'Greetings,

Dylan Evans

cordially requests the pleasure of your company

at his art exhibition

to be held at

LUXE

on Friday, July 22

at 7 o'clock.

Sincerely,

Dylan Evans.'

I stare down at the piece of cardstock paper in my hand, my eyebrows almost knitting together with bemusement. Art exhibition? Does that mean what I think it means?

The prospect alone draws a lavish smile to my face, and I can't help how my heart swells with pride at the thought of him finally flaunting his majestic work. Turning the paper, I find a written note:

I'll be waiting for you, Candice.

—Dylan

My smile falters, and my heart does an ardent vault at the thought of seeing him, let alone visiting Seattle again. If I have to be honest, many avowals might need to be stated, and though I feel like a part of my heart is missing, I can't concede to that case. I can't concede to him.

It's been months since we've seen each other, and I could never help that formidable feeling that kept haunting me; the scary thought of him finally letting me go. My head was infested with a pretentious wish for him to abandon me altogether, but the selfsame thought would never bestow any sort of felicity over me, almost sucking the life out of me.

But now I feel those butterflies returning in full speed, dancing and hollering with excitement, reminding me of what sort of a nonsensical fanatic I am, and every logical thought within me diffuses like smoke.

But I don't get to lose myself in the dreamy haze for long, a portion of nasty memories foraying into my head, mercilessly dispatching any sign of eagerness.

Chavez—what the bastard did to me is beyond repair, and what has been the City of Emerald to me once, has become a city of decay and affliction. Every beautiful memory I've had with Dylan is now cloaked with blackness created by the evildoer, and at the thought of him, my whole body aches, as if recalling how much pain he put me through, and just like that, any rumination on the matter is shut down.

"Are you still with me?" Interrupts a voice, causing my eyes to cast north. I have totally forgotten that I've been sitting with the fucker Ethan for two hours straight, my hands twinging from being balled into fists.

"I am." I snap. "What were you babbling again?"

He sighs. "For once, focus!" He huffs. "Now Magdalene had to die and leave the business to a cluck who isn't willing to learn anything!"

My teeth gnash together. "Speak to me like that again, and I'll make sure to cut off your balls and dump them into her grave."

He rolls his eyes, running his fingers through his perfectly kempt hair. "If I didn't owe the woman, believe me, I would've fled long ago."

"You should." I bare my teeth. "O-

Just before I spout another threat, his phone chimes in, cutting me off. I press my lips together as he swipes his thumb across the screen of his smart phone, leaning back in my seat to scrutinize my grandmother's boring office. White, pristine walls, black, leather seats, and a mahogany desk that withholds endless paper stacks and files, but my eyes wouldn't stop venturing to the invitation envelop, luring intoxicating thoughts into my frail head.

"Yeah, I ordered her to switch it off." Ethan vents into the phone, snapping my attention to him.

"Ordered whom, you gob of sh-

"Fine! I'll hand her the phone now." He hastens to say, his eyes widening at me with warning, like that would shut me up. "Alexa." He reveals the identity of the caller, which I already knew.

I jerk the phone out of his hold, mouthing 'shit' to him, before I place it against my ear. "Hey, Alexa."

"I can't believe you listened to him." She giggles, and her voice injects a doze of nostalgia into me. I miss her.

"I'll let you believe that, if it will make you feel less disgusted when you see him." I smile sweetly at him, and if looks would kill, I'd be falling from a thirteen-story building now.

She bursts into a new fit of laughter. "Jeez, go easy on the guy." She beseeches, and I can envision her pouting on the other side, before she clears her throat, and I know she's about to say something serious. "Did you receive the invitation?"

My eyebrows shoot up, and I stand, sauntering to the door. If I'm going to talk about Dylan, I'll need privacy. "You didn't send it, did you?" I ask, my heart starting to tumble.

"Of course not!" She scoffs. "Dylan wanted to make sure you received it. You never answer his calls, so he wanted to make sure."

All of a sudden, I feel a lump forming in my throat. "Is he near you?"

"No, why? Do you want to talk to him?"

"No!" I shriek, drawing my personal assistant's attention to me. "It's just- He hasn't called for a while." I whisper, not bothering to hide the disappointment from my voice.

"Well, he came to you many times, Candice, and each time, you'd let him down, not to mention that you always ignore his calls. Dylan has a gigantic ego, and it could only take so many blows."

"I needed space, Alexa." I hiss. "After what happened with Chavez, and after my grandma's death, I needed time to get over both!"

"And now you don't?" She questions, her voice sanguine.

I freeze. Do I still need time?

Truth is: It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter that I see him in my dreams, for they always turn into nightmares.

It doesn't matter that he's the hero of every fairytale I have read as an innocent kid, for they now end with iniquity presiding.

It doesn't matter that with every breath that I exhale, my heart bangs with a new chance of a life where I don't have him, for the scar I have from the past is what controls my life now.

"I can't." I choke out.

She keeps silent for long moments. "It's on his birthday, Candice." She discloses, and I inhale sharply with surprise. "He never celebrates his birthday, but I imagine you are the only gift he would die to obtain."

I support myself against the wall, her words overwhelming me. "I don't know, Alexa."

She respires. "You have a few days to decide, but I'm telling you this because he's my brother: that exhibition means a lot to him, and it wouldn't be the same if you don't make it. So, you better be there, or I won't ever forgive you for breaking his heart." She pauses. "Fixating your life on what took place in the past would only trap you there, and once you're trapped, you'll never be able to get out. If there's a part of you that wants my brother, come, and if he ever breaks your heart again, I'll make sure he never gets to hold a brush again." She chuckles, her hard voice softening. "That's a promise."

I smile, knowing her enough to ascertain that she would make his life a living hell. But then the smile forges into a huge grin, and I realize that I don't need the days left to decide what I want.

Because the matter has been handed over to my preposterous side, and the conclusion is ready.

And so am I.

_____________

The narcotic, peaceful warbles that drift out of the venue are what ensures that I'm in the right place. It feels like they speak about him; serene like his façade, soft like his voice, and beautiful like every other part of him. The music calls to me, and my feet creep inside, spying people adorned with elegance and absurd price tags, just like me.

Yet they don't possess the memories that sail inside my head; the visions of him painting the showpieces they're gaping at with awed, approbatory gazes.

I feel a hand landing on my shoulder, and I start, turning to face Alexa, who has a bumper smile bedizening her beautiful face, and I can't help but wrap my arms around her. "I've missed you."

She hugs me back, her arms as tight as mine. "You say it like you came for me." She teases, pulling back.

I meet her smile with mine, my heartbeats barreling with anticipation. "Where is he?" I ask immediately, anxious to see him.

She looks around, her eyebrows pulling in together. "I don't know. I saw him talking to someone minutes ago." She muses, looking back at me. "Why don't you take a look at the portraits, and find him by yourself?" She winks, retreating.

I shake my head, surveying the space, the polished, aesthetic atmosphere reminding me of the times he struggled to help me with my painting, and I beam, pressing my lips together to muzzle my laughter. I recognize most of the portraits, and with every awestruck look I witness on someone's face, my heart swells a little bit more with pride.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't throttle you right here and now?" I jump, falling back a few steps as Cheryl plants herself directly in front of me, her eyes percolating daggers. "I invite you to one of my royal parties, and you don't show up?" She crosses her arms.

The side of my mouth twitches. "Hello to you, too, Cheryl."

"And she dares break my baby's heart, too! The guts you have!" She snorts, dramatically rolling her lined eyes.

"You look ravishing in that dress." I admit. Her low-cut dress is showing an amount of cleavage that's more noteworthy than my breasts.

Her eyebrows shoot up, the aggravated look on her face evaporating. "Really?"

I shrug. "I'm sure you already knew that." I say, my eyes raking through the crowd in quest for the reason I'm here, before they stop abruptly.

It feels like my whole body congeals, the rest of the room dematerializing into fog, my eyes latched onto one portrait.

My portrait.

Cheryl's voice fades into the spurned chaos of the room, and I step closer to the painting, my eyes perusing every single, adroit detail he drew. The painting is not fully completed yet, but I doubt anyone would notice as they get lost in the intricate beauty of it. The perfection of it.

And right at this moment, I realize that I don't need a hero.

I don't need a happy ending.

I need him. With his fucked-up world and his imperfect flaws.

I need him, for he is the one who's capable of prying perfection out of my blues.

I don't need someone to make my world a blazing fluorescence. I need him, for he is the one who sees the faint light that dwells within me.

I don't need someone who would struggle to make me happy. I need him, for he is the one who does it effortlessly.

He's the only one that's capable of unfolding my sphere of darkness.

And I love him for it.

"You came."

The velvetlike voice I hear is all I've been denying myself for months. It worms into my ear, and from there to every inch of my body, leaving a tingly trail with it.

I turn, my eyes antsy to behold him. Our gazes collide, and it feels like a trap, one that I never want to escape. I want to whirl and get lost in his beautiful gaze. I want it to consume me, to diminish everything that's around us, just to leave us both in the glamour of this moment. My eyes are languishing with yearn and love, wanting to own him. Wanting him to own me.

But his eyes have a whole other panorama. He's looking at me like he already owns me. Like I'm a painted canvas, and he's the only one who's allowed to view me.

He views me as his destiny.
I view him as my ruin.

And I know for certain that we both intend to revel in the fusion, no matter what befalls us.

His eyes leave mine first, before they start to tipple every inch of me like his favorite liquor, delighting in the short, plunge, blue dress I'm wearing. I smooth one hand over the sueded silky material, feeling his heated, possessive gaze burning holes into me. Without hesitation, I find myself examining him with glowing fervency, the shawl collar tuxedo he's wearing making him appear even taller and more alluring.

"Happy birthday." I manage to whisper, my vehement gaze meeting his once more.

His lips stretch into a warm smile. "Alexa told you."

I smile back. "Of course she did."

"Is that why you came?" He arches one eyebrow, and I sense disappointment in him.

I suck into a deep breath, struggling to keep our eye-contact intact, but then I fail, quickly turning around. I fix my gaze onto the painting. "It's beautiful."

He takes a few steps closer, standing next to me. "She is."

My heart skips a beat. "It's unfinished, though."

He stays silent for a few heartbeats, before he adjusts his feet, the feeling of his gaze on me deluging me in an ocean of appetency. "I knew you'd come back. I knew you'd be with me while I finish it."

His words make me lose my mother wit, and any other sense. I sigh, turning to face him again. "I didn't come because it's your birthday, and I didn't come to watch your success." I admit, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I came here for you. Because I wanted to see you." The way his eyes shine with hope breaks me, but I continue. "But I'm leaving again in a few days, Dylan. I have a new life now, and I can't stay in Seattle."

He lowers, but I'm taken aback when I don't perceive any surprise on his mien. "I know you can't, Candice." He nods, before he takes a step closer to me, causing my feet to tremble. "And I can't stay, either."

It's my turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

He pauses, as if trying to conjure up enough certitude about what he's about to ventilate. "I'll move to Tacoma, too."

"No!" I immediately splutter, barely believing him. "Are you fucking serious now?"

"Yes." He doesn't miss a beat.

"I can't let you do that! I can't let you give up your life like that!"

"Well, maybe you should mind your business for once." He snaps, his lips pursed.

"Excuse me?" I cross my arms.

He closes his eyes, running a hand down his face in exasperation. "I didn't mean it in that way." His lips press into a thin line, like he's trying to smother his annoyance. "It's my decision, and there's nothing that I want more than you. That, of course, if you would have me back."

I can see how uneasy he looks, from the unassertive posture, and the stormy mien. I shake my head. "I don't want to be selfish with you."

Whatever control he had over himself cracks, and he closes the gap between us, his face so close to mine. "Well, I am." He fulminates. "I'm selfish with you. I'm selfish for you. Selfish enough to want you after the pain I've put you through. Selfish enough to leave everything and everyone who cares about me behind, just because it's you that I covet so bad it fucking hurts. So, you better be selfish with me, because that would mean that you love me." His chest heaves, and his eyes silently beg me to give in to him "Now, Candice, do you love me?"

I don't know what shocks me more. His words, or how much I felt them. They are not supposed to sound poetic, yet they do. They are not supposed to sound delicate, yet the way he voiced each syllable grazed my heart, almost making me pour my feelings like liquid to him.

"Dylan!" A voice calls, drawing my attention to the middle-aged man who stands several meters away from us. Dylan's father.

Yet, Dylan doesn't grant him his immersion, his eyes still trained on me. "Answer me, Candice." He pulls my gaze back to his, not with his command, but with the vulnerability it bears. "Please."

He pleads; with his words and eyes. And I stand frozen, torn between the rational word, and the one I desiderate so much. A no that would drive me to a safer place. A yes that would make me whole again.

Finally, he nods, giving me a small smile. "Enjoy the evening, Candice." He turns, his feet primed to leave.

"Fine." I almost bluster.

He stops dead in his place.

"Fine, I'll admit it! I do! I do love you!" I confess, my face crimsoning, a fusion of anger and longing contesting inside of me. Anger because he made me concede to him. Longing, since I could never be able to fight it, no matter what I always do.

He turns to face me, his eyes wide open.

"But here's the thing, Evans. I'm doing this the traditional way. Tomorrow, you take me out. We will get to know each other, and share the things we don't know about each other. I'm sure there's a lot of those. And when the date ends, you'll kiss me whe-

He kisses me.

He almost knocks me to the floor, and my arms instinctively shoot out to wrap around his midsection. The kiss is not soft. The kiss is not angry.

It's hungry and selfish. Hungry and selfish for me.

"Dylan!" His father interjects again, and I pull back, my face blooming red.

"You asshole! You were supposed to kiss me tomorrow! Not now!"

A lazy smile takes over his face. "Then I'll kiss you again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and the-

"Dylan!" His father hollers for the third time, sounding exasperated.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Dylan huffs, swerving to nod to his father, who's standing with who look like his peers, all staring at us.

"Go." I say, laughing at his vexed countenance.

He sighs, focusing on me once more. "I'll be back so quickly, that you won't feel me gone." He promises, slowly withdrawing.

He's wrong. I already miss him, even with the few footsteps that separate us.

He grins at me, starting to spin, before he halts, his gaze concentrated on my blue dress.

"Candice?"

"Yes?"

"Blue suits you."

So, I've been told.

THE END

——————————————————————
I really hope you guys enjoyed this book as much as I did revel in writing it. I am always emotional whenever I read this part, but it is always worth is.

It's been a beautiful, emotional ride, and I regret none of it.

I will be posting Dylan's POV next, so stay tuned.

Please rate this book on Goodreads, if you have the time. An honest review would be appreciated

Book Two--Blue Star--is now live on Wattpad! Check it out if you're interested in a crazy heroine with a hot temper and an asshole who makes her world a living hell.

Thank you again.

All the love xx.