Chapter 153
My throat bobs. That was… unexpected. But it’s touching, if I don’t let my mind wander into the darkness and assume he’s just doing it for brownie points. The genuine look in his eyes makes me believe he’s being serious, though.
“Okay,” I say with a nod. “If anything comes up, I’ll do my best to explain it to you.”
“Thank you.”
With that, we separate to begin our respective projects. I set up shop in the lobby, where Giulia has cleared the large blank wall for the new mural. I’ve brought sketchbooks to plan the design, and art supplies for the children to contribute. Arthur heads upstairs
with his tools to tackle the leaking bathroom first.
The morning passes quickly as I work with the children to design our mural. We decide on a tree with spreading branches, each leaf meant to be a child’s handprint in various colors. At the base of the tree, we’ll paint the orphanage building with children playing outside.
By noon, I’ve sketched the outline of the tree and building on the wall, and the children have begun adding their handprints as
leaves.
It’s a surprisingly warm day today, and I’ve discarded my yellow cardigan as I’ve begun to work up a sweat. The lobby is filled with noise as the kids laugh and Giulia lightly scolds them for trying to smear paint on each other. Thankfully, it’s water soluble,
so it’ll come off easily.
I haven’t seen Arthur since he went upstairs, but I can hear occasional hammering or the creak of pipes being tightened. It’s strange to think of the Alpha President up to his elbows in plumbing work, but also oddly endearing.
I try not to think about him working up a sweat, too. The hard lines of his jaw as he focuses, his deft hands twisting a wrench, that one pesky curl falling into his eyes so he repeatedly has to brush it out of the way….
No, Iris, I tell myself, shaking my head. Now isn’t the time or the place, and yet…
I can’t explain it. Ever since that blood transfusion, I’ve been feeling… different. Like there’s something simmering just beneath the surface of my skin. Not just an extra pep in my step, but something else, too. Like the bond between us is electric, occasionally
sparking brightly.
Arthur must be manipulating the bond, giving it the odd tug or there–possibly to butter me up. As a human, I certainly can’t do
it myself. Not to that extent, at least.
Still, I try not to think about it, and instead focus on the mural.
Around lunchtime, I’ve worked up quite an appetite. In the kitchen, I find Giulia preparing simple sandwiches for the children. I offer to help, and together we make a fresh batch–turkey and cheese for the kids, and extras for Arthur and me. I also mix up a large pitcher of lemonade, adding extra ice to combat the afternoon heat.
Once lunch is prepared, I load a tray with two sandwiches, a glass of lemonade, and some of the leftover cookies from yesterday. I
1/2
head outside, where the kids are playing on the back lawn.
Arthur has moved to the shade of a large oak tree at the edge of the property, sitting on an old bench as he wipes sweat from his
brow. He looks up as I approach, and I feel an instant heat rise to my cheeks when I see his tan muscles peeking out from beneath his shirt, a thin sheen of sweat and grease coating his skin.
“You look thirsty,” I say, holding a glass of lemonade out to him.
