Slash by Laurelin Paige

Author:Laurelin Paige [Paige, Laurelin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Slay Series, 1001 Dark Nights, Laurelin Paige, contemporary romance
Publisher: Evil Eye Concepts, Inc
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Proportion: Refers to the harmonious relation of parts to each other or to the whole. - MoMA Glossary of Art Terms

“You said we’d go swimming.” Fred tugs at my arm as he attempts to pull me in the direction he believes goes to his uncle’s house.

“We will go swimming,” I promise. Edward has a pool on his ground level, and though he’s still in the States, we often slip over to use it. I’ll only don a costume if we’re alone, and Freddie’s much too young to be swimming without someone ready to jump in after him if need be so my brother’s mansion across from Regent’s has become our swim spot. I’ve even taken to leaving our costumes there to make the journey less of a hassle.

Though I do intend to keep the Sunday plans I made with my son, there’s another thing on my agenda as well. “Remember I said we were going to the park first?”

“But this is the boring part of the park.” He kicks at the walk with the toe of his shoe. I’m lucky this is his version of a tantrum, he’s such a well-behaved kid. “Do we have to look at weird art again?”

That was my bad. The last event I dragged him to at this park was the Frieze art fair. I learned too late that he’d been maybe a little too young to fully appreciate it. I’m hoping today’s art will be of more interest to him. “It’s a little weird,” I confess. “I think it will be fun too.”

He frowns as he kicks the walk again. “But will it be as fun as swimming?”

Swimming, for him, involves splashing half the water out of the pool, shrieking in glee, and heaving toys to and fro until he’s exhausted. This won’t involve any of those things. I consider lying, but I’ve committed to a parenting style that embraces honesty as much as possible, so I toss the idea aside and settle for the truth. “Probably not quite as fun. We won’t stay long, okay?”

He heaves a sigh that seems awfully large for his little body. “Okay.”

I survey the horizon, pinpointing my destination. With a twinge of guilt, I tow him toward the performers ahead of us. I haven’t been completely transparent, hiding my motives for this part of our trek. What am I supposed to tell a six-year-old boy, though, when I can’t fully explain my reasons even to myself?

I should take that as a sign that this particular adventure is better avoided, but here we are, my child and me with my multitudes standing in front of the living statue competition against all better reasoning.

Fortunately, Fred is mesmerized. “Are they…?” He’s hesitant to make his guess out loud, understandably since the performers are that good. “Are those real people?”

“They are. Isn’t it incredible?” Together we walk closer toward one of the “statues,” a man covered head to toe in bronze seated on a park bench and frozen in a pose. He’s so still, it takes me a minute to discern he’s actually breathing.

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