The Artist [h.s.]

four

Carter cried in the shower every night. She hated herself for what she had done. Jacob didn't know and she wasn't ever going to tell him. He didn't deserve to feel the pain that came with knowing that he was cheated on, but she deserved to feel the guilt.

Hiding the hickeys was the hardest part. She started bringing her clothes with her into the bathroom to change after she had showered and the excuses for why she didn't want to have sex were endless.

Jacob thought it was weird, but he also knew she ran a lot of businesses and it was stressful so he didn't put too much thought to it.

Carter wanted to avoid him and work longer hours, but that would be suspicious so she bottled everything inside until she got a moment alone.

Smoke filtered through the window and into the dim morning light. She hadn't smoked since she left Harry in Paris, but the need became overwhelming during the previous weeks.

Harry hadn't tried to contact her since and she was grateful, but she was also hurt because it was clear that they both still loved one another deeply and she didn't think he would just give up like that.

A part of her wished that he was still, essentially, stalking her and another part wished that he would just stay away and move on like she was trying to.

Carter hadn't finished getting dressed and was only in her bra and underwear as she looked out and into the city. Jacob was up and getting ready for work, but she wasn't paying attention.

"Ouch. Baby, how did you get that nasty bruise on your hip?"

His voice had taken her by surprise and she jumped slightly before snuffing out her cigarette. She'd forgotten about the bruise she'd acquired from the seatbelt clip in Harry's car and internally cursed herself.

Jacob's fingers skimmed over the fading bruise carefully and she hoped that her lips weren't trembling as made something up, "Oh, that. I hit the stupid counter at work a little while back. Hurt like a bitch."

His smile was soft, his hand resting on her waist as he sponged a kiss to her neck, "You should be more careful." Jacob laughed softly before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, "When will you be back?"

Carter closed her eyes at his touch and the warm rays of sunlight that hit her exposed skin, "Hmm, about a week, give or take a few days."

She was leaving for Paris in an hour to check on another one of her shops and knock some clients out of the way. It had been too long since she had been back and she felt terrible for neglecting that shop because she was tied to the memory of when she left Harry.

Jacob pressed another kiss to her neck, "I hate it when you leave, the flat feels so empty."

His words felt empty even as he said them.

Carter turned spun around in his arms, pressing her lips to his sweetly, "Me too. I'll be back soon though. In the meantime, invite your friends over, watch some football, eat some pizza, and drink some beer. It's only empty if you let it be."

Her words were equally as empty, no matter how much she willed herself to be sincere.

. . .

Carter had just finished unpacking when a piece of paper a little bigger than an index card slid under her door.

Carter stared at it for a moment before making her way over to pick it up. Strange things that slid under your door in hotels weren't exactly good things most of the time, so she was wary as she retrieved the small card from the carpeted floor.

The back was blank, but the front was beautiful. Gold calligraphy spelled out Le chef-d'oeuvre, The Masterpiece, and beneath it was an address followed by a time.