Dark Masterpiece (Serendipity Series 3) by Brieanna Robertson Page A

losing it the night before. He expelled a deep sigh as he
recalled the way she had listened to him, how she had been so
compassionate and concerned.
    Evie radiated a warm light
that he was unfamiliar with, an aura of gentleness surrounded by
fiery passion and spunk. She was bold and dynamic, yet could soothe
his wounded soul with little effort. It stunned him, and he even
found it a bit frightening. No one had been able to reach him since
Leanna had died and Amy had left him. No one but his brothers. He
let no one close enough to try. Evie seemed to see right past his
barriers and, somehow, she just knew. Knew how to touch him, knew
how to make him feel, even for one small second, that his heart was
beating again. He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t know what to
do with it. It terrified him. She terrified him, yet she intrigued him. It was a
paradox he couldn’t get away from.
    Once he had finished in the kitchen, he went
to his studio to paint for awhile. He saw the painting he had
mutilated the night before, pocket knife still sticking out of it.
He sighed and removed the knife, setting it back on his desk where
it belonged. He winced as he remembered the words spoken to him the
night before. His heart ached at the absence of his daughter.
Persistent, ever-present. There was never any relief from it. It
was his curse.
    He removed the marred canvas and pulled out
a new one. He painted. For four straight hours he painted. His
release. His passion. His emotions flowing onto the canvas. When he
had finished, he stretched, studied what he had done for a moment,
and headed out. It was eleven-thirty. Another day he had survived.
He went downstairs to get a glass of wine when he heard what
sounded like someone throwing up in the bathroom. He frowned and
turned down the hallway just as Evie stumbled out of the bathroom
looking pale and weary.
    “Evie? Are you all right?”
    She slumped against the wall and put her hand
over her stomach. “I think the chicken I ate may have already been
bad,” she grumbled. “I need to lie down.”
    “Would you like me to get you anything?”
    She shook her head, then seemed to turn a
shade of green and ran back toward the bathroom. Traevyn followed
after her without even thinking about it, and he knelt down next to
her. He pulled her hair back out of the way while she threw up and
ran his hand gently across her back. When it subsided, she slumped
down onto the floor and groaned.
    “I just love praying to the porcelain god,”
she moaned.
    He smiled a bit and stood to wet a
washcloth. He applied it to her forehead, smoothing her hair
back.
    “This is humiliating,” she muttered.
    “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he
assured her. “If my stomach was turning inside out I would want
someone to help me.”
    “Somehow I can’t see you ever wanting
anyone’s help in anything.”
    He met her eyes briefly. “Everyone needs
help sometimes. There are just some circumstances that are more
difficult than others. Do you think you can stand?”
    She gave a weary nod and let him help her
up. Her stomach must have roiled in protest because she
groaned.
    “Let’s get you upstairs,” he suggested.
    She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to
have to run all the way to the end of the hall every five minutes.
Just get me to the couch. I’ll watch television and try to distract
myself.”
    He put one arm loosely around her shoulders
and guided her to the living room. “Here, sit down.” She obeyed and
he grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair. It was one of those soft
fleece ones, and he thought it might be comfortable to her. He
knelt and pulled off her shoes, then swung her legs up so she was
lying down. He placed the blanket around her and offered a small
smile. “Are you comfortable?”
    She looked up at him, obviously amazed at
his consideration. “You must have been a very good dad,” she
murmured.
    He averted his gaze, but the smallest of
smiles touched his lips. “Thank you,”