Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Iris

Each brush stroke across the canvas takes me deeper and deeper into a state of flow. My hand moves of its own accord, in time with the soft classical music playing on the small record player in the corner. Blues and yellows, pinks and greens.

It’s a simple still life of some potted tulips sitting on the windowsill in front of me, the type of painting that i know will sell quickly. The heavier subjects can wait for now. This one just needs to earn me some cash to put toward a lawyer.

But even so, the process of making this simple painting relaxes me. Over the past few weeks, my work has suffered greatly, as evidenced by the disaster of a painting that I showed to Alice at the gallery.

Here, though, I feel… better. Here, I forget once again that ever left this little studio, that the past five years ever passed at all.

I feel… safe.

The sun begins to go down, casting vibrant golds and reds across the small room. Fat little birds chirp on the ledge outside the window, ruffling their feathers as they enjoy the warmth from the stones. Far below, I can hear the city bustling, people coming home from work for the day, kids playing in the alley before dinnertime.

Miles is running up and down the hallway, the floorboards creaking under his feet, and he’s making airplane

sounds.

Life is sweet. Simple.

That is, until I hear the front door open and shut downstairs.

I stiffen when I hear the deep timbre of Arthur’s voice echo through the house. “Hello? Anyone home?”

“Daddy!” Miles calls out, running to him.

Once, I might have gone running to him myself. I might have peppered his sharp jaw with kisses, scratching my lips on his faint stubble. I might have loosened his tie and chatted with him about our day over glasses of wine and a homemade dinner.

But that was a long time ago. And now, the thought of doing any of the things we used to do just makes me bitter.

I make my way downstairs, not because I want to see him, of course, but because Miles is calling to me now. Arthur is slipping off his leather loafers in the foyer, his briefcase in one hand and his suit jacket draped over his forearm. He looks handsome, in a perfectly polished sort of way.

He looks up when I reach the base of the stairs, and glances at my yellow cardigan–the one with the hole in it- and then down at my paint–stained hands.