My lips part and I shift my eyes to his. “Wow.”
“Told you.”
His smug expression makes me want to pinch him, but I don’t. Instead, I roll my eyes while waving the hand not in his, in front of me while fighting back a giggle. “I definitely see.”
“But are you ready?” He picks up a leather-bound notebook and a set of mechanical pencils, the same ones I have at home. All the while my hand remains in his, he refuses to let go or doesn’t notice. I’ll also be damned if I tell him. “The yellow anaconda should be feeding soon.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, even though by now I shouldn’t be surprised. “We get to see that?”
He nods, his amusement clear to see. “Two words.”
“Private tour?”
“More like date 101.”
“The 101 of that answer isn’t a word.”
Even his careless shrug is attractive. “Well, I’m treating it as one.”
“Then lead the way, Mr. 101. Seems you’re in charge today.” My sass earns me a wink and then we’re walking, his body always close to mine as we make our way to the serpent area. It’s large and my eyes keep skimming between the different species, taking in their colors and lengths—the patterns that set the venomous apart from their possible harmless counterpart.
Some glass enclosures are larger than others, but when we reach the anacondas, I’m in awe.
Completely enthralled and I don’t realize I’m stepping forward, almost standing against the thick glass, until the animal's head snaps up and our eyes meet. It’s curious. Its large body is half lying, lazily, on the shallow water surrounding a rock formation meant to mimic a wild setting.
No coiling. No sticking its tongue out.
Instead, the animal lowers its head while Theo wraps an arm around my shoulder. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. You want me to grab you a chair?”
“No.” I can’t look away from this animal. So much power. So much strength. And yet, right now it seems docile while keeping those dark eyes set on us. Why am I not afraid? “Do you know what they feed it?”
“From my understanding it’s rodents and rabbits. All pre-killed before being put in the enclosure.” And right on cue, a small door opens, and a metal claw-like stick appears holding a limp rabbit from its grip. The animal is plump, probably fattened up for the snake, and yet the anaconda stays in place.
They drop the rabbit near the water's edge, causing a small splash. And that does catch its attention, the large snake striking before the pole used to feed exits. Its mouth opens, a lightning-fast move before locking in place and the coiling begins. Tighter. Tighter. It’s morbid to watch, but my fascination outweighs the disturbing sight and I find myself sketching before he begins to swallow.
My drawing is of a proud animal, head up high and eyes straight ahead. It’s unafraid. Hungry.
“That’s amazing, Gabriella,” Theodore’s voice comes from beside me, his lips near my temple. “Very detailed.”
Turning to look at him, I lift my head and almost gasp at how close we are. Our lips are almost touching, and heat spreads across my cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Will that be one of the paintings?”
“I think so.” My eyes flick to the animal. I’m a little nervous having him so close, but look away just as quick. The animal is mid bite now, and it’s a grotesque sight. “How about another exhibit?”
His chuckle fills the space. “More reptiles? Or how about we head toward the ape area.” I love gorillas, but there is another animal I’d rather see more.
“How about a big cat instead?”
“A jaguar?”
“Please.”
“I’m here to please you, sweetheart.” Heat flashes in his eyes, and they darken for a moment—the length of time it takes a person to blink, before it’s gone—and I’m left wondering if I ever saw it. “All you ever have to do is ask.”
“No matter the request?” I ask, and the room goes from freezing cold to hot. My body reacts, nipples tightening at the possible meaning, even though his expression doesn’t give anything away. “That might be a dangerous offer, Mr. Astor.”
“It is, but I’m more than prepared to pay.” Then I’m being pulled out of the snake encounter and we’re walking toward an open-air area that houses the jungle cat in question. He doesn’t say anything and neither do I, but the words still hang in the air.
They make me smile. They make butterflies appear in my stomach.
“Ready to have your mind blown again?” he says, taking me out of my thoughts and right back into a present where I’m in front of a beautiful animal with this gorgeous man beside me. How did I miss us stopping in front of the glass? But more than that, the jaguar in question is standing near the glass lying down and licking his paw without a care in the world. “Meet the real king of the jungle, Miss Moore. He’s been waiting to greet you.”
22
Gabriella
“A
voiding me now, Gabriella. How mature of you.” Elise says just as I lock my front door a few days later. I’ve been holed up inside my studio for seventy-two hours since getting back from the dictionary equivalent of a perfect date. That amazing day where Theodore blew my mind throughout, always so attentive—making sure I had everything at my disposal to brainstorm my next line of paintings for his gallery.
Moreover, I’ve also been busy getting the base coat done for each. They’ll fall within the same scheme: dark with a gradient effect that will end with the darkest shade at the bottom and that new tone I’d found at the craft store, creating a halo effect.
So far, they’re perfect after the initial trials—a few pieces that looked horrendously lifeless no matter which way I attempted to add some vibrancy through shades of dark blues and purples. My mind wasn’t in the right place that first night back, still dealing with the insanity my life has become, and it took a binge-watching session of old-school cartoons to clear my head.
Now, the hint of luminescence coming through within the darkened room and strategic lighting I’ve mock-placed for that purpose jump out of the canvas, depicting a jungle-inspired night with stars on the horizon in the shape of my favorite astrology signs. They’ve kept me occupied, consumed, and I’ve ignored the outside world for my work
Not a first for me, not by a longshot, but Elise seems very angry by this. Where was she when everything happened and my panic attack right after? But more importantly, how did she know where to find us when I was discharged?
My so-called best friend was nowhere to be found after our last conversation, and it’s been almost two weeks since then. That time when she accused me of being cheap, a bit pathetic, and demeaned me for still being a virgin. Funny, how is someone with their hymen intact a whore?
“That coming from someone who didn’t have the decency to call and ask how their friend is coping? Not so much as a text either after once again embarrassing me in front of Theodore.” Pocketing the keys, I adjust my messenger bag and turn to face someone I thought of as a friend for so long. As my family. “Or how about the lack of apology after insulting and belittling me? Or trying to enter my home without permission?”
“What happened at Theodore’s?” she asks instead again—same as last time—ignoring my claims while inspecting her broken acrylic nail. She doesn’t know about our date. I’m also not going to share. “What did you do there?”
“Why are you here?” I counter with just as much iciness, taking in how messy she looks. This isn’t the woman I know. The same one that dresses to the nines at all times of the day and throws shade at anyone who doesn’t follow her fashion-forward protocols. “And don’t lie, or add in fake concern for me. That ship has sailed.”
Her hand clenches, and the smile on her face is sardonic. “Going against me is a grave error, Gabby.”
“No. That was not seeing you for what you truly are.” Her face pales at that, eyes widening a bit as they meet my own for the first time. Such a weird reaction to a statement about hypocrisy. “You lied to me, Elise, over and over again, and I’m done.” Prove to me that I’m wrong and you aren’t the kind of person you’re behaving like.
“I made you who you are.” At this, I scoff, bored with this conversation. It’s taken me some self-reflection, but I’ve come to terms with her true feelings—understand those little quirks that for so long I made excuses for. Moreover, those words shred the last little bit of hope I held that she was concerned and nothing else. “The Astor Galleries would’ve never so much as looked at your garbage portfolio without my assistance. You needed me, and I did what needed to be done in order to rise to the top.”
Those words show me her true colors.
Greed. Selfishness. Envy.
