Say Yes by Kandi Steiner

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Art of Denial

I waltzed into the classroom seventeen minutes late on Monday morning.

By the way my hips swung and my chin was held high, you’d have thought I was late on purpose, that I simply couldn’t be bothered with showing up on time and they were lucky I’d shown up at all. I hoped the sad attempt at apathy hid the fact that I was actually quite panicky inside, my armpits sweaty, heart beating twice the normal speed.

I’d never been late in my life.

Then again, I’d never skipped class before Friday, either. Maybe I was becoming a new woman.

I cradled my still-slightly-wet painting sandwiched between two blank canvases, using a wine cork cut into four even pieces at the corners to prevent it from getting ruined in the walk over. I’d hoped to let it dry enough to varnish it, but had worked on it until almost three in the morning before passing out for some much-needed sleep.

When I sat down at my easel, I carefully unveiled my painting, removing the wine corks in each corner before unrolling my brush kit and paints to touch up the spots the corks had touched.

Professor Beneventi didn’t acknowledge my tardiness with anything other than a raised brow and a nod. He continued on about Masaccio’s impact on the Italian Renaissance, and his untimely demise at just twenty-six years old, while I touched up my painting.

“I left a short article on Masaccio’s influence on each of your easels,” he said as soon as I sat back in my barstool, satisfied with the piece. “Please read it silently and we’ll discuss.”

There was a flutter of pages turning in the room as he made his way over to me. He paused on the other side of my easel, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Absent on Friday and late this morning,” he commented. “When I said not to focus so much on perfection, this wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

“I apologize, Professor. I wasn’t feeling well Friday,” I lied, and I didn’t care to look over to see if Liam was in his seat or whether he’d heard me. “And I was up late last night working on my assignment.”

“The Birth of Venus?”

I nodded.

“And are you ready to turn it in?”

I blew out a breath. “Yes.”

He rounded my easel until he was standing behind me, and I studied the painting alongside him as the rest of the class read.

In the foreground of the painting, as to be expected, was Venus — goddess of love. Her curves were highlighted in gold, her glorious body naked and glowing. But instead of shying away and attempting to cover herself, she stood proud, shoulders back, head held high, a wicked gleam in her eyes. A crown of thorns tipped with blood sat in her golden hair, and while one hand rested on her hip, the other curled over her plump breast, fingertips just barely brushing her pierced nipple. Her smile was soft but expressive, a come and get me smirk that bordered on crude.

Gone was the serene background of a calm sea, replaced instead with stormy waters ablaze with fire. Instead of standing in the shell of a clam, she hovered over the charred earth beneath her. She was no longer flanked by Zephyr, Aura, and the Hora of Spring, but rather surrounded by angry men with pitchforks and swords, their faces irate, mouths wide with silent screams. Behind them was a smaller crowd of women, cowering but coming closer, their eyes alight with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Venus stood proud and unashamed, ready to fight, ready to devour. She looked at the viewer without a single worry, as if to laugh with them, as if to say, “Ha, do you see these fools? Like they could ever stop me.”

I shifted on my stool so I could see the professor’s face, finding him cradling his chin between his thumb and forefinger as his eyes roamed the canvas. His pupils would dart this way and that, as if he was trying to see every little detail, before his eyes would glaze over and still altogether, like he was purposefully losing focus to see the piece as a whole.

“Can you tell me, briefly, about your work, Miss Chambers?” he asked after a while, his voice soft and low, eyes still glued to the canvas.

I looked back at the painting, smiling at the Venus I’d created who seemed to be speaking for me. “Venus is the goddess of love, of desire, of beauty, of sex,” I said, enunciating every word. “Her birth is depicted as pure and welcomed, but this world we live in doesn’t embrace beauty or love, and it certainly doesn’t embrace sex. It showers it with shame. It seeks to end it, to snuff it out before it can spread too far.”

I looked at the professor again to find his brows furrowed as he studied the painting even closer.

“Men are afraid of love, of deeper connection, of vulnerability. They want to hide from it or destroy it before it can ever truly live.”

I looked directly across the room, then, and just as I suspected, I found Liam staring back at me.

“Because it’s powerful,” I continued, my eyes locked on his. “Because it has the ability to impact change. And because it takes being vulnerable and honest with ourselves to truly embrace it.”

Liam’s expression was unreadable, but I held his gaze for a long moment before looking back up at the professor.

“And what of love, then? Where does she fall in all of this?” he asked.

“She doesn’t fall at all,” I answered quickly. “She stands. Strong. Confident. Eluding the cowards too weak to wreck her, and waiting patiently for those brave enough to receive her.”

Silence fell over the room, and when I glanced around, I found every pair of eyes zeroed in on me and the painting most of them couldn’t see. I swallowed, turning my attention to Professor Beneventi again, who stood still and quiet for an eternity.

Finally, he shook his head, a distant smile spreading on his lips. “It’s splendid,” he whispered, his eyes falling to me. “Well done.”

It was like the entire class took my next breath with me, and suddenly, someone started clapping. It was soft at first, just one person clapping three times in a slow rhythm, but then everyone else joined in, and those closest to me reached out to squeeze my arms or shoulders in congratulations.

I blushed, dipping my gaze so much that my hair fell in front of my face. When the noise settled, the professor clapped his hands once and stood in the center of the circle of easels, regaining attention.

“Now,” he said. “Let’s discuss your reading. Why was Masaccio so instrumental to the Renaissance movement?”

A hand shot up across the room, but as the student began to answer, my focus fell to my painting again, pride swelling in my chest. I took my smallest paintbrush carefully in my right hand, the wood balanced between pinky and thumb, and I signed my name in the corner.

I could have sworn Venus’s smile was even wider than before.

Give ‘em hell, girl, she seemed to say.

And I planned on it.

“To you, you Leonardo da Vinci bitch,” Angela said that evening, lifting a shot of tequila my way.

I grimaced at the one in my own hand before we tapped glasses, and then on a silent prayer from me and a cin cin from my roommate, we threw them back.

I hissed as soon as the liquid was down my throat, immediately sucking on a lime. “Yuck.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad. Order another one, that usually helps the first one go down easier. Besides, we’re celebrating!” She winked, hovering her finger over our appetizer plate until she landed on a piece of crostini and popped it in her mouth. “I’m proud of you. I know this was an… interesting project.”

“To say the least. But as much as I hated the professor this time last week, I think he was right,” I admitted with a shrug. “I needed to break out. I needed to live a little. I needed to reach beyond the desire to be perfect.”

“You needed to have your heart smashed by a stronzo so you could channel your inner Venus.”

“A what?”

“It’s Italian for asshole.”

“I’ll have to remember that one.”

“Hopefully you won’t need to use it, but yes, always good to keep in the back pocket.”

“I like this spot,” I mused, looking around at our newest find. It was an outdoor café on the Arno River specializing in aperitivo. But with a full bar and a menu stacked with small bites, I had a feeling guests stayed long after their pre-dinner drink.

“Me, too. Best view in town,” Angela agreed.

I sighed and nodded in agreement, letting my eyes wander over the river and the bridge in the distance. But when I looked back at Angela, she was making eyes at a young woman on the other side of the patio.

I laughed. “Why don’t you go say hi?”

“No way! We’re celebrating.”

“One shot of tequila was plenty celebration for a Monday night,” I said. “Go. I’ll order us a couple more small plates just in case she’s straight.”

“The way she’s looking at me, I can tell you that will not be the case.”

“Then I’ll see you back home. Put a towel on the doorknob if I need to stay out later.”

She bit her lip. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you here alone after such an awesome day.”

“I like being alone,” I answered honestly. “Besides, I’m exhausted from the lack of sleep this weekend. I won’t be here much longer.”

She frowned even more.

“Angela, go,” I said with a laugh. “Before I drag you over there myself.”

That made her smile, and she leaned over to kiss my cheek before finally strolling over to the girl on the other side of the patio. She had dirty blond hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and the way charcoal covered her fingertips, I knew she was some sort of artist. The way she watched Angela make her way over, I also knew she’d found her next muse.

I nibbled on a crostini as they exchanged greetings. The girl lit up with a laugh at something Angela said, and then she gestured for her to take the seat across from her, and that was that.

I sighed on a smile of my own, leaning back in my chair and appreciating the view of the river once more. It was a balmy evening, but the breeze was nice, and I peeled my hair off my neck to fully enjoy it.

I didn’t mind eating alone.

When I sat by myself, all the noise from the day, and from life, in general, faded away. I closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh air and feeling the sun warm on my face. And though most people saw black when they shut their eyes, I saw a myriad of colors, a universe of possibility waiting to be created.

Isolation wasn’t lonely.

It was clarifying.

“Not the best place to take a nap.”

My eyes shot open, and in place of the swirling light and colors I’d seen behind my eyelids, I now saw Liam standing above the chair Angela had left vacant.

He wasn’t wearing his usual smirk. If anything, he looked a little sheepish, his hands shoved in his pockets, and a hesitant curve on his lips. His hair was oily and messy, his shoulders slouched. For some reason it made me feel good to see him look like hell.

“What do you want?” I seethed.

“I was wondering if you were still saying yes.”

I cocked a brow.

“Because if you are,” he continued, gesturing to the empty shot glass in front of me. “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Please,” he said, his voice lower, hands coming out of his pockets to curl over the back of Angela’s chair. “I owe you an apology.”

My eyes were mere slits I stared at him through, and my breaths were hot like that of a dragon. Across the bar, Angela snapped her fingers and waved her hands all crazy in the air until I looked at her. When I did, she mouthed are you okay, do you need help?

I glanced back up at Liam’s pathetic face and sighed, shaking my head at Angela before I waved a hand dismissively at the chair Liam held onto in lieu of answering him.

He accepted the annoyed invitation, taking a seat before he caught the attention of the waiter. He ordered a few more small plates and a bottle of red wine for us to share, and then his eyes were on me again.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For pretending like I didn’t know you on Saturday night.”

I snorted, thankful for the pause in conversation when our waiter dropped off the new bottle of wine. He poured a healthy glass for me, and I sucked half of it down as soon as he left us.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“No, it isn’t.”

I shook my head, tucking my right hand between my thighs as I held my wine glass with the left. My eyes trailed over the sun’s rays casting a gold glow over the river. It was easier to blind myself with that light than to look at Liam Benson.

He let out a long sigh. “You make this so difficult.”

“I make this difficult?” I shot back. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are.”

“Clearly.”

“We are,” he said again, more earnestly. “I just… I’m fucked up, Harley.”

His dark eyes searched mine with those words, and he ran his hands back through his hair before he tore his gaze away, looking out over the river.

“You deserve more than the way I treated you,” he admitted softly. “And I don’t have an excuse that can make it right, but I do have a genuine apology. I understand if that’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got.”

Our eyes met again, and I rolled my lips together, tasting the red wine staining them. “It’s okay,” I finally said. “Water under the bridge.”

His lips ticked up into a soft smile, and he nodded once. “Thank you.”

Our food was delivered, then, a variety of bruschetta and meats and cheeses and fruits. When the waiter left us again, I grabbed a slice of tomato bruschetta and shoved it in my mouth to keep from having to figure out what to say next.

“So,” Liam said between his own bites. “You really did a number on that assignment this weekend.”

I smirked, still chewing and unable to answer.

“It seemed a little… angry.”

I swallowed. “Maybe it was.”

“Am I the asshole who inspired it?”

“Stronzo.”

He cocked a brow.

“That’s asshole in Italian,” I explained, reaching for my wine. “And as far as your inquiry, I’ll never tell.”

He chuckled, and with the sound came a breath of ease that fell over us both.

“I liked that you pierced her nipple,” he commented. “That was sexy. And unexpected.”

I shrugged. “I was kind of approaching it from the birth of the modern Venus. Women have broken down a lot of walls in the last one-hundred years, and I think some men are threatened by it. We were embraced by men when we were soft, submissive, and nurturing. But now that we’re edging on the more dominant and powerful side, I think it brings a level of fear to most men.”

Liam’s bottom lip jutted out as he nodded. “Makes a lot of sense, actually. My mom was the first woman in her family to go to college, and it was something my grandparents didn’t understand. Even now that she’s successful in her career, I think they hold it against her for not being a stay-at-home mom with me and my brother.”

I didn’t miss the way his words faltered at the mention of his sibling, and his eyes dropped from mine to the wine before he cleared his throat and looked out over the water.

“What was he like?” I asked, tracing the rim of my glass with a fingertip. “Your brother.”

Liam scratched his neck, but didn’t answer.

“We don’t have to talk about him if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “I mean, yes, it makes me uncomfortable. But only because of the guilt.”

My chest tightened.

I wanted to tell him again that there was no reason to feel guilty, that the accident wasn’t his fault, but I knew before even offering those words that it didn’t matter if no one else felt like he was responsible. He did.

That was his reality.

And there was no changing that unless he wanted to.

“He was the complete opposite of me, in all the best ways,” Liam finally said. “I take after my mom — hard-headed and stubborn. But my brother was more like my dad. They were both patient and calm. They observed everything around them. They thought before they spoke.” He paused. “He was smart as hell, too. He’d just started his first year in college. He was going to be a doctor.”

“Wow,” I breathed.

Liam nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “What about you? What are your parents like?”

I hated that the subject had changed already, but didn’t push.

“They’re sweet,” I said with a smile. “Dad is all business at work, but kind of a clown at home, which I like best. And Mom is the more down to earth one. Dad is a salesman for some sort of up-and-coming technology that I don’t understand, if I’m being honest. Something about online technology that allows everyday people to auction off their items to each other?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. But he travels out to California a lot, and he taught me how to golf at a young age. He said a lot of important deals are made on golf courses.”

“That’s true.”

“And Mom teaches fourth grade.”

“I don’t know which is more impressive.”

I laughed. “Well, fourth graders are still sweet, thankfully. She’s always told me middle school is where it gets rough.”

“And what about the people your dad works with? You’ve golfed with them?”

“I have,” I said on a sigh as I recalled some of the more colorful occurrences. “They’re tech guys. I don’t know how else to explain them. Quirky, smart as hell. I think it’s the younger ones who frustrate Dad the most, though — the ones who have actually been able to study this stuff in college, whereas my dad had to teach himself, you know?”

“Wow. I didn’t even think of that, but yeah.”

“He’ll always say things like, ‘These kids nowadays don’t know how to apply themselves!’” I mocked. “But, if you ask me, it’s more about him feeling tied to how they do in their position, with sales and with clients. My dad doesn’t know how to not take things personal, so when one of his employees fail, he feels like he failed, too.”

“Is that where you get your need to be perfect from?”

The question shouldn’t have slapped me as hard as it did, but it made my brows fold over, my head snapping back as I digested it.

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” I answered honestly. “But… I guess that’s part of it, yeah. I don’t want to let him down. I don’t want him to think he’s done a bad job with me.” I swallowed, peeling my right hand out from under the table and holding it up. “With this.”

Liam nodded in understanding.

“Honestly, though, I think I feel most of the pressure from my mom.” I took a sip of wine — the last from my glass — before pouring another round. “She always wanted to have a house full of babies. Four kids, at least.”

Liam whistled.

“But when I came along, and she saw what a challenge I would be… it scared her. She didn’t think I would be okay unless I had all of her attention.” I shrugged. “Or maybe she was scared it would happen again, that her next baby would be deformed, too. And then where would she be?”

“I hate that word.”

“Deformed?”

He nodded.

“Well, it’s true.”

“I don’t think so.”

I gave him a look.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Look, if your parents made that decision to not have more kids because of your hand, then that’s on them. It has nothing to do with you. And you’re allowed to make mistakes, to not be perfect, to fuck up now and then. Not because of your hand, but because you’re human. We all mess up.”

“And we’re all redeemable,” I shot back with a challenge.

He breathed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head before he took another sip of his wine without acknowledging my assessment.

The conversation turned to lighter subjects — movies and music and the upcoming Olympics. I told him how I’d wanted to be a gymnast when I was a little girl, or an ice skater, but I had the coordination and balance of a drunk sloth. And he told me how he’d played basketball his entire life, even through college, but was never quite good enough to go pro.

The sun set over the river as we talked, nighttime buzzing to life around us, and when we were halfway through our second bottle of wine, I saw Angela slip out of the bar with the woman she’d been with all night. She gave me another questioning look on her way out, but I nodded to let her know it was fine, and though she didn’t look convinced, she blew me a kiss and left me to my own devices.

The wine had me feeling swimmy inside, my eyelids heavy, giggles rolling out of me more and more easily as the night progressed. When it was just us and one other table left on the patio, the conversation softened more and more until we were just staring at each other from across the table, the air between us thick with electricity.

“So,” I said with another sip of liquid courage. “Was I crazy feeling a connection between us the other night? Or did you feel it, too?”

The question made the smile slip off Liam’s face like a busted egg, the shell of his expression cracked as he let out a long sigh and looked away from me and over the river.

It was answer enough to make my smile crack, too.

I shook my head, eyes falling to where my hands gripped my wine glass. “Never mind.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, still not looking at me. “You’re not crazy. I kissed you, didn’t I?”

Hope balled up in a thick knot in my throat, one I couldn’t swallow past. “Yes,” I whispered. “But then you left. And then Saturday night…”

Liam sighed, running a hand over the scruff lining his jaw. “It was a mistake.”

I swallowed. “Kissing me? Or ignoring me after?”

“Both.”

The word hit my chest like a sledgehammer.

“I can’t be with you,” he said, his eyes finally meeting mine. “I’m fucked up. Broken. I’m not capable of having any kind of relationship with anyone — not just with you. I don’t see the world that way anymore.”

“You’re not fucked up,” I argued, but it was on a tentative whisper. “You’re funny, and charming, and… sweet.”

Liam shook his head, and I could see how hard he had to fight not to roll his eyes at the assessment. “You caught me on a rare day. Or, rare night, I guess,” he said. “That was one of the good days, and they don’t come often.”

“What do you mean?”

He was still shaking his head, still not looking at me, and he chewed the corner of his lip, knee bouncing slightly under the table.

“Why does it have to be all or nothing?” I asked after realizing he wasn’t going to elaborate.

Liam cocked his head to the side on a frown.

“What if… what if you just gave me the summer. What if we just did whatever we wanted to, whatever felt good… for now?”

Liam’s chest rose on a heavy breath, his nostrils flaring, eyes heating to a sizzle where they watched me. I didn’t know whether to feel ashamed for making the suggestion or as proud as the Venus I’d painted.

But after a long moment, he tore his gaze away, taking a long sip of wine to douse the flames. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

And shame won, my chest deflating on the next breath. “Oh.”

Silence fell between us, all the laughter and playfulness from earlier gone, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d spoiled it all by bringing up how I felt.

But the longer we sat there, the more that shame and regret turned to anger and annoyance.

Hehad been the one to hold my hand that night.

It was him who’d asked to come up to my dorm.

Hesaid we should shower together.

Heasked if he could kiss me.

Hewas hard as a rock when his tongue was halfway down my throat, and now he wanted to say it wasn’t a good idea?

I frowned, folding my arms over my chest. “Well, I do.”

Liam turned his attention to me with a cocked brow. “What?”

“I do think it’s a good idea.”

“Harley…” he warned.

“No. Don’t do that. Don’t talk to me like I’m a little girl or like I don’t know what I’m asking for.”

“But you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I want to kiss you again.”

The corner of his mouth curved with my admission. “You do, huh?”

“I do. And I think you want to kiss me, too.”

His smile grew even more before it fell altogether, and he inhaled a long breath, his eyes floating out over the river. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure, it is. You hook up with all these other girls,” I said, waving my hand in the general vicinity of the city. “Why not me?”

“Because you’re different.”

I frowned, confused, but then I thought about the way his eyes had slipped to my hand that first night in the bar, the way he’d handled each finger with such care and tenderness in the shower.

“Oh,” I said softly. “I get it.”

Liam’s eyes met mine, but he didn’t say a word.

“It’s because of my hand, isn’t it?”

“Harley—”

“You think because I have an underdeveloped hand, that I can’t handle casual sex?” I asked, maybe a little too loudly because the only other table left glanced at me before hurriedly tearing their gazes away.

“Harley, stop.”

But I couldn’t.

“You think I’m like this… this…” I waved my hands in the air. “This fragile little thing that needs protection?”

“It’s not because of your hand,” Liam said loudly, his eyes zeroed in on me. “It’s because of your heart.”

I swallowed, my breath labored, throat tightening at the way he watched me in that moment.

But I didn’t want to be the poor little girl he saved from being wrecked by his love.

I wanted him to devour me.

“Well, that’s just presumptuous of you,” I said.

He licked his lips, shaking his head and ripping his gaze from me. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking,” I argued.

“Did you not hear me before?” he asked, his expression a mixture of anger and exasperation. “I’m. Fucked. Up. You don’t know what I’m like when I’m… when I’m…” He shook his head, unable to finish. After blowing out a breath, he said, “I’m constantly pulled between who I was before the accident, and who I’ve become after. Sometimes I’m that carefree kid I used to be. Most of the time I’m the most miserable sonofabitch to ever live. And I don’t think it’s fair to subject you to the whiplash that comes with that.”

“I can handle it.”

He snorted.

“I can. I’m not asking for you to marry me,” I said, ignoring the way my neck heated with the words.

Liam still shook his head, still dug his heel in with the word no dangling in the air between us. I sat there and watched, and waited, until I decided I’d done enough waiting in my life.

With more courage than I knew I possessed, I dragged my chair over to his side of the table, not sitting back down until I was practically in his lap. His nostrils flared when I leaned into his warmth, my left hand folding over his thick forearm, chest pressing against his hard bicep.

In the very depths of my soul, I felt a twinge of warning, a muted voice trying to tell me I was getting in deeper than I could swim. I’d never had a casual hookup before. I’d never had a one-night stand. I’d never given myself to someone I wasn’t firmly dating.

But I’d also never wanted anyone in my entire life as badly as I wanted Liam Benson.

And no matter what I had to face after, I’d do anything to have him now.

“Look at me,” I whispered, my lips close enough to brush his ear. When he didn’t heed my request, I leaned in even closer. “I know you want me, too.”

He closed his eyes and blew out a hard breath through his nose. There was a minuscule shake of his head before his eyes opened again, and with just a slight angle of his jaw, he was looking down at me, our noses touching, breaths meeting in the space between us as my mouth parted in anticipation.

“Say yes, Liam,” I pleaded.

And then he crashed his mouth to mine.