SM owns.
Sunflower Fanfiction, thank you so much.
Mari, you rock! Thank you.
LovelyBrutal is a star and her comments inflate my ego and make me think at the same time.
As usual, thank you to LittleGreyAche | Yellowglue for the inspiration.
Stripped Desire – Chapter 3: Oil
"Because everything we say and do is the length and shadow of our own souls, our influence is determined by the quality of our being."
Dale Turner.~
The conversation about the technicalities of him painting me was quick and business-like. We agreed to meet in my office a couple of days later to set the time, place, and date. I just had to show up. I let him decide, much to his astonishment, because I knew that if those things were left to me, I'd find a way to back out.
And then he'd be right.
What is it that he would be right about?
I'm still trying to figure out what I have to prove. Or why I care in the first place.
"And so, Jasper made me this amazing iTunes playlist with songs that remind him of me. It was so sweet, as if we were high school sweethearts. And you wouldn't expect that, looking at him, but he's the most tender and attentive boyfriend. I love him so much."
Alice rambles away about her weekend with Jasper and brings me out of my own confused thoughts. I smile at her to let her know I heard what she said, catching the twinkle in her eyes.
She looks so happy and in love.
My heart aches with something I can't name.
Before I know it, my curiosity gets the best of me.
"Alice, what's it like? Loving Jasper… Jasper loving you, what's it like?" I ask, playing with the sleeves of my blouse.
I regret asking as soon as she fixes her eyes on me.
She takes a second, looking me over, searching for something in my face before taking a deep breath.
"It's like…" she starts, and stops for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "It's like knowing I'm living, like being sure my life is better with him. That I'm better." She sighs. "Being in love with Jasper makes me watch the entire world under a different light. I can't explain it. He makes my heart race and my skin tingle. He knows me. He gets me. It's amazing." She finishes with a big smile and a bit of pink on her cheeks.
He knows her.
He gets her.
Who could get me when I don't even know myself?
I smile and nod, pretending I understand her.
If she notices, she doesn't mention it.
The weeks leading to my meeting with Edward seem to go on forever. There's nothing momentous going on at the office, so I'm left with a lot of free time.
Free time spent questioning why the hell I accepted the proposal to pose naked for Edward Cullen.
Edward Cullen, a stranger.
Edward Cullen, the artist and Jasper's business partner. The guy with the green eyes, strong cheekbones, and long fingers.
The guy that's opening the door of my office right at this moment.
"Isabella," he greets. His tone is a mocking formality meant to get on my nerves.
It does.
"Edward," I say, flustered and annoyed.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you are avoiding me," he says, sitting down in front of me. He's wearing dark jeans and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
"How so?" I ask, playing the innocent. He shakes his head, annoyed by noncommittal answer.
"I haven't seen you in awhile. Not on the train, or at the gallery."
"I've been busy," I lie, scribbling nonsense on my agenda while holding it close to my chest. There's no need to tell him I've been leaving my house at 7:15 to catch an earlier train.
He narrows his eyes at me.
"I don't believe you," he says, fingering his hair with his left hand. I catch some dark ink on the inside of his wrist before he lowers his hand out of my sight.
"I don't care," I tell him, shrugging. He doesn't say anything for a long time. I type all the nonsense I wrote on the agenda on the computer just to look busy. My skin is prickling, itching with the knowledge that he's sitting there, watching me.
I wonder if he came here just to make up for the minutes he missed these past few days of staring at me on the train. I'm irrationally exasperated by his silence even though it's all I know from him.
"What are you doing here?" I ask when I'm done typing.
"I came to see if you were still beautiful enough to go on my canvas," he answers easily, looking me up and down with a smirk on his lips. "You are," he adds.
"You're so full of yourself," I say, standing up and walking to the door. He chuckles and stands up in front of me, close enough to touch, making me back up a few steps. My back hits the frame.
"You're one to talk," he says, looking down on me with his hands in his pockets.
His face is so close, his green is so close. He eyes my lips and my chest while I try to get my breathing under control. I'm paralyzed in a way I've never felt before.
"You want to know what I think?" he asks. I don't answer. "I think you're just afraid of a little change. You don't like what you can't control."
"You don't know me," I say, debating whether I should move or not. One step forward might end up with me colliding against him.
He's so close.
"I know more about you than you know about me, and you hate it." His face is serious as he looks at me. He knows he's right.
"You know nothing." This time I can't help it and move closer. But then, he looks at my mouth and I step back again.
He smiles.
"See you on Friday, Isabella," he says before walking out with confident strides.
I'm left with a sheen of sweat under a long sleeved dress.
Despite our confrontation the day before, I stand in front of my closet on Thursday night ready to go along with the plan. I'm not getting out of this. I have to pick my outfit to go into the office. I'm also debating whether I should go to his place right out of work, or if I should take the time to come home.
I decide for the first option.
It doesn't make sense to go through the hassle. Besides, if I take the time to come home, I'll be late, and he mentioned something about the sun and the lighting.
To be honest, I didn't pay a lot of attention to the details. I didn't want to, for fear of changing my mind.
I'm still scared I will.
Focusing back on my closet, I pick out my outfit for the next day, aware that I'll see him tomorrow.
I discard several blouses just on the thought of the type of comment he could make about them.
Somehow, his presence is almost palpable in my room, like a ghost. The knowledge that he's haunting my hands makes me shake. I know it's crazy to let someone I've just met influence my decisions this way. Which is why I pick the first one.
Dark purple lace underwear.
Black stockings.
Dark blue blouse.
Black pencil skirt.
Black high heeled boots.
Black, long coat.
I arrange all the items on the bed, checking them for stains. I know I won't find any, but is part of my nightly routine.
I study them for a moment, second-guessing everything about each item.
And then I remember it doesn't actually matter.
It's all coming off tomorrow.
A.N: Thank you so much for reading and adding to alerts and all that. Really, thank you!
See you next week. (One of my favorite chapters is coming)