Mine for a Moment

My heart wrenches as I stare at my replica of The Ballerina in the corner of Archer’s home office. I’m satisfied with the way each stroke of paint came together to capture the ballerina’s pure elegance and grace, and objectively speaking, it’s a piece of art I’m incredibly proud of. Yet I can’t look at it without resentment threatening to overwhelm me. Even in this form, a culmination of brushstrokes of my own creation, Tyra is captivating. It’s no wonder Archer can’t get over her. She isn’t the kind of woman you forget. I can’t, so how could I ever expect it of him?

My heart aches as I put the finishing touches on the painting, my movements carrying a heavy finality to it. Archer and I promised each other that we’d only sleep together until the painting was done, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep tweaking it, pretending it still needs something when it’s been done for weeks. I need to let him go, but I don’t want to. I did exactly what I promised myself I never would—I got attached to someone who’ll never be mine. Not truly. Not for more than a few moments.

I sigh and step back to look at it, taking in the inherent beauty in her posture. As time passed, I tried to make her look a little less like Tyra, but no matter how hard I tried, she ended up embodying her fully. It’s strange to look at a woman I’ve always loved and feel even a single hint of resentment when the one in the wrong is me. Archer has always been hers, and I’ve always known it.

“It’s probably your best work yet, Ser.”Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

I turn at the sound of Ezra’s voice and find him leaning against the wall. I’d been so immersed in my work that I didn’t hear him enter the room.

“Thank you,” I tell him, trying my best to smile as I look back at it.

“It looks just like her.”

A chill runs down my spine, and I tense. Archer never specified that it’s Tyra he wanted me to capture, but I knew that’s what he was after when he asked me to replicate my most famous Muse piece. After all, the original piece depicts her too. Maybe not quite as closely as this, but it was always meant to resemble her.

“Did Archer give you a photo for reference? I can tell from the expression you captured that it must’ve been a very specific kind of ask.”

I shake my head, part of me wanting to cut the conversation short here. “He just told me that he wanted me to replicate a specific piece, and I guess I subconsciously drew inspiration from the only ballerina I’ve ever known.” Lately I’ve only been working on it when Archer is visiting his parents, almost like I’m subconsciously trying not to remind him of her, while keeping her in the back of my own mind.

Ezra searches my face, his gaze conflicted. “You perfectly portrayed Tyra’s beauty and grace, and even a hint of that volatile temperament of hers that Archer always loved.”

Hearing her name out loud hurts. It suddenly makes her more real, brings her back into our lives when I’ve done my best to pretend she isn’t standing between Archer and me. With each passing day, it’s becoming harder to hold on to her memory, and I’ve begun to wish I could just forget her. It’s unfair to her, and it makes me feel like a horrible person, but I can’t help but want what’s hers. I want Archer’s love, his future, and I know I’ll never have that.

“It’s not surprising that he’s still holding on to her the way he is,” Ezra tells me. “She supported him through one of the toughest periods of his life, and he loves her fiercely for it. He always will. Archer hasn’t been the same since he lost her.”

“No,” I agree. “He hasn’t.” He’s thrown himself into his work, becoming a shell of the person he used to be, almost like he didn’t know how to live without her. I’d like to think that he’s changed in the last couple of months, that he’s enjoying spending time with me. But then I look at this painting, and I’m reminded that everything always leads back to her. His world will always revolve around her.

Ezra studies my canvas for a moment. “She wasn’t perfect, you know? Far from it. Archer can’t move on, but I think it’s only because no one can compete with an idealized memory warped by regret. No one will ever hold a candle to her in his eyes, but it isn’t because she was the love of his life.”

I raise a brow, intrigued and hopeful but scared to pry.

“They fought a lot, and despite being together for years, Archer had no intention of marrying her. I think that deep down, he didn’t see a future with her. She held on to him desperately, and he let her because he knew she needed him, and he felt he owed her for being there in his darkest hour. She was there for him when his grandfather disowned him, and she loved him when he and I struggled to make ends meet, reinvesting everything we earned into our company even if it meant sacrificing the groceries we needed.”

He runs a hand through his hair and rocks back on his heels, his expression conflicted. “I thought he’d finally started to move on, you know. Until I saw that painting.” He shakes his head and stares down at his feet. “He’s been smiling a little more, and more than once, he’s left work early when he normally never would. I thought he’d finally learned how to be happy again. Was I wrong?”

I tense and brush my hair out of my face nervously. “I…um… How would I know?”

Something akin to disappointment crosses his face, and he sighs, looking over my shoulder for a moment. “You’ve spent a decent amount of time with him while painting, so I thought you might have noticed some changes in him. He seems different, and I know him well enough to realize a woman is involved. Except…I’ve never seen him act quite the way he does these days.”

“How does he act?” My voice is soft, and the slight tremble to it nearly gives me away.

“Smitten. Haven’t you noticed the way he’s constantly smiling at his phone? All of a sudden, his life doesn’t revolve solely around work, and he’s started doing things he never did before. Watching movies on the sofa, taking his time to cook all kinds of dishes, traveling on his days off and posting pictures of random scenery on social media when I was pretty sure he’d forgotten his phone even had a camera. He’s doing all kinds of things that might seem normal to most people, but that he stopped doing long ago. He’s living again, Serenity.”

I stare at my brother, hope surging from my chest. He smiles, that same hope flickering in his eyes too. “So you think that this supposed girl is making him happy?”

My stomach twists as I wait for his answer. “Happier than he’s ever been before, and I don’t think he even realizes it. My concern is that he’ll sabotage whatever he’s got the moment he realizes he’s falling in love because he seems to have convinced himself that he doesn’t deserve to be happy.”

He looks over my shoulder, at my canvas, and this time, his expression turns into pure despair. “More than that, I’m worried about the girl he’s seeing and what it’ll do to her to realize she’ll never have all of him. Unless he lets Tyra go, he can’t be the man she deserves.”

My heart stutters when he smiles at me with pure sorrow in his eyes.

He knows.