Page 39 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

Maybe I could do what Isabella did. Maybe I could let the past go, and try to accept the woman sitting in front of me.

Chapter 11

Kiryan

After dinner, I blindfolded Elena.

"What is this?" She brushed her fingers over the black silk scarf, confused, but she didn't pull it off.

"A surprise," I said.

I caught her hand before she could pull it back and led her upstairs.

The darkness stole her sense of direction, and she pressed close to me. With every step, her grip tightened. That kind of unguarded trust and dependence weighed heavy in my chest. And I... I liked it.

I took her to the far end of the south wing on the second floor.

It had used to be my mother's sunroom. A full wall of windows faced the garden, the best light in the whole house during the day.

After she died, I had the furniture cleared out. The door had stayed shut for years. Tonight, I walked back in with a woman's hand in mine.

I pushed the door open, flicked on the light, and only then untied the scarf from Elena's eyes.

"Don't open them yet." I covered her eyes with my palm. "The light is bright."

Her lashes swept my skin, a soft tickle. I waited two seconds, then slowly lifted my hand.

Elena opened her eyes and stopped in the doorway.

The room had been turned into a studio. A worktable. Storage cabinets. Everything set up. Two easels stood in front of the windows, and one of them held that unfinished mother-and-child painting. The rest of her pieces had been separated with moisture-proof paper and laid neatly on the table—no dust, not a speck.

There was enough here for her to start working right away, and enough empty space for her to make it her own.

Elena walked in with bright eyes. She touched the easel first, then slid open a cabinet. When she saw what was inside, her breath caught.

"These are my brushes and paints," she said.

"Obviously."

She turned and glared at me, but her eyes already shone wet. "I mean... you kept them safe."

I stepped in beside her and dropped a key into her palm.

"I set it up when I could these past few days. This is your studio now."

She stared down at the key for a long moment, silent.

"You don't like it?"

"Yeah, I do." She nodded, voice tight. "It is... too good. So good I don't even know what to say."

"Then don't." I tipped my chin toward the unfinished painting. "Try it. See if it works for you."

Elena pulled an old paint-splattered shirt over her dress, rolled up her sleeves, and went straight to the canvas. She mixed slate blue and warm gold, and her brush came alive.

I should've gone back to the study. I had plenty waiting on me. But I couldn't stop watching her.

She had her hazel hair twisted up messy at the back of her head. A smear of blue sat on her cheek, and she didn't even notice. When she worked, she looked focused—happy. Suddenly, all the trouble of turning this room over didn't feel like trouble at all.