Chapter 21
I’m not some obedient dog, after all.
Even as she thought that, Anita’s left hand obediently settled onto the palm he held out. The warmth—no, heat—of his skin against hers made her fingers twitch involuntarily.
Whether or not Rutger knew how she was feeling, he held her hand and examined it closely. His intense, silent gaze made Anita uncomfortable, and she tried to pull her hand away.
“Stay still.”
She was stopped before she could even try.
“What are you doing?”
“Just wait.”
When Rutger gently let go of her hand and stood up, Anita’s arm drooped down limply. He walked over to a shelf in the corner, rummaged through a drawer, and returned with something in hand. Ignoring Anita’s curious gaze, he pulled out several small, colorful paint pots.
“What is that?”
Anita asked the same question twice with patience, but he remained silent. Giving up on getting an answer, she chose instead to find out for herself what he was doing.
Rutger’s long fingers swept across the back of her hand several times, as if gauging something.
“You like blue, right?”
“…Yeah.”
Still holding her wrist with one hand, Rutger opened the blue paint pot with the other.
“You used to tell me my eyes were pretty every day. Didn’t you?”
He had it backwards. She didn’t like his eyes because she liked blue. She liked blue because she liked his eyes.
Eyes the color of a clear autumn sky, or an emerald ocean.
Anita, who had been staring into those eyes, glanced at the paint pots beside him.
No crude pigment could compare to his eyes. At least, Anita thought so.
“…”
He must not have been expecting an answer, as he simply pulled out a thin brush and dipped it into the paint.
Anita looked at the back of her hand, still firmly held in his. It was pale, blank—an empty canvas.
She had no idea what he was about to draw. She didn’t even want to know.
It felt like all her senses had concentrated on the back of her hand. Every place his fingers pressed felt overly vivid.
Just as Anita was about to pull away, unable to endure the discomfort any longer, Rutger drew a line with his brush across her skin. The way the bristles split and brushed over her hand tickled.
“Don’t look.”
“…”
“I only want you to see the finished piece.”
Anita turned her head toward the door—not just because of what he said, but because watching him kneel at her feet and draw with his head bowed felt too much to bear.
She even thought she could hear the ticking of a nonexistent clock in her head.
After what felt like an eternity, Rutger lifted his head.
“It’s done.”
He blew gently on the back of her hand to dry the paint. Anita nearly jumped.
There, on her hand, was a butterfly with vivid blue wings.
A butterfly as blue as the autumn sky.
Anita stared at it as if spellbound.
The butterfly, its wings spread wide, looked ready to take flight at any moment.
“Fell for it?”
“…Huh? What?”
“Pretty, right?”
Still dazed from staring at the butterfly, Anita answered a beat too late. When she finally registered what he had said, she looked up.
Rutger, still kneeling before her, smiled brightly.
Their eyes met unexpectedly, and Anita awkwardly curled her lips into a smile.
“You were staring like you were mesmerized, so I thought you might’ve fallen for it. Don’t like it?”
“…It’s pretty.”
Like a thief with a guilty conscience—he had been talking about the butterfly. Anita was grateful, once again, that no one could hear the thoughts in her head.
“Blue butterflies are said to be symbols of luck. You’re right-handed, so let’s leave that hand to do all the work.”
He placed Anita’s left hand back on his palm, gently playing with her fingers.
“This one, keep it as a lucky charm. I worked hard on it, so don’t overwork it.”
“A symbol of luck, huh?”
Anita looked again at the back of her hand with new eyes.
Now that he’d said it, the butterfly looked even more magical.
“Consider yourself honored.”
Why was he acting so smug today?
Anita narrowed her eyes at Rutger. He was always mischievous, but today he was worse than usual.
There was no point in complaining to that grinning face. She’d only end up more stressed. Anita said in a cooler tone,
“You didn’t just use me as practice, did you?”
“Have you ever seen a practice piece this perfect?”
“…”
“Guess you’re not allowed to wash your hands from today.”
“Should I just cut off my wrist and put it in a glass case?”
Rutger suddenly frowned and looked serious.
“Why do you say stuff like that?”
Anita shrugged and smiled faintly.
“It was a joke.”
“…You really hold grudges, don’t you?”
Honestly, Anita often wished she could hold grudges.
If she could, maybe she wouldn’t keep falling for his whims, knowing full well what he was like.
Now that she thought about it, Rutger hadn’t asked her why she came today.
Did that mean he already knew she would?
Before Anita could even ask the questions bubbling up inside her, Rutger declared today’s session over and saw her off.
Dazed, Anita left the art department and came to a halt.
She realized she should’ve made it clear that she wouldn’t model for him again.
That he shouldn’t act so familiar with her anymore.
That whether it was Edmund or anyone else, he had no right to comment on her relationships.
But she hadn’t said any of that.
