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I cross the room to take a seat at my easel where my current work in progress is waiting for me.
It’s a portrait that I started a few days ago, and it’s really starting to take shape.
Grabbing the tubes of paint I’ll need, I load up my palette before taking a seat on the wooden stool and getting to work.
I must not have been working for more than half an hour before the skin on the back of my neck prickles. I sigh and put down my paintbrush.
“What are you doing here?” I glance over my shoulder to where Alexei leans in the doorway.
He’s wearing his usual white shirt and black pants, despite the hour.
Perhaps I was wrong, and he wasn’t in his room at all.
“I saw the light was on.” He pushes off the doorframe.
I quickly turn back around to avoid his gaze, picking up my paintbrush and dipping it into the white acrylic.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I’ve been in my study.”
“Do you ever sleep?”
“Do you?”
“I used to…” I mutter.
Alexei is quiet for a moment, so I continue to work quietly, adding some white detailing to my portrait.
“That’s really amazing. She’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“She looks like you.” My chest tightens as I add some white to the eyes.
“That’s my mother.” a lump forms in my throat. “Everyone always says that my father gave me his eyes, but the rest is all her. I had this picture of her beside my bed, and I wanted to recreate it. I never want to forget even if pictures are the only memories I have.” I don’t know why I say it, but the knot in my chest loosens just a touch as I talk.
“You never met her.” It’s not a question.
I shake my head, swallowing down the lump in my throat.
“She died giving birth to me.” My voice noticeably cracks as I speak the words out loud, but I don’t want to stop. “So no, I never met her.”
“And your dad didn’t remarry?” Alexei moves to stand beside me, and the heat radiating from his body surrounds me as he towers over me.
I almost lean into him, craving some connection as I think about the greatest loss in my life.
“She was the love of his life.” I close my eyes for a second. “And I took her away from him.”
The words spill from my mouth before I have a chance to stop them.
“Bianca…”
“It’s okay.” I shake my head. “I know my father loves me. But I know I also make him feel sad because every time he looks at me, he sees her.”
“You are not responsible.”
“It’s hard not to feel like it.”
