Chapter 60: Let Me Paint
Delia lay sprawled weakly on the long sofa in the workshop’s lounge area.
Light slipped down along her fluttering eyelashes.
Her heavy eyelids made it hard to lift them as a drowsy, languid sleep threatened to overtake her.
She needed to get up.
But Delia couldn’t move at all because Aaron was curled up in her arms.
Did he think she was a blanket or something?
Aaron had pushed Delia deep into the sofa and was holding her tightly, leaving no gaps.
She couldn’t push him away either; even the slightest movement felt like she might fall off the sofa.
She didn’t want to push him away because she didn’t want to lose the warmth transmitted from his body.
In the end, Delia gave up on getting up.
Crazy blanket.
She muttered his new nickname quietly, giggling.
Though heavy for a blanket, the subtle pressure from his body gave Delia a profound sense of security.
A faint twinge from her pressed heart brought a small smile to her lips.
“Time to get up now.”
Delia lifted the hand that had been dangling off the sofa and stroked Aaron’s hair.
His hair tangled between her fingers.
The silvery strands sparkled like sugar dust in the light, tickling her palms.
Wanting to feel that sensation more deeply, she buried her hands in Aaron’s hair.
She pressed lightly with her arms, pulling him closer, and buried her nose in his hair.
The rich scent of his body filled her lungs, and she closed her eyes in satisfaction.
“Mm…”
Aaron, still lost in the lingering sensation, twitched slightly.
His relaxed, subtly fluttering eyelashes brushed against her.
A low groan from Aaron transmitted through his skin, reaching Delia.
Feeling sorry to wake him, she whispered gently,
“Now, we have to go.”
“Mm… wait a moment.”
Aaron’s deeply slumbering voice carried a heavy sense of reluctance.
“Your mother will be looking for you.”
Even while waking him, Delia’s hands remained buried in his hair.
Her caresses were gentle, almost as if trying to lull him back to sleep.
“Just a little more.”
Aaron pressed even closer, burying his forehead against her slender neck.
His hands traced Delia’s curves, moving up to the scars on her left arm.
Far from letting go, Aaron clung to her more stubbornly.
“If your mother finds you again, you’ll get scolded. Commander.”
“It’s fine. The workshop members will buy us some time.”
“Huh?”
Startled, Delia flinched.
“The workshop people?”
She couldn’t move her body but rolled her blue eyes across the lounge area.
It was strange.
The workshop, usually bustling with people, was unusually quiet.
So still, it felt almost as if everyone had turned into statues.
“Where did everyone go?”
“They went to the palace at the Queen’s summons.”
“And the assistants? The trainees?”
“They were given special leave today. Sent home.”
Aaron’s steady breathing traced along her collarbone, flowing downward.
The ticklish sensation along sensitive spots made her toes curl.
Her entire body tingled as she gripped the hair in her hands.
The more Delia tugged, the more disheveled Aaron’s hair became.
“How? How is that possible?”
“Easy. Once you go after the leader, everyone follows.”
“Exactly—but going after that leader is the hard part. Peruzino is so stubborn.”
The Picern Workshop was run under the royal chief painter, Peruzino, who carried both the pride of an artist and the heavy responsibility of managing the workshop.
He wasn’t someone who could be swayed easily.
“How did you manage to… win him over?”
“I promised him what he desperately wanted.”
“What was that?”
“The chance to paint a portrait of Princess Iorenti.”
“Ah!”
An incomprehensible scream rattled the otherwise drowsy workshop.
Delia grimaced and placed her hand on Aaron’s shoulder.
She pushed him with force, but his firm, broad shoulders didn’t budge.
“How did you get everyone to comply?”
Despite her struggling, Aaron didn’t move. He simply held her comfortably and murmured,
“When I promised the chance to paint the Princess’s portrait, everyone moved in perfect order.”
Meredith had said the Picern Workshop had long held a grudge against the Iorenti Princess, unable to capture her likeness on canvas.
Since childhood, Delia had despised being painted, making it impossible for anyone to capture her portrait.
In that situation, the promise of the General—soon-to-be the Princess’s husband—was a deadly temptation.
The opportunity to paint the Iorenti Princess?
As soon as Aaron’s promise was conveyed, Peruzino and the workshop members left immediately.
It was as if they’d heard news of an imperial raid—abandoning everything and departing.
“They seemed even better trained than our army. The Empire’s troops wouldn’t have retreated this fast.”
“Was all that really necessary?”
“The palace has too many eyes. We couldn’t afford the leisure to stay wrapped around the Princess. And we couldn’t lock the palace people up again either.”
“Still, who gives away portrait rights without consent?”
Delia twisted to free herself, but the more she struggled, the stronger Aaron’s hold became.
Like a swamp pulling her down deeper with every move, Aaron drew Delia further into him.
On the narrow sofa, their pressed skin rubbed together, and their breaths intertwined.
The old sofa creaked loudly in the quiet workshop.
Their rekindling body heat was palpable.
Delia’s cheeks flushed like pomegranate.
“You know how much I hate painting portraits? Do you know how much I avoided Peruzino to escape it?”
“Why?”
“Just… hate it.”
“You should have at least one. For appearances. It’s not right for a royal to have no portrait.”
Aaron’s firm voice made Delia sigh.
Her delicate brows furrowed as if the world had ended.
Aaron softened his touch to ease her frustration.
His large, warm hands flowed over her reddened body.
“Why do you hate it so much?”
“I hate the idea of my face existing where I’m not.”
“Oh, come on. Like a child.”
“I hate that someone who doesn’t know me judges me by a painting.”
“Hm… that’s a rational feeling.”
Aaron acknowledged her feelings and stepped back slightly, and Delia relaxed her body.
She told him her past while letting him run his hands over her.
“Years ago, a portrait of the Ionik Princess came into our possession.”
“Why?”
“She was my brother’s bride candidate.”
“Hm.”
“The light around her floated, her eyes sparkled like gems. Out of the three candidates, she was the most beautiful. So my brother made a big decision and formally requested a visit to the Ionik Princess.”
“And then?”
Aaron asked curiously, but Delia looked away, avoiding the answer.
The faded vine patterns on the old sofa mirrored the tangled emotions in her heart.
“Hm… something like that happened.”
“You stop a story just when it gets interesting?”
“I won’t tell the end. Just that my brother refused to talk.”
That alone was enough.
Aaron struggled to suppress a laugh at how things might have ended for Alberto, who had fallen in love with the portrait.
“I thought she seemed kind. Deep inside. Easy to converse with. A princess whose beauty made sense.”
Delia shivered at his breath tickling her skin and continued quietly.
“But my brother refused to converse because she wasn’t like her portrait. If he had met her directly, maybe he could have seen her heart more clearly.”
“Interesting story.”
“Now you understand my feelings, right?”
Delia ran her hands over Aaron’s broad back.
Like a boat drifting along a river, her hands moved lazily across him, creating gentle ripples.
“That’s why I hate painting portraits. What if people see the painting and are disappointed in me? Like with the Ionik Princess.”
Delia’s cautious words filled the workshop with a strange silence.
Aaron stopped stroking her, lifted his face from her chest, and slowly opened his eyes to look at her.
He looked at her as if her words were absurd, a wry smile in his eyes.
“I wanted people to see me as I am, not through a portrait. The real me.”
Delia’s red lips trembled with worry that people would be disappointed in her real self.
Aaron responded with a dry laugh born from extreme hunger.
“Good thinking. If people saw the portrait first, they’d be disappointed.”
Because of the artist’s poor skill.
Delia tilted her head at Aaron’s laugh.
“See? I’m right. But why do I feel so bad?”
Aaron smirked and shifted slightly, covering her with his body.
“Huh?”
As Aaron enveloped her, the air seemed to change instantly.
“Could it be….”
Their foreheads touched, and Delia’s blue eyes fixed on him.
“Again?”
Delia asked nervously, her breath brushing his nose and lips.
The sweet scent, impossible to capture in a portrait, filled her inhalation.
“No. I really have to go now. Let me go.”
“If you promise.”
“Promise what?”
“To paint the portrait.”
“No! Haven’t you heard my story?”
“I already promised Peruzino. In exchange for giving you the chance to paint the Princess, the workshop cleared out.”
“But that was a promise you made unilaterally.”
Delia frowned, pressing her forehead against his.
Aaron whispered gently to calm her.
“Don’t worry. No one will see it.”
Their noses barely touched.
Hot breath mingled, threatening to melt everything.
“No one will see.”
He whispered against her red lips.
His deep, low voice seeped between her slightly parted lips.
“I’ll keep it hidden and only look at it myself.”
The blue reflected in his ash-gray eyes mirrored in Delia’s own.
Light reflected infinitely, reaching deep into each other.
“I promise. So, let me paint.”
The fervent desire behind his promise was palpable.
The touch he had used to paint invisible places with lips and hands returned vividly.
What exactly did he want her to paint?
The portrait? Or something hidden elsewhere?
Delia’s breath quickened in confusion, unable to tell what he truly desired.
