Chapter 23: PAINTED IN HIS EYES.

       I made my way toward Alan’s room. My heart pounded with each step, Isabel’s words still echoing in my head. 

You should go to the ball with him.

I hesitated in front of his door. It wasn’t fully closed, just slightly ajar. I lifted my hand to knock, but then—

I saw it.

Through the gap, I caught a glimpse of him standing in front of a large canvas. His back was to me, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his posture relaxed yet focused. But it wasn’t just that—it was what he was painting.

Me.

I sucked in a breath.

The image wasn’t complete yet, but I could see it. The soft strokes of color, the delicate way he had painted my eyes, my lips—like he had memorized every detail.

I stepped inside without thinking, the floor creaking beneath my foot. Alan stilled.

Slowly, he turned his head, catching me in the doorway.

His expression was smooth at first, like I had just caught him doing something forbidden. But then his lips twitched, and amusement flickered in his gaze.

“Snooping around my room now, sweetheart?” His voice was smooth, teasing—but I could hear the slight strain beneath it. Like he wasn’t sure how I would react.

I swallowed, my gaze flickering between him and the painting. “You… you are painting me?”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he stepped back from the canvas, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Guilty.”

I moved closer, my eyes drinking in every detail of the unfinished painting. “Why? Why me?”

Alan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Why not you?” Because I wanted to.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “Because I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

My breath caught.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between us, his gaze never leaving mine. “Did you come for a reason, Sweetheart?”

“Yes,” I breathed, forcing my thoughts back into place. “About the ball.”

His expression shifted. He straightened slightly, the teasing light in his eyes dimming just a little, as if bracing himself

His face remained neutral, but I caught the brief flicker of something in his eyes. He kept the cloth, setting it aside. "Right. You came to give me an answer."

I nodded.

He exhaled, his gaze dropping for a second before he leaned backwards, resting his back on his desk. "Let me guess—you’re here to say no."

His tone was casual, almost indifferent, but there was an edge to it. Like he was already preparing himself for rejection.

"No," I blurted out quickly.

His brows lifted slightly.

I took another breath and forced myself to meet his gaze. "I mean… I’m saying yes. I’ll go to the ball with you."

“I’ll go with you,” I reassured softly.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then, without warning, his face broke into a grin—a real, breathtakingly joyful grin that sent a wave of warmth crashing through me.

“You will?” His voice was lighter now, like he didn’t believe it at first.

I nodded, barely able to hide my own smile. “I will.”

For a moment, Alan didn’t move. He just stared at me—with a calm look. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"You sure about that, sweetheart?" His voice dipped lower, teasing but laced with something else—something deeper.

I nodded. "Yes."

His smirk widened. He stood straight, moving from the desk until he was right in front of me.

A laugh rumbled from his chest—deep, rich, utterly unguarded. And before I could react, Alan grabbed me by the waist, spun me in the air, and pulled me into him as he dropped me back onto the ground.

I gasped, gripping onto his arms to steady myself, but he didn’t let go. His hands stayed firm at my waist, his body close, his warmth sinking into me.

“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now,” he murmured, his voice low, his eyes burning into mine.

My lips parted, but no words came out. My heart slammed against my ribs, my breath caught in my throat.

He leaned in just slightly, his fingers flexing against my hips, his lips hovering dangerously close. "But I won't," he finally whispered, the heat in his gaze making my stomach tighten. "Not yet."

A shiver ran down my spine.

Then, just as quickly as he had pulled me in, he released me, taking a little step back, though his eyes never left mine.

“That is good," he murmured. His gaze lingered on mine, intense and unwavering. "Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer anyway."

I felt my face heat. "Alan—"

He chuckled, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Relax, sweetheart. I'm am joking, just joking." He finished but releasing me fully and turning to the canvas.

“I was going to finish the painting before showing you,” he mused, his voice still thick excitement. “But I guess the surprise is ruined now.”

I just smiled.

Alan smirked. "Guess I'll have to finish it with you watching now."

And for some reason, I didn’t mind that at all.

I exhaled slowly, my heart still racing from the way he had just held me, from the way his voice had dropped when he said he wanted to kiss me. I wasn’t sure I’d fully recovered, but Alan had already turned back to the canvas, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well?” he mused, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to watch me finish?”

I swallowed, stepping closer. The air between us still crackled with something unspoken, something thick and charged, but Alan acted as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just spun me in the air and whispered those words against my skin.

I sat down on the edge of the couch in his room, my hands folded in my lap. “I’ll watch.”

Alan chuckled, dipping his brush into a palette of rich colors. “Good. You should see how beautiful you look from my perspective.”

I pressed my lips together, not sure how to respond to that. He was always like this—unapologetically bold, effortlessly teasing. And yet, when I looked at the painting, I realized he wasn’t lying.

He wasn’t just painting me. He was capturing something deeper.

The way he’d shaded the curve of my lips, the way he’d softened the light in my eyes—it wasn’t just an image. It was emotion.

I felt my throat tighten as I watched him work. His fingers moved with practiced ease, his focus unshaken. Every stroke of the brush was deliberate, filled with a kind of reverence I couldn’t quite understand.

"How long have you been working on this?" I asked softly.

Alan paused, tilting his head slightly. “Since the first night I met you.”

I blinked. “What?”

He smirked, dipping the brush into a deeper shade, blending it into the canvas. “I started sketching you that night. Just outlines at first. But then I couldn’t stop.”

I stared at him, at the easy way he said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Why me?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Alan glanced at me, his gaze steady, unflinching. “Because I wanted to.”

That answer again. The same one he’d given me earlier.

His eyes lingered on mine, something beautiful flickering in their depths. Then he turned back to the canvas, adding the final touches, his strokes slower now, more careful.

“If it's from the first night you saw me, then you have been sketching me for weeks”

He chuckled, eyes gleaming. “Yeah, it’s been long. But you’re worth every damn second… and a masterpiece like you? I had to take my time. Couldn’t rush it, could I, sweetheart?” he said, his voice low and tempting as he gave me one of those his flirty looks 

I sat there, watching, my chest tightened.

Minutes passed. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable—it was something else entirely. Something heavy, something that made my skin prickle with awareness.

Then, finally, Alan stepped back. He studied the painting for a moment, then turned to me, his expression smothering.

“It’s done.”

I hesitated, then stood, walking toward him. The closer I got, the more I felt the weight of his gaze on me. But I didn’t look at him. Not yet.

I looked at the painting.

And I couldn’t breathe.

It was me, but it wasn’t just me. It was the way Alan saw me.

Soft, captivating, almost untouchable. Like I was something rare.

I exhaled shakily, my fingers curling at my sides. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

Alan’s voice was lower when he spoke. “Yeah. It is.”

I turned to him, and that’s when I realized—he wasn’t looking at the painting anymore.

He was looking at me.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.

“I knew you’d say yes,” he murmured.

I swallowed, my pulse hammering against my skin. “To the painting?”

“To me.” His voice was velvet, his gaze smoldering. “To the ball.”

I couldn’t look away.

He stepped closer, just enough that I felt the heat of him, the space between us growing smaller, tighter.

Then, just when I thought he’d touch me again, just when I thought I might let him—

He took a step back, his smirk deepening. “Now, Leave my room before I change my mind about that kiss.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Alan chuckled, shaking his head. “Go on, sweetheart.”

But before I turned, I hugged him. 

He stiffened for a second, as if caught off guard, before his arms slowly wrapped around me. His warmth, his scent, everything about him surrounded me, making my heart race.

"Thank you," I whispered against his chest, my voice barely audible.

Alan exhaled, his fingers grazing the small of my back before tightening slightly. "For what?"

I swallowed, unsure how to put it into words. For making me feel seen. For looking at me the way he did. For wanting me in a way no one ever had.

"For everything," I finally said.

His hand slid up to the back of my neck, his thumb brushing over my skin in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. "You're something else, Sweetheart, and you deserve this and more," he murmured.

Then, just as I thought he might pull me closer, he stepped back, his smirk returning. "Now, before I really do change my mind about that kiss…"

I felt my cheeks heat as I quickly turned toward the door, but not before catching the way his eyes followed me, filled with something dark and unreadable.

Every every part of me wanted to stay.

And just as I stepped out, I heard him murmur behind me—

"See you at the ball, Samantha."

I smiled.

“See you.”

I was

so happy and I didn't feel nervous or shy. I enjoyed it and liked it. I was happy—I finally knew what it was like to like someone, to feel something real, something undeniable....

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