Anti Heiress

Chapter 11

Damon watches me unroll my paintbrushes. He looks at me with hesitation, as if he wants to say something.  Perhaps he's going to tell me to make him appear thinner.

"Quite the collection you have," he comments.

"They were a birthday present from Arman." I turn around finally. Damon dwarfs the cushioned stool he sits on. The jewels on his jacket catch the sunlight and reflect colors around the room. The floor shimmers like a running river, or what one used to look like, I suppose.

Damon nods. "I haven't had a portrait made in years." He gives me another uneasy smile. The sunlight highlights the deep wrinkles in his face. He looks slightly less worn than Arman, but they both look older than most men their age. My father was fat but he still had his youthful looks, probably since he was the cause of everyone's stress.

"Wouldn't you want a larger one, then?" I ask. The larger the portrait is, the longer it will take to make, and that gives me an excuse to not be cooped up in the castle all day. I wonder how Malissa and Talise are faring. They're probably on opposite ends ignoring one another.

"This is to show Suvia a sample of your work. She's picky about her art," Damon explains. Hopefully, she likes it. I'd like to return.  If the letters we've exchanged over the past couple days are an indication, Damon might be a great friend or mentor. I've missed that since leaving the palace. Malissa and Talise are wonderful, but they aren't Arman. 

I pick up a stick of charcoal and sit opposite Damon. I adjust my easel once I realize I can't see half his meaty face. "Then I musn't disappoint her. Where is she?"

"Visiting friends," Damon explains. "Which means she's probably going to come home with a cartload of jewelry." He laughs and a warm blush rises to his cheeks. I love how much he loves her.

We fall into a comfortable silence. I can tell Damon wasn't lying about how long it's been since he's had a portrait made. He bounces his leg and wrings his knuckles like sitting still is impossible. He stares at me more than I look at him, and I'm the one drawing his picture.

Damon clears his throat. "Making portraits is a fine business. I've asked around and there aren't many portraitists here. I could connect you to some people who would love to have their portraits made."

I smile, thinking of my promise to Malissa that I could make a life for us. "That would be wonderful. They wouldn't recognize me?"

"Most of these men have never set foot in the palace. And you've never left," Damon points out.

"Now I have."

Damon lets that hearty laugh of his loose. "How does the outside world look, Aros?"

I shrug. "I've hardly seen it," I remind him. "But I suppose if the painting goes well, then Malissa and I could see it." We could leave the castle now. If it weren't for Talise. Earning more money can't hurt, and neither can learning how to live when it isn't everyone's duty to cater to me.

Damon plants his boots firmly on the ground. "You and Malissa appear especially fond of one another." The question is apparent in his voice."

"She was my lady." I keep my eyes on the canvas. 

Damon cracks his knuckles loudly. "In my time at the palace, I saw quite a few relationships form between lords and their valets and things of the like. And in your case, with such a poor relationship with your father and no other friends, it's logical, almost expected to require-"

"I love Malissa for who she is," I argue. "I'm not some old noble looking to corrupt a young boy. I've never forced her to have a relationship with me." I'm sure Damon means the best, but he's hooked onto a deep insecurity of mine.