Painted

Chapter 3

Sarocha led the way down a narrow path that wound through the building's courtyard gardens, away from the hum of the crowd and into a quiet, secluded space framed by jasmine and flowering vines. The night air was warm, scented with the faint sweetness of the blooms, and lights woven through the trees cast a gentle, golden glow across their path. Sarocha glanced to her side, her pulse quickening at the sight of Rebecca walking beside her, her face unreadable yet softened by the dappled light. There was an almost magnetic quality in Rebecca’s silence, in the way she seemed to hold herself at a careful distance, always one step beyond reach.

Breaking the silence, Sarocha smiled. “I have to say, I was impressed. Watching you speak tonight—it’s not often you see such composure. A rare quality, really.”

Rebecca looked over, raising an eyebrow, her lips curving slightly. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Sarocha tilted her head, returning Rebecca’s gaze with an amused glint in her eye. “Only if you’d consider accepting it. Though, I get the feeling that would be a challenge for you.”

Rebecca gave a soft laugh, low and dry. “And here I thought you prided yourself on seeing past facades. Perhaps I’m more transparent than I realized.”

Sarocha shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe, or maybe you’re just more resistant than most. You don’t take easily to flattery, do you?”

Rebecca’s eyes glinted with a hint of mischief. “Let’s just say I prefer honesty, something that can be hard to come by in these circles.”

“Honesty?” Sarocha echoed, leaning just slightly closer. “Now that’s a rarity. But if you’re accusing me of deception, I can assure you, I’m being quite genuine. Captivated, even.”

Rebecca’s lips parted slightly, though she masked it quickly with a sardonic smile. “Careful, Sarocha. That sounds dangerously close to admiration.”

“Perhaps it is,” Sarocha replied, her gaze unwavering. “Or perhaps I just enjoy a challenge.”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes, her tone laced with dry humor. “Is that all this is to you—a game?”

“Game?” Sarocha looked away with a thoughtful expression, as if seriously considering the idea. Then, a playful gleam entered her eyes. “Only if you’re playing, too.”

Rebecca shook her head, but a small smile betrayed her as she glanced down, breaking their gaze. “You really are relentless, aren’t you?”

Sarocha leaned back slightly, her expression softening as she studied Rebecca’s face, noting the delicate balance between amusement and something deeper, something vulnerable that hid just beneath Rebecca’s calm exterior. “Persistent, as I said. But I know when to stop, don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Rebecca’s gaze lifted, and for a brief second, her mask slipped, revealing a flicker of something raw, something caught between intrigue and defiance. “Uncomfortable? I think you underestimate me.”

There was a pause, an almost imperceptible shift in the air between them. Sarocha watched Rebecca closely, her confidence unwavering, though inwardly she felt the thrill of the unknown, the delicate tension in testing boundaries that neither of them had acknowledged aloud. Sarocha opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, a guest stumbled slightly, jostling against her, sending her off balance.

Sarocha stepped back instinctively, and in that single, unexpected moment, she collided with Rebecca. Rebecca’s hand shot out to steady her, fingers curling lightly around Sarocha’s arm, grounding her. Their breaths hitched as the world narrowed to just the two of them, the space between them vanishing until they were close enough to feel each other’s warmth, close enough that Sarocha could see the quick, almost imperceptible rise and fall of Rebecca’s chest.