The Art of Scandal

by Regina Black

Nathan pitched forward with laughter. There was something melancholic in him that disappeared when he found something funny. It made her possessive. Like each time she made him laugh, more of that delicious, eye crinkling sound belonged to her.

Rachel grabbed it and unscrewed the top. “Challenge accepted.” He laughed and gave Nathan a pointed look. “Ella me gusta.” Nathan’s eyes never left her face. “Me too.”

He shrugged. “You never know what someone’s going through.”

Nathan took his time typing a response to the photo Rachel had sent, trying to avoid as many spelling errors as he could. It was one of those annoying things about living with dyslexia. When he was alone, he could use the speech-to-text function and clean it up. But he wasn’t about to dictate a reply to Rachel’s post-workout selfie, with his very nosy and opinionated brother sitting across from him.

Rachel: Does this mean I’m on your mind? Nathan: All the time.

“Come with me,” he whispered, and kissed her palm. “Let me take care of you.”

But this was different. Rachel wasn’t his girlfriend. Friend also seemed inadequate. Rachel was a feeling. She was the reason he woke up every morning and checked his phone with his heart in his throat. She was the flutter in his chest when he drove by The Stand. She was a spark that made him want to draw again. He wanted to fill the empty sketchbooks he’d been ignoring for months with renderings of her face.

“Can I see those?” She was staring at the sketches on his counter. “No.” “Why not?” Because they’re of you. He’d been drawing her for days now. “They’re not finished.”

“It says, ‘And you arrived. Entering my soul. As a sweet note, from a tender song.’

Then she whispered, “Your beautiful secret,” with astonishment that ground his willpower into dust. “This song. Your art. Nathan, why are you hiding?” “I’m not.” He ran his thumb along her cheek and nudged her chin higher until she met his eyes. “You’re the only one who sees me.”

“You don’t know me, Rachel,” into her skin. She felt his breath, his teeth, the flick of his tongue against her pulse. “But I really want you to.”

“You’re not a moon girl.” “What am I?”

“You’re the fucking sun.”

“I want to learn you.”

you trust me enough to be seen too?

“Hey.” He sat beside her. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” Her gaze roamed over his chest. His tattoos were a living painting on a bronze canvas. “You’re a little too beautiful. It broke my brain for a minute.”

“Look at me.” He cupped her face in both hands. “I’m not too young. I’m not a mistake. I just want you to see me.”

“Those imperfections make them yours,” she said. “You’re not a machine making perfect images for mass consumption. You’re a man. An artist. With emotions and flaws. That’s why something like this”—she pointed to the painting—“has immeasurable value. This is a moment. It’s a feeling, movement, and time that can never be repeated. That’s in every piece you’ve created.”

“Are you mine?”

“Because I’m yours.”

“What if we stayed?” he asked. Rachel hesitated. “What do you mean?” “Stay with me. Just for a few days.” He kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, trailing small I love yous over her skin. “Let me take care of you.”

“Give her time,” he said, with a bittersweet smile. His voice was filled with decades of regret. “That’s what we all need to get it right sometimes. A little more time.”

Nathan loves Rachel. Nathan isn’t fine. He’s a skin sack of grief pretending to have bones.

Mistakes aren’t debts we owe to other people. They’re just part of living.”

sky. For Rachel, it seemed that the world had held its breath for one long, flawless moment and Nathan had re-created it all on his canvas.

All I know is that you sacrificed everything to take care of me.” Her eyes filled. “But no one takes care of you.”

You’re always beautiful. You also broke my heart and it’s useless without you.

“But even if she was, it’s my life. I don’t need you to agree with my choices, but I do need you to respect them.”