Chapter 36

Iris

The spell is quickly broken when I realize just how close we are. I nearly fall off my painting stool in my attempt to put some distance between us, sending the entire stool clattering to the floor.

My cheeks flush as I stoop to pick it up, getting even more paint on the sleeve of my cardigan in the process.

Truthfully, the pull to kiss Arthur was too strong just now. Far too strong. So strong, in fact, that I might have kissed him had I not jumped to my feet.

I push the feeling of attraction down, though.

“What do you want?” I blurt out, setting the stool upright and folding my arms across my chest.

Arthur looks at me for a moment, and there’s a hint of amusement in his green eyes. He holds up a familiar coffee mug with a picture of two otters holding hands on it—it used to be my favorite mug.

“I brought you some tea,” he says, handing it to me. “Figured you might need it since you’re working so late.”

I don’t take the tea right away. My eyes narrow. “I hope you’re not trying to butter me up.”

“Not at all, Iris. Just trying to make sure you don’t pass out on the floor from working so late.”

My neck flushes a little at the reminder. I used to sleep in my studio fairly often when I lived here, too exhausted after working into the wee hours of the morning to even slump down the hall to the bedroom. Arthur found me knocked out on the floor on more than one occasion, and it’s why there’s now a small daybed against the wall with plush cushions.

Finally, I take the tea. It burns my tongue a little as I take a sip, but the peppermint flavor is soothing.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

Arthur glances over my shoulder. “New painting?” He leans in to get a better look at the still life. “It’s not like your typical work.”

I want to tell him that he doesn’t know jack shit about my typical work these days, but I bite my tongue. Instead, I say a bit more coldly than I intend, “I should remind you that we’re in the midst of a legal battle at the moment. Fraternizing might not be the wisest decision.”

“We haven’t actually started the ‘legal battle’ yet,” Arthur replies calmly without missing a beat. “Who is your lawyer, anyway?”

I guess I sort of walked right into that one. But instead of answering, I wave my hand toward the door. “Thank you for the tea, but I’m busy. If you don’t mind…”

Arthur looks at me, then the painting again, and then sighs. “Alright. Goodnight, Iris,” he says, turning toward the door.

“Goodnight.”

I watch him go, hating the way my eyes wander across his broad shoulders and how it makes my heart flutter a little. But once he’s gone, I get right back to work. I have to finish this painting tonight—I need that money.

The following morning, I wake up on the little daybed, my head pounding and my eyes sore from spending the entire night painting. I must have only gotten a few hours of sleep, which doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

However, my artwork is finished.

That day, I leave Miles with Cliff for a couple of hours. Cliff promises that they’ll have lots of fun, and that Miles can press the button to unlock the doors whenever a resident comes. This seems to excite Miles greatly, and he doesn’t kick up a fuss as I hurry out with my painting wrapped up and tucked under my arm.

Rather than going to a gallery to sell my work, I head to a few pawn shops around town. I need the cash as soon as possible, so I don’t exactly have the time to hang the art and wait for it to sell to some collector or another.

But unfortunately, no one seems interested. Artwork from a ‘nobody’ human artist doesn’t seem to be the type of thing that most pawn shops are willing to take. Not many people here know who ‘Flora’ is yet, and I get strange looks whenever I try to pawn the piece off as an original.

Finally, I resort to the last thing I ever wanted to do: selling it on the street.

I haven’t sold my artwork on the street in three years. The last time I did it was when I was still in art school, trying to earn extra cash by drawing caricatures and selling small pieces at the central park in Bo’Arrocan. Once I got my degree, I’d hoped that those days were behind me.

But it needs to be done. And so, swallowing my pride, I throw together a small sign with a price tag on it and head to the central park. I find a spot in a high traffic area and hold the painting, trying to get the attention of passersby.

“Hello!” I say cheerfully to a woman who’s passing by. “Can I interest you in a—”

The woman ignores me, her heels clicking as she hurries past.

I sigh, but shake it off and turn to the next person. “Can I interest you in a Flora original? Just three hundred dollars!”

The man, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, stops and raises an eyebrow. “Three hundred dollars? For that?”

“It’s a Flora original,” I reply with a smile.

“Who the hell is Flora?”

“She’s an up and coming artist. She had an exhibition recently at Marsiel Gallery.”

“Where?”

“Nevermind…”

And so it goes for the next hour and a half. If anyone stops to look, it’s fleeting and often filled with rude comments. Hardly anyone knows who ‘Flora’ is, and if they do, they think I’m a poser trying to pawn off a fake.

I’m about to give up when a young, slender woman with bright auburn hair and a wealthy air about her stops. “I’ll give you one-fifty,” she says by way of greeting. She’s holding the cash in her hand already, and practically waves it in my face.

I hesitate, chewing my lip. That’s half of what I was hoping to get, and even three hundred Ordan dollars is dirt cheap for a painting of this size.

But I’m desperate. So I accept the cash with a nod and hand her the painting. She struts off without even saying ‘thank you’.

I sigh and sink down onto a nearby bench, counting the cash. It’s all there, I suppose, but I’ll need to produce twice as many paintings at this rate if I’m going to earn the same amount I was hoping for. And that’s just to be able to afford the legal consultation at Brooks & Lee.

“Iris?”

The sound of a familiar voice has me looking up. The curator from Marsiel, Alice, is standing there with a cup of coffee in hand. She glances at me, then the cash in my hands, and the woman walking away with the painting.

“Alice,” I say, quickly shoving the money in my pocket. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I thought you went back to Bo’Arrocan,” she says.

I swallow. “I… was going to,” I reply. “But something happened, and now I’m staying here for the time being.”

She nods toward the woman with the painting. “Selling paintings on the street?”

“Strapped for cash,” I admit sheepishly, running my hand over my braid.

Alice stares at me for a moment almost incredulously before she takes a seat next to me. “Why didn’t you contact me? I could help you sell some art if you’re really in that much of a bind.”

My eyes widen slightly. “I… I guess I thought I burned my bridges. Because of the contract and everything.”

“Burned your bridges?” Alice giggles and shakes her head. “Iris, I love your work. I’d be willing to help you, contract or no contract.”

“Really?” I ask, my eyebrows shooting up.

Alice nods excitedly. “Yes! How long are you staying in Ordan?”

“Um… I’m not really sure,” I admit. “As of right now… indefinitely.”

To my surprise, Alice looks unfazed. She stands, glancing at her watch. “I have to run, but tell you what—if you can produce five new pieces by that art opening we’re holding in a little under two weeks, you can hang your art in the space.”

“But I can’t afford hanging fees,” I say softly.

“Forget the fees. If you sell anything, I’ll just take a commission. You can keep the rest.”

“Really?” I ask.

She nods and grins. “Really. Just have the work ready by then. And make sure it’s better than the mud waffles.”

I can’t help but laugh, despite everything. “I will,” I say, shaking Alice’s hand. “Thank you, Alice. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“It means a lot to Marsiel Gallery, too,” she replies. “Your work really helped us, Alice; that lecture you gave brought a lot of business. Who knows—maybe we can work something out without your ‘mysterious patron’.”

With that, Alice leaves, flashing me a wink over her shoulder. I blush a little, touched by her help. I don’t feel like I deserve it, but it’s a relief to know that I’ve got something to look forward to that doesn’t involve Arthur or selling my art on the street. Even if it means I have to wait an extra two weeks before I can get legal help.

I hurry home after that, excited to get to work on my next five paintings. According to Cliff, Miles is upstairs with Arthur when I arrive. But Cliff’s face is a little tense for some reason.

When I get upstairs, I realize why: Selina is here.

But it’s not just that. The painting I sold in the park is leaning against the wall, and Selina is smirking at me.