Motivation of Memories: The Second Book of the Labors of Love Series

Internal Conflict

Genevieve's POV

We spent the rest of the day together.  We talked about everything and nothing. He showed me his art collection and promised to take me to his favorite museum. I showed him how to make one pot chicken and rice and promised to continue our little cooking lessons.

When we were finally tired, long after the moon had replaced the sun, I got up from my spot on the living room floor and made my way to the room I called mine all those month before. Under his watchful eye I examined the upgrades he had made for me. New sheets in my favorite color, a long mirror for getting ready, a vanity with a chair, so I could sit and do my hair, and work space with a brand new sewing machine in case I was ever over and wanted to keep working on things. I couldn't help but leap into his arms as I said thank you. For him the gestures were small but, as the oldest of four kids, my room at home was never mine. The twins barged in after every argument looking for a mediator and Jacklynn never slept in her own bed. It felt so nice to have a space of my own and to know he was willing to make room for me.

As I lie awake now, in the early hours of the morning I can't help but think of him. His tenderness, his kindness, and his big goofy grin. My heart beats different when he's close to me and time seems to stand still. He's the only person other than my father who's ever been able to pick me up when I'm down and he doesn't expect me to be strong, he expects me to be human. My whole life I've lived for my family even after I moved. He's inspiring me to do the things that make me happy.

He makes me happy.

My smile fades as I think of all the things I've heard about him. I can't help but hope they aren't true.

He's a flirt. Don't get your hopes up.

The second he gets you in the studio he'll make his move and then you're disposable.

Protégé is just another word for girl he wants to fuck.

Don't waste your time, girl. He's a sex addict and if you don't put out he'll find a girl who will.

Every girl he meets he tries to get with.

I haven't lived here long but his reputation precedes him. Even if I told him about my feelings and even if he addressed the rumors do I have the heart to see for myself? I'm 23, I've only dated three people and I had my first kiss like 3 years ago.

I sigh getting out of bed. I throw my new robe on and leave my room hoping new scenery will quiet my mind. I take silent steps through the hall stopping at a very familiar door. I peek inside and see him fast asleep. I smile softly before closing the door and walking away.

I make my way to the living room, throwing myself on the nearest couch. My body sinks as the couch adjusts to my body. The soft cushions embrace me as I take in all the art. Portraits of Prince and abstract paintings adorn the wall. I focus on the abstract paintings trying to make meaning of the swirls and shapes.

"Are you alright, Miss Genevieve?" Ronnie asks quietly approaching the couch.

"Yea, I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep anymore."

"Do you need anything?"

"A blanket would be nice."

"I'll get you one. Hang tight." I watch as his dark figure fades into the darkness of the house before returning my eyes to the paintings.

The mural in front of me features Prince's face. His eyes are closed and his expression is blank almost as if he's sleeping. I never noticed how sharp the contrast of his dark hair and light skin truly was. The grayscale image made his lashes, brows and facial hair stand out.