Chapter 29 The canvas kiss
DAISY
I’m back in the studio.
The place smells like paint and old wood, and there’s still a stain on the corner table from someone’s careless attempt at mixing acrylics. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so stressed. This project is due next week, and Zeus has disappeared off the face of the earth.
No surprises there.
I toss another failed sketch into the trash bin, the pile now high enough to resemble a paper mountain. Twenty drafts later and I still can’t get the damn composition right. My lines look clumsy. My vision is a mess.
“Ugh,” I groan, slumping over the table and pressing my cheek against the cool surface. “Screw Zeus McAllister. And screw this project.”
I sit back up, brush my messy bun out of my eyes, and reach for the paint instead. Maybe sketching isn’t the answer. Maybe if I just started painting, something would come together.
Grabbing a fresh canvas, I start mixing my colors, humming under my breath. Reds, yellows, some deep purple for contrast.
“Zeus is an arrogant, broody little asshole,” I mutter as I dip the brush into paint and start layering my background. “Thinks he’s too good to partner up with me. He’s got another thing coming.”
"Is that what you really think of me?"
I freeze.
My hand jerks, dragging a red streak across the wrong corner of the canvas. Slowly, I turn around, my breath caught in my throat.
Zeus is standing by the door.
Leaning against the frame like he owns the place, arms crossed, silver hair falling over his eyes, and that infuriating blank expression on his face.
Perfect white shirt. Untouched. Clean. Like he didn’t just drop-kick my entire project by ghosting me for days.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, pointing my paintbrush at him. “Actually, you’re supposed to be anywhere else but here. You’ve made that very clear.”
He steps inside, letting the door shut behind him.
“I came to talk.”
“Oh, now you want to talk? What happened? You decided the peasant deserved some scraps of attention?”
He frowns. “Don’t twist it.”
I snort. “Twist what? That you’ve avoided me since we got paired? That you told me to do the project alone?”
“I said that because I thought it’d be easier.”
“Easier for who? You?” I jab the paintbrush toward his chest, red paint dripping dangerously. “This project is important to me. I actually care. But I guess you don’t give a damn.”
“I didn’t say that,” he snaps, stepping closer.
“Oh yes, you did,” I fire back.
He closes the distance, just a few feet between us now. His presence is so heavy it’s almost suffocating.
“Why do you always act like you know me?” he mutters. “Like you’ve figured me out.”
“Maybe because you don’t give me much choice. One minute you’re here, the next you’re gone. You look at me like I’m a problem. What am I supposed to think?”
He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, expression unreadable.
And something in me, maybe the frustration, maybe the heat rising to my cheeks, snaps.
Without thinking, I lift my paintbrush and swipe it straight across his perfect white shirt.
Bright red.
A slash of rebellion.
“Oh no,” I say, mock-gasping. “Did I ruin your clean shirt?”
His jaw clenches. “You didn’t just do that.”
“I did.”
I’m bracing for a storm of insults or maybe another cold shoulder when he walks over to the supply shelf, grabs a bucket of paint and dumps the entire thing on my head.
It’s cold.
It’s blue.
It drips down my neck, soaks into my shirt, splatters onto the floor.
I stand there, eyes wide, lips parted in shock. “You did not.”
He smirks.
That bastard smirks.
“Oh, you’re dead,” I growl, grabbing another bucket.
He raises his hands like he’s surrendering. “Don’t do it.”
“Too late.”
Paint flies.
The next few seconds are a chaotic blur of color, screams, laughter, and slipping over the wet floor. My shirt is ruined. His perfect hair? Drenched in purple. Our shoes? Unrecognizable.
We look like walking canvases. And yet, I’m laughing. Breathless. Infuriated. But laughing.
Because for the first time since this damn project started, Zeus McAllister is here.
Really here.
And maybe, just maybe, we might actually make something out of this mess.
We’re chasing each other around the studio like children on a sugar high. I’m laughing. He’s actually smiling. Not the smirk, an actual smile.
And then I slip on the paint-slick floor.
He lunges to catch me.
We tumble to the ground in a heap, him underneath, me sprawled on top of him. My hands brace against his chest, slick with paint. My heart pounds wildly in my chest. We’re both breathless, our faces inches apart. The world seems to quiet, except for the heavy thudding in my ears.
His eyes flick to my lips.
I don’t breathe.
And then…
He kisses me.
And I kiss him back.
Deeply. Frivolously. Desperately.
It’s messy. It’s hot. It’s like setting fire to every nerve in my body. His hands slide up my back, pulling me closer. My fingers tangle in his hair, and I melt against him like my body was meant to be there all along.
It’s wrong.
It’s completely insane.
But I can’t stop.
Until something in my brain clicks.
What the hell are you doing, Daisy?
I yank myself back so fast it makes both of us gasp. I scramble to my feet, my chest rising and falling like I just ran a marathon.
Zeus stays on the floor, his lips slightly parted, his expression dazed.
“I have no idea what that was,” I breathe, avoiding his gaze. “But it shouldn't have happened.”
He sits up slowly, eyes locked on me now. “Maybe it should have.”
“No,” I say, backing away. “You can’t just disappear and reappear like some storm, throw my whole life into chaos, and then kiss me like-like that.”
His voice is quieter now. “I didn’t plan to.”
“Good,” I snap, trying to ignore the way my lips still tingle. “Because it meant nothing.”
Even I don’t believe that.
I grab a rag and wipe paint off my arm, trying to calm the swirl of confusion crashing through me.
Zeus stands, silent.
For a moment, neither of us speak.
Then I glance over my shoulder. “If you’re going to help with this project, help. If not… stay out of my way.”
And before he can say another word, I storm out of the studio, heart pounding, lips burning, and paint dripping down my spine.
What the fucking hell?