Page 38
Finally, he stops in front of a pair of white double doors. Without saying a word, he pushes them open.
I freeze. “Oh…”
The word barely escapes me. The room is enormous. It’s at least twice the size of my bedroom back in Rome, every inch of it transformed into an artist’s dream.
One entire wall is made of windows, flooding the room with warm natural light. Several easels stand waiting, while shelves hold sketchbooks, brushes, palettes, and jars neatly arranged by size.
Blank canvases rest in one corner, ready to be filled, and a comfortable chair sits near the windows overlooking the gardens.
I slowly step inside, turning in a circle. It’s beautiful. No, it’s perfect.
When I told Roman I wanted an art studio, I’d imagined he’d maybe give me a corner somewhere in this enormous house. Not this.
I look back at him, still too stunned to find the right words.
“I had some basic supplies brought in,” he says. “If there’s anything else you need, we’ll get it.”
I blink at him. “You… did this for me?”
His expression softens almost imperceptibly. “You asked for an art studio.”
“So you built me one.”
“Yes,” he replies simply.
I stare at him, completely bewildered. “Why?”
His brows knit together. “Why what?”
“Why are you being so kind to me? First, you suddenly decide you want to marry me instead of my sister.” I gesture around the room. “Now you’ve given me an art studio most artists would spend their entire lives dreaming of. Why?”
“Also, when I asked for an art studio, I never told you what kind of artist I was.” My gaze drifts to the shelves lined with paints, brushes, palettes, and canvases. “I never said I painted. So… how did you know exactly what to get?”
His expression changes instantly, the smile disappearing from his face. His gaze drops briefly to the watch on his wrist.
“Sofía will finish the tour with you. I have matters that require my attention.”
After saying that, he doesn't even give me a chance to react before turning around and walking out.
“What?” I stand there in a daze, unable to understand why he had suddenly become so cold.
Did I say something wrong?
Not long after, the door opens and Sofía walks in with a warm smile. “Mr. Sokolov asked me to take over the tour.”
She shows me the rest of the house—the gardens and sunroom—but my mind keeps drifting back to Roman. One hallway catches my eye. It's locked.
“What’s down there?” I ask.
Sofía’s demeanor shifts. “You must never go down there. That part of the house is prohibited to everyone except Mr. Sokolov.”
“Why?” I press.
“That’s just how it is,” she says gently but firmly. “No one goes down there.”
Her words only make me more curious, but I decide to let it go for now. I’ll ask Roman later.
Sofía leads me to the bedroom Roman had showed me earlier, our bedroom. It’s massive and unmistakably his, dark, masculine tones with sleek modern furniture, a huge bed with black silk sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds. My things have already been brought in.
