𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

The Price Of Persistence

Ivy thinks I'm insane.

My nanny says I'll end up alone if I keep this up.

Mum? She just wants me to be happy. Whatever that even means.

Last night's phone call runs through my mind on repeat as I hunch over the canvas, carefully restoring the fine details of yet another haunting portrait.

I'd barely mentioned Giovanni's name before Ivy launched into a tirade about getting involved with someone like him is what I need and I should stop running from it.

Meanwhile my nanny helpfully chipped in that I'll end up an eccentric old maid.

And Mum. Well, Mum just told me to follow my heart, bless her.

It's not like I had the chance to explain Giovanni fully, not with Ivy ranting and Mum making all those noncommittal mm-hmm noises that mean she's got questions she doesn't want to ask.

But none of them know what this, whatever this is feels like. Or how he makes me feel, like I'm not so crazy after all.

Ivy's words were still echoing in my mind when I felt the shift in the room's energy before I even saw her.

"You're still here?" Chiara's voice rang out. The little twat leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, all sass and no filter as always.

I glanced up from the canvas, eyebrow raised. "Still here?" I echoed, "It's called commitment babe." I shot her a smile, but Chiara just huffed and walked a few steps closer.

"Doesn't look like you've done much," She said, shrugging one shoulder then eyeing the supplies laid out in their carefully organised mess.

She was good at this. Throwing out remarks that seemed careless but in reality were perfectly aimed.

"Oh really?" I gave her a challenging look, "And you, with all your vast knowledge of Renaissance paintings would know?"

Chiara rolled her eyes dramatically. "Obviously." She climbed onto a nearby stool, finally settling in like she was planning to stay and it was then I noticed the orange nerf gun in her hand.

"Chiara." I put down my brush and sighed yet still focused on the canvas. "Get out of here with that thing. I'm busy."

"It's my house. I'm allowed anywhere."

I groaned, holding onto what little patience I had left. "It's also a room with art older than your nonna, and she's not exactly going to love nerf bullets flying at it."

She just shrugged. "Well, Nonna's not here."

She raised the gun with her tiny hands and squeezed the trigger before I could stop her. The foam dart flew past me, so wildly off target it was almost impressive. I ducked instinctively, even though I was never in real danger. But as soon as I dodged, my stomach dropped.

The dart hit the massive painting on the wall behind me.

The one I'd been practically tiptoeing around since I got here.

And of course, the dart hit it in just the right spot, and with just the wrong amount of pressure to knock it off its hook.

Time seemed to slow as the painting lurched forward, the frame tipping forward with a groan. I wanted to scream but the words lodged in my throat. I couldn't bear to watch it fall, knowing it could shatter into a thousand pieces on the marble floor.

It hit the ground with a solid thud that echoed through the room.

I blinked, letting my breath out, noticing with absolute disbelief that the frame was completely intact. Not a crack, nor a dent. Like it had been carefully placed there instead of dropped from five feet up.