Chapter Thirty One

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The sunlight gleamed off of her perfect skin, highlighting her stormy, grey eyes that shone with so much delight.

Happiness radiated off of her in invisible ripples, transfixed on her art. Baby strands of hair fell on the sides of her olive skin; the apples of her cheeks were rosy from being ill, but it selfishly made her all the more stunning.

Discreetly, I place a palm over my erratic heartbeat. I couldn't look away.

She tilts her head to one side, directing it at an angle that would suit her while she moves her hand fast along the pad. I suck in my lower lip, playing with that to keep my mind at the surface and not anywhere behind or below.

I somewhat pulled my gaze to her parted red lips that were so, so damn kissable. Her soft Italian accent reaches my ears, guiding my eyes up to hers.

Our eyes clash and she speaks again, slowly, my senses reach back into time that managed to slip through my mind. Again.

"Are you done, Silver?" She directs her gaze to the page in front of me; my gaze goes there too.

I nod my head slowly, needing a moment to gather my thoughts and words. She left me speechless. Tongue-tied.

"It's beautiful," She blushes, taking the book by its edges and blowing her cool breath along the paper to discard the shavings of pencil from the paper.

Her eyes took in the art that wasn't even all that good, but somehow she made it seem like it was the most incredible artwork she'd seen.

It was like that with nearly everything. She looked at everything with such admirability. And I admired that.

"—I love the orange and the green in the background," Soft murmurs fall from her, drawing me closer and closer with each sound.

"And the blend between the blues on the flower, it's so pretty."

A smile tugs up onto my lips, something uncontrollable upon me.

"You can keep it," I say, folding my hands behind my head. Her eyes snap towards me, curiosity in them.

"Really? Can you sign it?"

The sarcasm in her tone makes me laugh, really laugh. This was what I admired about her. Her sarcasm and her ability to put me in my place when needed too.

"But I am keeping it. It's too pretty for you to keep it for yourself." She gave me a sidelong glare and ripped the paper out of the book, placing it on her side of the table.

I took this chance to look at the sketch she'd spent so much time on, giving it so much of her attention too. It was ridiculous to be jealous of an object, to be so hateful to something that had no mind of its own.

But as toxic as it was, I wanted all of her attention on only me.

What she had drawn was partially coloured but realising what it had been was what drove me insane.

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