When Christian left, Delilah shut the door to the studio and sank to the ground, her back to the wall. What in the world had just happened?

When she woke up this morning, it was a normal day. She’d been concerned with things like making sure Annie had what she needed for school, that something was planned for dinner, that Ethan had finished his homework. There had also been Annie’s question about her father which, now, seemed crazily ironic given that he’d just walked out of her studio.

That was just hours ago. Now, she was faced with a huge commission, and somehow, Christian had put himself back into her life. She hadn’t wanted to let him in. The pain of his rejection from years ago was still there. And now that Annie was part of the picture, she didn’t want him to find out. What if her boss or someone in the gallery mentioned that she had a daughter? How would she keep Annie safe from his lifestyle? She couldn’t even manage to keep herself safe from his grasp.

The way he’d talked to her, manipulating without outright threatening, flirting and complimenting without emotion in his face. It was all just games. She hated that. This was why she’d avoided dating. She didn’t need the hassle that came with it. And in a matter of twenty minutes, he’d flipped everything in her world upside down. How did he manage to do that?

She moved to her desk to take notes on what they’d discussed. There wasn’t much to write down. He wanted her to have complete freedom over the project. He’d made a few stipulations. He wanted the piece to be big—four feet tall by eight feet wide. He preferred limited vulgarity—which she didn’t do anyhow. And that was all he’d said. When she’d asked what tone or mood he wanted the painting to express, he told her to paint what she felt.

She’d never had a commission with so few instructions. Usually, the opposite was true. Most artists despised commissions—even if they always took them because the money was good—because they were often very restricting. She’d had one where an older couple wanted a certain type of tree in a particular setting, with a very specific mood, tone, and color palette. They’d given her so many instructions, she’d felt like she was completing a paint-by-number piece. But they’d loved it and paid well, so that was that. With Christian, however, it was the total opposite. She was as free as when she walked into her studio and let her brush fly, doing its own thing.

She jotted a few sketches of initial ideas, but they didn’t seem right. She had to think more about Christian and what his nature was. She wanted that to reflect in the piece. Only problem was, she had to think more about Christian to do it. And she didn’t want to think about him.

He was far too attractive for this. If only he’d gotten ugly. Horribly disfigured in a knife fight or something like that. Something that would make her not so attracted to him. But no, he was even hotter than before. She thought of her old coworker, Sophie, and almost laughed. What would Sophie say about him now?

When he’d walked in, once she got over the initial shock, it was like her body woke up after sleeping for seven years. She hadn’t felt desire so strong since the last time they were together. Even now, she was warm with the thoughts. Images of them together kept sneaking back into her mind at the worst times.

Her boss came to see her later that day. “How did everything go?”

“Good. He’s actually an old friend, so it was nice to see him.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” she asked.

“Why he wanted you to paint at his home.”

“At his home?”

“Did you not read the contract?”

She snatched the paper from her desk and looked at the box marked “commission location.” The only time this box was used was for pieces painted on walls or buildings, where the art had to be done on location. For pieces on canvas, there was never a location. The artist could work in the gallery’s studio or in any location they saw fit, so long as the piece could be shown to the client upon request. Having a requirement to paint on canvas at a certain location was highly unusual.

“I missed that part. I guess that’s why.” She forced a smile.

“What is he having you paint?”

“What I feel.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that his only instruction?”

“He doesn’t want anything vulgar, and he wants it big.”

“Let me know if you need any help.”

“Thanks.”

He’d gotten another thing over on her and she hadn’t even known it. Why in the world would he require her to paint it at his home? This must be another reason that her boss told her to focus on this project. She couldn’t take a break to go do gallery work like a normal project. She’d be out of the building and unavailable.

She was nervous when she headed to his home for their first appointment. Her phone led her through the neighborhood of huge, new houses. He had warned her about the construction going on. Apparently, this was a new house, and he’d only moved in recently. Which meant he was back in the area. She didn’t love that fact, either.

She turned into the biggest mansion on the block. Of course this was where he lived. In a place much, much too large for one single man. But then another thought hit her. Maybe he wasn’t single. He hadn’t been wearing a ring, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married or with someone he wasn’t married to. What if she walked inside and was greeted by a handful of kids that looked half like Annie?

Her stomach turned as she approached the front door. Before she could knock, a woman opened the door. She was older, wearing a uniform, and greeted her warmly.

“Welcome, Ms. Argentums. Mr. Ruiz asked me to show you to the studio when you arrived. He’s tied up at the moment but will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

She followed the housekeeper to a room full of natural light. It was the ideal studio. She couldn’t have custom built it any better.

“This is your work space,” the woman explained. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.”

“Mr. Ruiz will be in to see you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

The woman left and Delilah set up her things. The canvas was waiting for her, already on an easel. He’d had a table placed beside it. Perfect for her paints. She’d forgotten that he’d studied art. He was more into architecture, though. She wondered if he’d had a part in building this house. It was beautiful. She hadn’t seen much of it, but it was open and bright, full of unique curves and welcoming spaces. If he hadn’t designed it, he’d found someone talented to.

Once she had her things set up, she wandered around the space, getting a feel for it. She would have to find out where the piece would go once it was complete. That would help her decide what to paint. So far, she hadn’t much idea. She was hoping to be inspired once she got here.

After many minutes, he came in, looking stunning in a gray suit.

“Good to see you, Delilah.” He gave her a quick hug. “What can I do to make this space what you need?”

“It’s perfect already,” she said. “Did you design it? And the house?”

He looked somewhat embarrassed at this question. She wasn’t sure why.

“I had a part in it, yes.”

A grin spread across her face. “So you did find a way to fulfill your dreams after all. It’s a truly beautiful house.”

He pressed his lips together. “Thanks.”

“One thing I would like is to see where the piece will end up. I want to get a feel for it and let that inspire the work.”

“Of course.”

He led through the house to an office. This space, too, was much lighter and open than an office usually was. Giant picture windows looked out over trees and a stream. It was a peaceful place to work. Funny he should build a house like this when his chosen work was so unpeaceful. This was the house of an artist, not a mobster.

“Here.” He indicated the wall beside the wall of windows.

She took mental notes. There would be a lot of light. A lot of space. It was a large wall and nothing sat against it. On the opposite wall was a line of bookshelves. No furniture touched the walls. How refreshing. Her own home was so crammed that things were smashed against walls and in every nook available. Very much the opposite of this space. And it was why she so often worked at the gallery studio. There just wasn’t the room to paint at home.

The wall was half empty. The other half contained a handful of framed photos. His parents, his parents with him as a child, then as an adult—probably the last photo he had of the three of them together. As she gazed at the photos, she finally got the wave of inspiration she needed.

“Your mother was beautiful.”

He came to stand beside her and look at the photos with her. “Thank you.”

“It’s easy to see where you got your good looks. They should have had lots of kids.”

“I don’t think they even wanted me. I guess if I’d been a girl, they might have had more. Kept going until they had someone to carry on the name and the family business.”

She cringed inwardly at the mention of the family business. Her own daughter was technically part of that family. But she would make sure that Annie stayed far away from this life.

“You’re not married?” she asked. Might as well just get it out there.

“No.”

“No kids?”

“No.”

When he said this, a wave of guilt formed a rock in her stomach. He did have kids, he just didn’t know it. Why had she even asked that? She quickly changed the subject. The last thing she wanted was for him to ask her these same questions.

“Did you have any other ideas about the painting?” she asked.

“I told you. Whatever you feel.”

“I think I have an idea.”

“Would you like to get started?” he asked.

“Sure.”

She followed him back to the studio, thinking about the painting as she admired the house.

“Can I ask you something?” she said when they reached the studio.

“Of course.”

“I remember you not getting along well with your father. You seemed closer to your mother.”

“Is there a question in that?” he asked.

“Well, their photos are the only ones I’ve seen hanging up. I wondered if I was wrong about your feelings about your father?”

“We weren’t very close, no. He didn’t support me in what I wanted, if you remember.”

“I do. He’s why you dropped out of school.”

“Part of the reason why, yes. But he was still my father. Even with all his flaws and the issues we had, he was there for my whole life. He and my mother are my family. My only family. I have those photos to remind me of that. The last time I had a family. The last time I was happy, really.”

Delilah couldn’t speak. His words cut her. Annie hadn’t had her father for her whole life. She didn’t even have him now. Christian did have a family, he just wasn’t part of it. And clearly, it affected him. He seemed lonely.

“Do you live here alone?” she asked.

“Of course not.”

“Oh.” Then she’d been wrong about everything.

“You met my housekeeper.”

“Yes.”

“She lives here. As does my primary security guard and my personal chef.”

“It’s just you and your staff then?” Maybe she hadn’t been so off after all.

“There is no one else, Delilah.”

The way he said it sent chills through her. It was almost like a promise. He had no one but her, and he would keep it that way. That’s not what she wanted from him, though. She couldn’t be part of his life. Not if he was still in the mob and doing all that came with it.

“Have you thought any more about going off on your own?” she asked. “Starting your own business with properties like you wanted?”

“I own many properties.”

“But I mean… Are you still…?”

“In the mafia?”

She nodded.

“It’s not something a person gets out of.”

She nodded again. “I guess I should get to work then and leave you to it.”

He gave her a sad smile and left the room.

She knew exactly what she was going to paint. She sat to do a quick sketch to get the composition right, then began.