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I shake my head, swiveling on my heel. "Well, I'll be in the living room, after you see that I'm righ—"
A gasp rings down the hallway, lurching my heart, compelling me to turn back around, until I realize what she's doing... My lips thin. "Yeah, yeah, okay, Mei. You almost got me. I know there's nothing but dust in there."
When she doesn't respond, I sigh and whirl around, only to find her faced away from me, stuck in the doorway at the end of the hall, frozen, like a reflection of myself not long ago in my own closet. I cock my head suspiciously, marching toward her, positive I'm seconds from her Aha! Gotcha.
"What'd you find?" I ask, earning myself more silence, until I'm a foot from the doorframe, with anticipation coursing through my veins for reasons I can't explain, that I hear her voice. So breathless, I nearly miss it.
"Our missing artist."
What? Missing artist? I exhale sharply. Now she's speaking in riddles, thinking she's some—
Oh...
I switch on the brakes, my pace grinding to an abrupt stop, shoulder-to-shoulder with her, as a room like no other in this apartment comes into view.
Wowwww...
Colors... I've never seen so many colors...
"Our missing artist," I breathe.
Moonlight streams through an oval skylight, cascading onto the countless canvases below, scattered across the room. They stand atop wooden easels, lean up against the wall in stacks, and lie along the ground.
Unsure if Mei will ever break her hypnosis, after stumbling upon a modern-day Picasso's art studio, I motion my way inside, wary of my steps, as I inspect each painting, one by one, beneath the faint light.
Paint covers the entire canvas of some, with a glossy finish sealed over top, others are merely pencil sketches, while most lie somewhere in-between. Works in progress, clearly under the skill of an artistic savant, who seems to carry an appreciation for everyday life, for scenarios or people one may discover while walking the city streets.
Like dining in quaint restaurants, or exploring the grounds of Central Park. Until I reach the far wall, that is, where I discover a new collection that, even to my untrained eye, unmistakably shares a resemblance to the Victorian painting in the living room.
Could these really all be from Hayden?
I've never caught him drawing or participating in any art clubs during school, but why else would this studio exist...? It's clear that one artist is responsible for all this, as well as the majority of the paintings in the penthouse, given their similar styles.
Except, there's no way of knowing for sure, since none of the pieces are signed, not even the finished ones, just like the painting in the living room.
If Hayden is this talented, why wouldn't he sign his own—
My head whips to Mei, who is finally searching about, as the faintest of noises trickles into the studio. A door shutting, deep inside the penthouse. Our eyes connect, hers shimmering with wonder and mine shadowed with unease.
"Okay, act natural. We'll say we—"
"We?" she giggles, too loud for my liking. "Girl, please. You're the one who's gotta go put a straight face on for your genius of a fake boyfriend. As for me, the service wing's got an elevator. I'll just slip through that." She winks on her way out the door. "See you tomorrow, Cinderella."
I blink rapidly, utterly stunned. Why I am, exactly, I'm not so sure. I tell myself it's because she essentially just equated herself to my fairy godmother, who's sending me off to the ball with a whole new look, instead of the real reason.
The occurrence that's more shocking than me slipping on a pair of heels—though they're not glass, mind you—an event rarer than lightning striking in the exact two places, a chance phenomenon encroaching on the ledge not of improbability... but impossibility...
Someone thinks Hayden Kingston is a genius.
TWENTY-TWO
HAYDEN
Weaving through the crowd of partygoers, I press my phone to one ear, struggling to hear Juliana's voice amidst the music thumping from the DJ booth next to the pool.
"I still don't understand why I have to arrive late to a party, when I live in the same house.
"HEY, MANNNNN."
