up.

I tell my assistant to call me if she has something important to discuss; otherwise, I make myself unavailable for the rest of the day. The traffic is light today, and I manage to arrive outside my property twenty-five minutes later. Arwen took another set of keys. She has some ideas and I wonder what she is planning.

I reach my floor and fiddle with the lock. I make a mental note to replace it later. I don’t have much time. Alain lives on the other side of town, and with traffic I’m already running late. I step through the door and stop. Frozen and completely disoriented, I stand there, thinking that I’m in my own dream. It’s a hallucination, a mirage. Arwen is sitting on the chair and she is touching herself, moaning.

I swallow hard, afraid to move or do anything. I hear music, a slow tune. Arwen isn’t even aware that I’m in the room. Her eyes are closed and her hand is moving in and out down between her legs. She lets out a whimper and I feel my manhood strain in my trousers. I have never in my life seen anything more arousing.

Arwen’s moans are echoing in the room and I don’t want to move. I want to keep watching her; her rosy cheeks, her tense body. The blazing heat boils my blood and my thoughts race away. My breath comes out in ragged pants. I’m so hard right now and so turned on that I can barely stand straight. Her hand keeps moving up and down and I can see that she is going to come at any moment.

My blood rushes in my ears. I feel her perfume, the sweet nectar of her sex. My heart pounds and I push my legs forward, breaking all the rules.

“Arwen,” I say loudly enough. Her eyes find mine and for a split second I think that she is going to stop. She doesn’t; instead, her eyes lock with mine.

Oh my sweet God, her mouth parts and she keeps stroking herself more intensely. Then she comes right in front of me, arching her head away and screaming with pleasure. Her chest rises and falls, then she looks at me again. I give myself five seconds to decide what to do, but after about three I’m kneeling beside her. “I want you, Arwen, and I’m not ashamed of it.”

Then I kiss her. It’s not a soft and gentle kiss, it’s strong and daring, in the moment. Once I’m there I know that I won’t stop.

“Oh fuck, Ethan, I can’t do this anymore. Fuck me, make love to me, whatever, just don’t let go of me.”