Page 82 of The Wrong Husband

The brush fell from my hand and paint splattered all over the floor and my feet. "Does he even know what that means?" I whispered.

Duncan came up to me then. He picked up the brush and set it on the table I used for my paints and brushes. He picked up a rag cloth and wiped my feet.

He rose and brushed off the tears on my cheeks with his fingers. I couldn't stop crying. It was humiliating to do it in front of others, which was why I wanted to be alone.

"Once I transfer it all onto the canvas, I'll stop feeling so bad," I assured him.

"Is that what you do, take your pain and paint it?"

I nodded. "Not just pain…sometimes its joy so I can see it again and again and feel that, remember that."

He kissed my cheek. "You're a very special person, Emilia. And so very easy to fall in love with. I know your parents did a number on you and we didn't help by believing Bianca's stories about you—but trust me when I say, we're going to fight to keep you an Archer."

I looked at him confused. "I don't understand."

"He loves you. You're his and he's yours. That's all there is to it."

I painted for several hours, and after Duncan practically forced a sandwich and all the pineapple juice Liza had made down my throat, I went back to sleep. The intense emotions and long hours of painting were exhausting me. I felt like I had a constant hangover.

He married me to hurt Bianca. I was a means to an end. I'm so tired of being the means…I want to be the destination for someone.

When I woke up it was evening and I felt disoriented. I knew I should take a shower, but I didn't have the energy for it.

Sitting on one of my armchairs that had been moved to my studio area sat Tate. He was staring at my painting.

"Is this your shift?" I mumbled.

"Hello, dear. Yes, it is. This is a remarkable painting."

"It's not finished," I snapped and went into the kitchen to find some coffee. I needed to cut down, I knew that because it was making my stomach churn; but it was that or wine and I much preferred not being drunk when I painted.

"It's already fucking awesome so I can only imagine what it's going to look like when it's finished."

I sat at the dining table with my coffee.

"Your friend Moana asked you to call her when you woke up," Tate informed me.

I had no idea where my phone was. I had turned it off and didn't give a shit who was reaching out to me. "If you see Moana, tell her I'm cocooning. She'll understand."

Tate cocked an eyebrow, and he looked so much like Damian that my heart hurt. "And what does that mean?"

"It means I'm trying to heal."

I ignored him for the rest of his shift as I painted. I didn't eat the dinner he ordered. I didn't feel like it. But I let him hydrate me.

He brought me a glass of juice and waited until I drank it all before taking the empty glass away.

It was a cycle. I painted. I was fed and hydrated. I slept. After two days of that and because I could smell myself, I took a shower. Every time I woke up there was an Archer in my house. Duncan, Tate, or Marcela. I knew Damian came at night when I was sleeping. I could smell him as I slept. I knew he held me at night, curling his body behind mine, comforting me as I healed. I ignored him. Even if I was awake when he was with me, I pretended I was not.

"Whenever you're ready, we'll talk," he whispered one night.

I wasn't ready. I didn't know when I'd be.

Chapter 29

Damian

"How was she?" I asked mom when she came into my office after her Emilia shift.