Then her gaze scanned the room, settling on a vase of flowers he’d set up in there when he and the guys were preparing this space for her. Thunder had added it just to make it a littlebrighter and prettier for his girl, but now he knew it was going to be the subject of his first lesson.
After she’d fussed around for a moment with the vase on a small table between the two easels, adjusting it slightly to the left, then right, obviously trying to get the right angle, she set out paints for both of them to use. Then she looked at him expectantly, and he just shrugged.
“Beginner of beginners,” he reminded her, and was rewarded with another ghost of a smile.
Choosing a brush, she handed it to him, then picked up one for herself, and made sure he was watching her before she started. Outlining the vase first, she added more detail, and after a while, he began to copy her.
Moving his gaze from the vase to his canvas and back again, Thunder slowly started to work on his picture. Following his girl’s lead, he drew the vase first, then the outline of the flowers, before starting to add some color.
They both worked in silence, both lost in their creations, although he found he spent more time watching her than doing his own painting. She was breathtaking when she was relaxed like this. Always beautiful, there was usually an air of trauma clinging to her, quite understandably, given it had only been a week since she was rescued, but when she focused on her art, that all floated away, and he was left seeing the woman she would have been if life hadn't been so cruel to her.
Time had no meaning in this room.
All that existed was the peace that came from his girl reconnecting with a part of herself that she’d lost. The strokes of her brush were mesmerizing, and the way she would pause every so often, cock her head as if deep in thought, picturing things in her mind that no one else could see. It was like she took a mental picture of something and then worked on recreating it from thatimage, because he’d barely seen her glance at the vase after those first few minutes.
After a while, she leaned back in her seat, studied her canvas with what appeared to be a critical eye, then when it must have passed, she gave it a nod and turned around to look at his painting.
Laughter suddenly filled the room, catching him by surprise.
Catching her by surprise, if the startled look on her face was anything to go by.
The sound was so beautiful, full and free, a genuine, whole-hearted laugh, and Thunder stared at her, enraptured by the lively sound.
This was what he’d craved, and it was even better than he’d hoped.
“Told you I was just a beginner,” he said cheerfully, not embarrassed in the least at his poor picture, even though his girl’s looked like something you could reach out and touch, pick up a flower, bring it to your nose, and inhale its sweet fragrance.
In comparison, his didn't even meet stick-figure quality. But if his poor attempts at art made his girl laugh like that, he’d make these lessons a daily occurrence.
“Guess I'm going to need lots of help,” he said, unable to keep a little of the smugness out of his tone. He’d been looking for another way to connect with her, and now he had one. She couldn’t help but agree that he was awful at painting and needed a lot of help, and they had nothing but time. “Don’t even know how to hold my brush.”
Eyeing him warily, like she knew he was shamelessly playing her, she stood slowly and closed the few steps between them. Hesitating for a moment, she then reached out, her small hand covered his, and she moved the brush slightly until he was holding it the same way she had been.
Warmth seeped into him from the simple touch, and he soaked it up like an addict needing another hit. Every time she trusted him with something, no matter how small, he grew more attached.
It was going to hurt like hell when she left.
Not wanting to think about that now, Thunder focused only on this moment. If he was going to have limited time with her, he wanted to make the most of it, he didn't want to waste a single second.
Moving slightly so she was behind him, his girl kept hold of his hand and brought it to the canvas, guiding it as she started working on improving his picture. Thunder didn't really care what his picture looked like, he wasn't there to become an amazing artist like his girl, he just wanted to spend time with her.
So he just sat back and let her take the lead, relishing this opportunity to give her something she got to be in control of. He knew what it was like to be completely stripped of autonomy, to have your free will taken from you, and he remembered those first days, weeks, and months after he and his team had escaped and his burning desire to reclaim that control.
With confident strokes, she guided his hand to improve the picture. By the time she was done, it looked a lot better. Nothing close to hers, but more than the barely recognizable mess he’d created.
“You're an amazing artist,” he told her, making her blush. “I mean it. You could make it your career. Was that something you used to want?”
Gaze roaming her painting, then shifting to roam over the ones she’d painted earlier, she gave him a small nod.
“It’s not too late to make that dream a reality,” he reminded her. With Eagle’s reputation and connections, he was sure theycould launch her into a brilliant career. If it was what she wanted. “Not too late to share your beauty with the world.”
Her blush deepened, and Thunder shifted their joined hands so his was now holding hers, and he tugged her around so she was standing before him, between his knees. There was a softness to her that hadn't been there this time yesterday, and he knew that setting this up for her was starting her on the path to reclaiming everything she’d lost. Her voice, her life, her future.
“No matter what happened to you, that beauty is still inside you.” His free hand swept across her face and then settled on her chest above her heart. “Nothing can steal it from you because you are beautiful. Inside and out. Don’t ever let the evil of the world make you forget that.”
March 2nd
11:04 A.M.