Artfully Yours Novels & Stories

He invited me into his house and I followed behind him. When we got to the living room, he asked me to sit and wait for him to bring the document from his room. Feeling uncomfortable, I told him I felt like standing because I had been sitting for a long time. He went inside the room while I leaned on the wall. He seemed to have a thing for artworks as they were spread all over the walls of his living room. I scanned them, one after the other, marvelling at the aesthetic value they brought to the house.

the man argued while I snatched it away from him, it was a rose interpreting a clock. "She doesn't even like it.. " I heard the man argue. "I like it.." I said holding up the design. "I like it, I want this one except I want the 'time is beautiful' to be written in Arabic.." I said as the man didn't have any other words to say, it was my choice. "I can't do it for you it requires a lot of symmetry, my twin brother can but he's out with his daughter celebrating her fourth birthday I'm sorry..." he said and I understand.

I said, taking the large folder from her. I began to do just as she asked. Sealing each glorious, handmade, drawing that Cassidy created herself, in thick velvety designer envelopes. Each painting was going somewhere different. Cassidy-Ann had an online store where customers could purchase original art. I was in awe of how beautiful each piece was, and I thought about purchasing one for myself as well. Once each painting was put in its own envelope and stamped, I grabbed the satchel that Cassidy-Ann had given me at the beginning of the day and carefully placed them inside.

Victor’s POV “Are you trying to paint or create a new abstract art movement?” Aria teased, her voice laced with amusement as she leaned closer to inspect the chaotic swirls of color on my bottle. I grinned, holding up the bottle for her to see. “It’s called interpretive design. You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.” She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she expertly added delicate floral patterns to her own bottle. We were out on the patio, the soft scent of jasmine and roses wafting through the air from the garden. The warm sunlight bathed the space, making the moment feel golden and timeless.

EMILY Mason is sitting on my cutting table eating a peanut butter sandwich and supervising my hem work with the critical eye of a five-year-old who has opinions about fabric. "That part is wobbly," he says, pointing at the seam I just pinned. "It's not wobbly. It's gathered." "What's gathered?" "It's when you make the fabric bunch on purpose so it looks—" "Wobbly." Mia is on the floor beside him, cross-legged, drawing wolves on the back of my pattern paper. She's drawn fourteen so far. Each one has a name written underneath in her careful, crooked handwriting. The latest wolf is pink with yellow eyes and is labeled AUNT SAGE. "Wolves aren't pink, Mia," Mason says. "This one

ARIA’S POV I show Julien my artwork, heart pounding in my chest as I unveil the pieces I have labored over. His eyes light up with genuine admiration as he takes in my latest creation. He is visibly impressed, and his approval sends a warm rush of pride through me. “Wow! This is a masterpiece, indeed.” “Thank you.” Julien tells me that the event is in two days and assures me that everything will be ready. He suggests that we announce the unfinished piece at the event, promising it will be showcased in the upcoming exhibition. His enthusiasm and meticulous planning leave no room for doubt in his mind.

I cleared my throat and listened carefully just trying to ignore how much of a turn on it was to hear speak whatever language that was. "I hope you like your present… A special delivery just for you . I am sure you can see the beautiful tattoos all over my canvas…those took a lot of time to do so I really hope you appreciate the artistry. Those are not just tattoos but pieces of a puzzle that you must solve and follow for they shall lead you to well…it wouldn't be much fun if I tell you everything so figure it out on your own.

Forrest finally corralled the twins by the tree, where he crouched next to a small wooden box and popped the lid. “I stayed up last night painting these,” he said, drawing out handmade ornaments, one for each of us. Leocádia’s was a placid peacock, Nikolaos a fierce lion. Reese and I had ours twined in an ornate, snow-dusted Victorian house, fancy and homey at the same time. “Dude,” I said, carefully taking mine. “You could sell these.” Forrest shrugged. “Art’s only good if it makes someone feel something. Yours belongs on this tree.”

“You don’t need words. You just need to promise me something.” “Anything.” “Promise me you’ll use this. Really use it. That you’ll create the art you’ve been too tired or too stressed or too worried about money to create. Promise me you’ll become the artist I know you can be.” “I promise.” She raised her wine glass. “To friendship. To sisters. To the most insanely generous gift anyone’s ever given me.” I clinked my glass against hers. “To you, Maya Rossi. May you fill that beautiful space with beautiful art and beautiful life.”

The walls were adorned with lavish artwork, the floors were made of gleaming marble, and the tables were set with fine china and crystal glasses. I looked around, my eyes wide with wonder. "Wow, this place is seriously fancy. I feel like I should be wearing a tiara or something." Derek chuckled, taking my hand and leading me to our table. "You're perfect just the way you are, Cynthia. Besides, I think you'd look great in a tiara." I playfully rolled my eyes, smiling. "You're just saying that because you're trying to butter me up so I'll share my food with you."