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My heart plummets as Caspian turns to me, pure pain in his eyes.
The studio has been utterly destroyed.
26
CASPIAN
“Is this my fault?”
Emma stands in my kitchen, one hand holding the bunny rabbit mug of freshly poured hot coffee. Her eyes are low, her shoulders drawn in, and her stance much more reserved than normal.
Is she blaming herself for this? For the absolute carnage that ripped through my studio?
Exhaustion clings to my shoulders, weighing me down as I sit heavily in a dining chair and quietly process her words.
It’s well after midnight. We spent the past three hours talking with campus security and the police about the vandalism, mulling over the options of a disgruntled student or someone trying to get out of their exam. Years of work had been destroyed, with models dating all the way back to my first year working at the college. All of it, gone.
And yet, what hurts the most is Emma standing there taking the blame, as if this is in any way her fault. Runoff from the missing pictures if I have to take a guess. Mingling guilt and perhaps her attempt to make me feel better by taking responsibility. She’s already done more than enough by staying by my side and refusing to leave me, partly because she didn’t want to be alone.
“Emma.” I lift my head and fix her with a tired stare, wrestling with the sigh resting just below my ribs. “This, my dear, is not your fault.”
“But,” she begins, uncertainly. “What if it’s connected? What if whoever took my pictures saw you coming to help me and seized another opportunity to be an asshole and cause more trouble?”
“If it was the same person, then the responsibility of their actions lies firmly with them.” I stand slowly, taking steps toward her. “That is not on you.”
“But I called you for help.” Emma’s voice quiets the closer I get. “I took you away from your studio.”
“I would much rather have been with you than in that studio facing down some asshole intent on destroying my livelihood.” Stopping a foot away, I reach out my hand to her but I don’t make contact. As much as I crave to sink into her warm embrace, I need her to make the first move so I know it’s okay.
Emma sets down her mug and takes my hand. I weave our fingers together, gripping firmly and then I pull her close.
“Whatever creep took those pictures will come to regret it. And my studio can be repaired. I can paint more and mold more. Don’t get me wrong…” That tired sigh finally escapes me in a painful rush. “I’m pissed and upset but this is not your fault. Not even a little bit.”
“Then why do I feel so guilty?” She looks up at me through her lashes, sadness brimming in those gorgeous emerald eyes.
“Because you’re an empathetic person,” I say softly, sliding my other hand up her arm. “Because two terrible things happened tonight and you’re trying to find a connection so you can make sense of things.”
“I’m so sorry this happened. All your work…”
“It’s okay. But I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?” Emma tilts her head to the side, her lashes shining in the light from unshed tears.
“We both need a glass of wine.”
That finally pulls a smile out of Emma and she chuckles softly as I kiss her forehead. A large bottle of wine and three glasses each later, the anger of what happened has faded in my mind. Art can be replaced, and all my significant works are kept here. My main concern is Emma and who stole those pictures. Her worries are clear and justified. If those pictures get out, it won’t matter about my studio. I’ll be out of a job.
Oddly, that doesn’t concern me as much as I thought it would.
Emma yawns widely and stretches her arms above her head, emphasizing the gloriously thick curves of her body.
“Bedtime,” I decide, setting my empty glass down. “I only have one bed though, so I hope you don’t mind sharing.”
“Oh, I can take the couch if that’s easier,” Emma says, not quite catching onto the hint in my tone.
As we stand, I catch her wrist and spin her gently toward me. “I wasn’t asking.”
“Oh.” Emma’s eyes flash and a playful smirk slides across her tired lips. “Lead the way then, handsome.”
