“Maybe I will kick ass at the healing part,” she found herself agreeing, “but that’s just step one, and I’m still drawing blanks on the steps after that. Not only going after the guy who took the pictures, but also dealing with my family.” A huge lump rose in her throat as she said, “I have no idea how my mom and brothers are going to react if I tell them I don’t want to do the show anymore. The producers told me last year that if I quit, the show would be canceled. It hurt so much to lose my dad. I can’t risk losing them too.”
Drake didn’t give her false platitudes, didn’t say, You won’t. He simply pulled her into his arms and held her.
Chapter Nineteen
Frustration ate at Drake as they walked back through the trees to his cabin. He wanted to do more than provide Rosa a temporary refuge from the media. He wanted to hunt down the creep who had taken the pictures—and every single person involved in buying and running those pictures both online and in print—and tear them all to shreds with his bare hands. He wanted to find a way to scrub the Internet of any pictures she hadn’t authorized.
And he wanted to make damned sure that Rosa’s family didn’t turn their backs on her for wanting out of the show.
“It’s so peaceful here. So quiet and full of trees.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “If you think this is quiet, you should see my father’s place in the Adirondacks. Makes Montauk seem like Times Square.”
“It sounds as though you like it a lot. Did you ever consider getting a cabin in the Adirondacks instead of the Hamptons?”
“The Adirondacks are his place.”
“No reason it couldn’t have been yours too.”
“It’s always seemed like he wanted his space.”
“Maybe from bad memories, but I can’t imagine he’d want it from his kids. Especially not a son like you. That would be crazy.”
“And I think it would be crazy for your mom to even think of turning away from a daughter like you.”
Neither of them said anything more about it as they took off their coats and boots and headed inside. Drake gave Oscar a good rubdown with a towel, and once free, the dog did a frisky circle run around the living room, knocking the small canvas off the leather chair.
“It looks like a kindergarten project,” Rosa said as she hurried over to pick it up. “I hope you don’t mind my wasting one of your canvases.”
He’d wanted to ask more than once if he could look at what she’d been working on the day before, but he kept getting distracted by taking off her clothes and loving her. “Can I see it?”
“It’s just a hobby,” she prevaricated, but at least she handed him the canvas instead of continuing to hide it.
She’d stitched an ocean of blues and greens into the small canvas, but instead of simply echoing the view out his front door, she’d approached it in the way he imagined Picasso would have during his Cubist period, if the artist had used thread instead of paint.
He was about to tell her how talented she was when she said, “Now you know why I don’t share my stuff on the show. I see things in a weird way—not like other people do. Stitching on clothes is one thing, but the other stuff I come up with?” She shook her head. “It’s not what anyone wants to see from me.”
“How do you know that?”
She looked at him as though he were several brain cells short of a full set. “The stuff I make is weird. Everyone at the network agrees. The producers. The PR team.”
“If they all agree, then none of them know a damn thing about art.” He moved closer. “Or is that really the reason you don’t share your art with anyone? Because you’re seriously talented.”
“You’re sleeping with me. That colors your opinion.”
“Bullshit.” He moved closer again, close enough that her canvas was now pinned between them. “I’m sleeping with you. You have a brilliant gift. Those are two totally separate things. People need to see this, Rosa, see what you can do. See things in a new way—your way.”
“No!” Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wild as she pushed away from him, dropping the canvas so that he had to catch it before it hit the floor. “Everything else in my life is public. Open. Exposed. I need one thing, one private thing that I don’t have to share. What I do with my hands, with my brain, behind closed doors, is mine.” Her mouth wobbled a little as she added, “I thought closed doors meant it was mine, anyway.”
The fury that rose in Drake whenever he thought about the pictures that had been taken without her consent was familiar now, but not at all dulled by repetition. On the contrary, he got angrier every single time. And now, he hated that she felt she needed to hide her art. He couldn’t imagine not being able to share his creations, instead hoarding them in attics and locked closets. It would be like strangling the core of what made him who he was.
“I want to help.” He made himself un-fist his hands, tried to calm down so that he wouldn’t feed her tension with his. “Tell me how I can help.”
“You already have. You helped with my car and got me to the motel and have fed me more than once. You’re the friend I needed more than anything right now, but never thought I’d find.”