Terms & Truths (New York Billionaires Book 1)

44| Change

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Change

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Chapter 44: Change (Rowan's POV)

"What are you doing?" I repeated more firmly when she couldn't answer me. 

"Rowan, I can explain, I swear." 

I walked over and snatched the drape out of her hands, carefully placing it back on top of the painting. "Explain," I demanded. "I'll give you the chance." 

She sighed softly, "I couldn't sleep. I went out into the backyard but on my way back, I heard noises from here. I just came in to close the window but paintings fell over, I was only putting them back in place, I swear. Rowan, I wasn't trying to snoop around, I would never do that, especially if you asked me not to. I would never push you like that, this is private for you, I have and will always respect that. Please don't get upset." 

"I have every right to get upset. I specifically told you not to come in here, I told you this was my mother's study." 

"I heard noises, Rowan. The window was open, it's windy out, that's it. I came here just to be sure that everything was okay." I stared at her, working my jaw. She released a quiet breath and took a small step away from the covered paintings. "They're beautiful," she whispered, "I'm sorry I looked at them... Is it you?" 

"What?" 

"In that painting by the lake, the little boy, is it you?" 

"It's just a silhouette, it could be anybody." 

"But it's you, isn't it? It feels like you. She's your mother, why would she paint anyone else? The paintings are amazing." 

"She was a great painter. But you shouldn't be in here." 

She nodded softly and reached for the candlestand she had on the table. I blinked at it in confusion. "My... phone was dead," she mumbled, picking it up, wincing as some of the hot wax dripped onto her hand. 

Before I knew it, I was taking the stand out of her hand, ignoring the hot wax steadily pouring onto my hand despite the icy hot burn, and wiping the wax off of her. 

"Rowan!" She grabbed my hand, scrubbing the wax off. "Be careful." 

"You be careful. It's a burning candle," I bit back before taking a look around the room and settling on the floor against the wall. 

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked quietly. 

I stared at her for a minute and then shook my head, holding out a hand. She took it and I pulled her down to sit in front of me, between my legs, pulling her in until her back met with my chest. I slid my arms around her waist from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. 

She consistently and gently traced the red patch on my hand from the burning wax while I stared at the paintings, some that were open and some that were still covered. "Do you want to talk about her?" she asked without looking at me. 

"I've never talked to anyone about her. Not since she died." 

"You can talk to me only if you want to... Do you?"