Break Me Beautifully by Nora Flite

Author:Nora Flite [Flite, Nora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Two Foxes Press
Published: 2021-04-19T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 11.

"Open your eyes."

Marshall instructs me from behind my shoulder. His voice is pleasantly decadent, tickling the tiny hairs on my bare neck to life. I've done as he asked since we walked down the street from his condo—kept my hands over my eyes while he held my elbow, guiding me safely, though I felt slightly foolish with the people on the sidewalk staring at me.

We hadn't walked for long. Now, pulling my fingers away, I blink at the squat brown building wedged between an alley and a busy street. I don't know what I'm looking at until he unlocks the door, pushing it open. Then I gasp.

Light streams into the massive industrial space. The room is minimally decorated with sconces pressed into brick stands at regular intervals.

To the average eye, it's unimpressive. But my heart swells the longer I stare, and when I spot the arrangement of easels, of the piled canvases and table with the art supplies I'd bought, I know what this is. "You got me a studio?" I whisper.

"It's just a rental," he says, chuckling. "But yes. This is your own space to do your art for the gallery. It has everything you need, and it's an easy walk from my place." He jingles a key at me. "Go on."

My hand snatches the key, cradling it in disbelief. The rush of emotion is too much, I have to get it out, channel it. Throwing my arms around Marshall, I hug him while laughing. "Thank you! This is amazing!"

His arms don't circle me back, he's holding them out to the sides, hesitating to embrace me. I slip away, leaving him standing there awkwardly. Adjusting the collar of his heavy jacket, he clears his throat. "It's nothing. I'm sure you had a nicer studio back home."

"Hardly," I laugh. "My mother and father never supported my artistic dreams. That's why I was surprised you offered to take me on."

He squints at me in disbelief. "Your estate is massive, there had to be a room for you to work in."

"Rooms? Plenty." Hooking my fingers behind my back, I turn away, wandering in a circle as I study the dirty windows in the ceiling. "It wasn't about what was available. My parents are ruthless. Money is all they care about. That's why it never mattered how much I begged them to let me go to art school, or to give me a single room to use as my own studio to show I was worth taking a chance on."

"You're twenty years old. Why not just move out, sign up for classes without their permission?"

"And how would I do that?" I ask with a dry chuckle. "I don't have my own money. I couldn't afford college, and getting a loan is impossible. Any bank that runs my family name will know my parents are rich. Financial aid is a pipe dream."

"You still could have tried."

His curt observation twists a knife in my gut. I glare at him over my shoulder. "What, you

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