M rs. Penrose was still going strong a half hour later. She had moved on to Niall's orchestra days - lots of shots of him looking uncomfortable in a tux and tails - when I finally drifted away. Tallula was squealing with laughter at something in one of the photographs and didn't notice me .

Good. There was something I needed to see .

Glancing back one more time to make sure that Tallula was still caught up in making fun of her brother's haircuts, I casually walked over to the great, sweeping staircase that dominated the huge room .

The staircase Tallula has left her sketchpad lying on .

Something about the way she was watching me as she drew her pictures. It was fucking...unsettling. I'd tried not to stare at her, but it was really hard when it seemed like every thought in her head had a corresponding expression on her face .

And her face when she'd drawn me ....

I knew she'd been drawing me, though I was pretty sure she thought she was being sneaky. Tallula didn't seem to understand that she broadcasted every feeling she had like it was playing on a movie screen across her forehead .

But what she was feeling when she was sketching me? That wasn't so apparent. I needed to know. And I wondered if I'd find the answer in the picture she'd drawn .

I leaned up against the railing and pretended to glance casually at my phone. Turning my body to the side and leaning, I scrolled through my phone with one hand while with the other I reached through the banisters .

I managed to stretch enough to be able to lift the cover of the sketchpad. I caught a glimpse of an ornate Roman column, a tufted feather, a streetscape obscured with slanting rain ....

I tucked my phone in my pocket, dispensing with the charade, and grabbed the whole book, sliding it through the banisters and into my arms .

The pages ruffled through my fingers like a slideshow. I flipped past tantalizing glimpses into the way Tallula Penrose saw things. Some sketches were rough, giant expressive shapes that took up most of the page and some that ran right off of it. Others were tiny, minutely detailed pieces that looked like they were ready to be framed right now .

I caught my breath when I got to the last page and saw a tense, vertical line. One that looked strangely like something I'd see when I looked in the mirror .

And then the book snapped closed, catching my finger inside .

"Oy!" Tallula hissed, grabbing it from me. I snatched my hand away before she torn my finger off by mistake .

"What?" I asked, sucking at my finger as I blinked down at her fury .

"That's private," she whisper-screamed. "You don't look at an artist's sketchpad ."

I shook out my hand and chuckled. "I've actually looked at a few artist's sketchpads before, babe ."

"Don't call me babe. And fine then, don't look at my sketchbook ."

I nodded. "Fair enough, I suppose." I touched the brim of an imaginary cowboy hat. "My apologies, ma'am." She hesitated, wavering for a moment like she wanted to ask me something. Her T-shirt was cut low enough for me to see that birthmark above her heart. "You're very good," I went on .

Her lips fell open and she looked over her shoulder like she was afraid someone was watching us. Like she was afraid we were doing something we shouldn't. When we were just standing here. Just talking. Nothing wrong with that at all .

She glanced back up at me. "Thanks," she said tightly .

"I like the way you see things ."

Her shoulders relaxed a little. "Drawing helps with that ."

"Seeing things ?"

"Right."

I nodded. "Like music does for your brother. And for me too I guess ."

She looked over her shoulder again at the mention of her brother and I cursed myself for even mentioning him when she was standing so close to me. Even though there was nothing wrong with what we were doing. "Right," she said. "Maybe like that." Several different thoughts flickered across her face before she seemed to settle on one that as safe to speak out loud. "My parents tried, you know," she said. "With music for me. They had dreams of us both being in the London Philharmonic ."

"Do you still play anything ?"

She shook her head. "I was very good at memorizing the pieces, but I had no musicality of my own." She smiled fondly in her brother's direction. "No wait, scratch that. I was completely awesome, best musician ever. But rather than hog all the glory, I thought I'd be a good sister and let poor stunted Niall have something he could brag about ."

I burst out laughing. "That's awfully nice of you ."

She grinned slyly. "I'm a nice girl," she said .

"Yes, you are," I told her, resisting the urge to touch her face. Instead I grinned. "You know what would be super nice of you ?"

"Hmm?"

"Letting me see that picture you drew of me ."

She clutched her sketchbook to her chest. "What picture of you ?"

She looked slightly panicked. I knew I should let it go, but something inside of me insisted. "Come on Tally," I said, moving closer to her. "I know you were drawing me ."

"No, I was drawing the group ."

I shook my head. "Fine. Later maybe ."

She shook her head. "Not a chance ."

"So you were drawing me." I smiled to have her caught .

And she knew it to. But instead of blushing, she lifted her chin defiantly. "And what if I was?" she asked. "Do you mind ?"

I shrugged. "Not at all. You said it helped you see, right ?"

"Right," she nodded .

"Well I was just wondering. Do you see anything in me ?"