Mine for a Moment

The edges of my lips turn up as I place my easel on the balcony of my room in an adorable bed-and-breakfast in Rome. It isn’t quite a smile, but my heart feels a little less heavy today. It’s been weeks, and still, I haven’t stopped thinking about Archer for more than a few moments. Everything I do reminds me of him, and little pieces of him are in every painting I’ve created. He’s become my muse, and he doesn’t even know it.

My heartache eases just a touch as a familiar scene begins to take form on my canvas. The memory makes my stomach flutter, and I sigh as I paint yet another piece for my popular Lovers collection. I started creating videos of my painting process, and they’ve gone so viral that all my work sold out quicker than I could’ve imagined, and the demand is higher than I ever thought would be possible.

This time, I’m painting silk sheets, red tulips, and messy hair, laughter and playfulness meeting bold provocation and sensuality. It’s us. The very best parts of us.

My hand slips when my phone begins to buzz, and I take a steadying breath as I reach for it, bracing myself for what I know I’ll find. Tyra. I paste on a smile before accepting the video call and placing my phone on the windowsill, so she can see me easily.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says, smiling across my screen. “How is my favorite girl doing?” she asks, positioning her phone on the edge of Archer’s sofa. I’ve gotten a bit more used to it, but her familiarity with his home still hurts every single time. “Tell me all about Rome.”

It’s odd how I’m filled with both joy and sorrow at the sight of her. Seeing how well she’s doing now makes it all worth it, but I’m trying my best not to think too hard of the implications of it all and what Archer is doing to make her look like that. “Rome is wonderful,” I tell her, genuine delight in my voice. “Truly the best ice cream I’ve ever had. Honestly, I might just stay here for the ice cream alone.”

She laughs, and I stare at her in disbelief. It took weeks for her to even start smiling, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear her laughter again, yet here she is, the same honorary older sister I thought I’d lost forever. I knew leaving was the right thing to do, but it hurts to wonder how Archer put that smile back on her face.

“You can’t stay,” she says, grinning. “I already miss you too much as it is, and I think both Ezra and Archer might actually cry if you so much as joked about it. They miss you too.”

My smile slips a fraction at the sound of his name, and I look down. I don’t miss the possessive tone, and it hurts more than she’ll ever know. When I first left, Archer tried calling me every day, but gradually, those calls and texts started to come every few days, until eventually, they stopped. I knew they would, and I knew it was for the best, but even so, I find myself startling a little each time my phone buzzes, in hopes that it’s him.

“Anyway, tell me about your paintings. I want to hear everything!”

I glance back at my canvas, debilitating shame coursing through me when I realize that I was painting someone that never should’ve been mine, not even for a moment. I have no doubt that it’s all in the past for him, a sordid affair he’d rather forget about. Yet here I am, painting our secrets for the world to see. What is it I’m trying to accomplish? Is it truly just a form of therapy, or was I looking for a reaction I’ll never get?

“I sold every single one of them,” I tell her, my voice trembling. “For far higher prices than I ever thought possible and far quicker than I expected.”

She gasps excitedly, and I take in the pure pride and joy on her face. Her love for me is clear as day, and it’d kill me if she ever looked at me with disappointment and betrayal. I never should’ve done what I did.

“Did you tell your mom about that?” she asks carefully.

I smile ruefully. “No,” I murmur, unable to hide my disappointment. “She still won’t speak to me. I just…I just don’t get it. I’m making more now than I would have as a junior at any firm. It’s not like I’m a starving artist, like she thought I’d be, so why can’t she—”

“Give it time,” Tyra says, her tone reassuring. “Sometimes it’s hard, you know? To admit that you were wrong without your pride getting hurt. Maybe that’s all it is, Ser.”

I nod and pick up my brush, suddenly unable to paint. The same scene that soothed my aching heart just moments ago now sickens me. What was I thinking, painting Archer and me together like that? No one would know it’s us, but he would. He’d know, and he’d hate it. He wouldn’t want any reminders of us to exist, and that’s exactly what this is.

“Anyway, I found out something super interesting,” she says.

I raise a brow as I begin to clean my brushes. “What’s that?”

“Apparently, there’s this artist called The Muse.”

My heart stops, and my gaze cuts to hers. “Oh yeah?”

She smiles knowingly, adoration in her eyes. “Yeah. Ezra told me about The Muse when I asked about the ballerina painting in Archer’s living room, so I looked into them. I joined a couple of Muse fan groups, and I started to notice something very interesting. The Muse seems to have been traveling through Europe, painting on the walls of small mom-and-pop stores that need support. Each of those paintings then draw a ton of new customers into small towns and the stores surrounding it, and dozens of businesses that would’ve closed manage to survive. All because of The Muse. The interesting part is that they’ve been in all the same cities you’ve been in.”

I stare at her wide-eyed, unsure what to say. “That’s…that’s very interesting indeed.”

There’s something in her eyes I can’t quite decipher, and it makes my heart beat a little faster, adrenaline rushing through me. “Well, if I were The Muse, I’d start putting some of my work up for auction anonymously. Muse is clearly trying to do some good in the world, and just imagine how much money one of those paintings could raise. Muse would pretty much instantly be financially independent, proving everyone who never believed in them wrong, while being able to donate as much as they’d like.”

I nod, my heart thundering in my chest. “That would never even have occurred to me,” I murmur. She’s always motivated me this way, helping me think of ways to someday turn this into a career, all the while supporting me and encouraging me not to give up. She’s always been my biggest supporter, and she was the one who gave me my first few high-quality paintbrushes. She bought them for me with her first paycheck. “Tell me. What else would you do if you were The Muse?”

She looks away for a moment, her expression unreadable. “God, I’d give the world to be The Muse,” she says, her voice soft. When she turns to face me again, her sweet smile is back in place, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’d follow my dreams, Serenity. All of them. I’d chase my own happiness, regardless of the consequences.”

I can’t decipher what she’s trying to say, but I know Tyra well enough to know there’s a hidden meaning in her words. “What—” I begin to ask, only to be interrupted by the sound of Archer’s voice.

“Oh, yay, you’re home early!” she says, looking up.

My heart begins to race, and my hands instantly become clammy as I stare at my screen, my entire body reacting to him, even though I can’t see him. From what I can tell, he’s standing in front of her, the back of her phone to him.Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

“You said you weren’t having a good day, so I brought you that lemon tart you always loved,” he tells her, and the tiny sliver of hope I’d been holding on to shatters.

“From that little bakery on the other side of town?” she asks, her whole face lighting up as she seems to reach for it, pulling a small cardboard box to her chest. “You went all the way there for me?”

“Of course,” he says, his voice soft, filled with the same affection I’d grown used to. “Do you think you’re up for a walk today? The weather is really nice, and if we’re lucky, some random strangers might let you pet their dog at the park.”

I swallow hard and wring my hands, unsure what to do or say. She always calls me while he’s at work, so I’ve never found myself in this situation before. “Hey, um, I need to go,” I say, my voice breaking. It’s clear Tyra forgot all about me the second he walked in. He’s still her whole world, like he always has been.

She looks at me and reaches for her phone. “Oh, say hi to Archer before you go!” she says, before pulling him closer and into the frame.

I watch as he realizes that I overheard their conversation, and the guilt in his eyes wrecks me. “Hi,” he says, and I inhale shakily, taking him in. He’s wearing the navy suit I love, and he looks like he’d rather sink through the floor than talk to me.

“Hi,” I murmur, each shard of my broken heart cutting deeper as he stares at me, clearly at a loss for words. We used to talk for hours even before we ever got together, and now there’s nothing left for us to say.

“Um, well, have fun at the park,” I tell him, trying my hardest to force a smile. “And enjoy the lemon tart.”

His eyes flutter closed, but not before I see the regret in them. “Serenity,” he says, in that same way he used to, like my name is a prayer, a vow. I take one more look at him and end the call, only to be faced with the contours of his face on my canvas.

He’s moved on, but here I am, clinging to every precious memory we made. How do I forget, like he has?