The Studio
1354 Words
I spent the next hour trying to make myself look presentable. The only nice thing I’d brought was a navy blue dress I’d worn to my mom’s funeral…..too tight across the shoulders now, but clean and not covered in holes. I pulled my hair back in a neat ponytail and stared at my reflection in the massive bathroom mirror.
I still looked like I didn’t belong here.
The dining room was even more overwhelming than the foyer long mahogany table, gold-rimmed plates, crystal glasses that caught the candlelight and threw rainbows across the walls. My dad and Victoria were already seated, talking quietly about some charity gala she was planning.
“Right on time, Sofia!” Victoria smiled, gesturing to the chair next to my dad. “Leo should be here any minute.”
I sat down and smoothed my dress over my knees, trying not to stare at the empty chair across from me. The food on the table looked amazing roast beef, garlic mashed potatoes, green beans covered in something creamy but my stomach was too tight to eat.
The door opened, and Leo walked in wearing dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. No ink visible now, but paint stains still dotted his wrists. He paused when he saw me, then slid into the chair across from me. Our knees brushed under the table, and I jumped like I’d been shocked.
“Everything okay, mija?” My dad asked, leaning over to check on me.
“Fine!” My voice came out too high. “Just a little warm in here.”
Leo’s eyes were on me dark, focused, making me feel like we were the only two people in the room. Even across the table, I could still smell that woodsy scent on him.
Dinner started off quiet. Victoria talked about which designer would be dressing her for the gala. My dad mentioned a new tool set he’d bought for the shop. Leo just pushed his food around his plate, not saying a word.
“So Leo,” my dad said, trying to make conversation. “Victoria says you’re an artist? Sofia’s been studying art history she could probably tell you a thing or two about galleries.”
Leo shrugged. “I paint. That’s not the same as art history.”
“Is that so?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “I bet I could tell the difference between something you mean and something you just slap paint on.”
A small smile touched his lips….real this time, not the tight one he’d given me earlier. “Yeah? You wanna see my work sometime? Studio’s out back.”
“I’d like that.”
“Leo, we’ve talked about this.” Victoria set her fork down with a sharp clink. “You need to focus on the business. The gallery opening is in three weeks….you should be preparing for that, not showing your hobby to guests.”
“It’s not a hobby.” Leo’s voice was quiet, but I heard the edge to it. “It’s what I am.”
“And what you are isn’t paying the bills. Your father built this company from nothing don’t you think it’s time you did your part?”
“I don’t want to sell cars, Victoria. I want to paint.”
“Painting won’t keep a roof over your head! Carlos, tell him you know what it takes to make it in this world.”
My dad shifted in his chair. “I think… we all need to do what makes us happy. Sofia’s mom always said that.”
The room went silent. I stared down at my plate, my throat tight. I could feel Leo’s eyes on me, soft now instead of sharp.
“Excuse me,” I said, pushing back my chair. “I think I need some air.”
I didn’t wait for anyone to answer. I bolted out of the dining room and down the hall, pushing through the back door into the cool night air. The lawn stretched out in front of me perfectly trimmed hedges, a fountain spouting water in the middle of a stone patio, and past that, a small brick building with warm light glowing from the windows.
His studio.
I walked toward it without thinking, my bare feet cold on the grass. The door was unlocked when I pushed it open, the smell hit me first: paint thinner, turpentine, and that same woodsy scent I’d noticed earlier.
Canvases were stacked against every wall some finished, some just blurs of color. In the middle of the room, Leo was standing in front of a huge canvas, brush in hand, painting so fast his arm was a blur. He didn’t hear me come in.
I crept closer, watching him work. The painting was massive…..dark and chaotic, with streaks of blue and gold cutting through the black. In the middle of it all, a boy with dark hair and sad eyes stared out at me. He looked just like Leo, but younger.
“Is that Marcus?” I said before I could stop myself.
Leo spun around, brush flying out of his hand and splattering blue paint across the floor. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry…..I just… needed to get away.” My eyes were fixed on the painting. “He looks like you.”
“He was my brother.” Leo bent down to pick up his brush, his shoulders tight. “Died three years ago. They said it was a car accident.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
He looked up at me, and the pain in his eyes made my chest ache. “I found brake fluid on the driver’s side floor after they towed the car away. Someone cut the lines.”
The letter in my pocket felt heavy against my thigh. They’re lying about Marcus.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Dad said I was imagining things. Victoria said I was grieving too hard. Even his girlfriend said I was crazy.” He turned back to the canvas, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But I know what I saw.”
I took a step closer, close enough to see the paint under his fingernails and the way his hands were shaking. “Who would do something like that?”
“Someone who didn’t want him to talk.” He set his brush down and turned to face me. “I found paperwork in Dad’s office….Marcus was investigating the company. Looking into where all the money was really going.”
“Is that what the letter was about?” I pulled it out of my pocket and held it up. “The one you left in my room.”
He stared at it like it was a snake about to strike. “I wrote it three months ago for a girl who said she’d help me. She was supposed to meet me here at midnight to go through the files I found. But she never showed up.”
“Why me? Why leave it in my room?”
He took a step closer, so close I could feel the heat coming off his skin. “Because when I looked at you today….when you walked into that foyer looking like you didn’t belong any more than I do…..I knew you’d understand. You’d see through all the lies.”
His hand brushed mine as he took the letter back, and this time, I didn’t pull away. His fingers lingered on mine rough from painting, warm against my skin and made goosebumps rise on my arms.
“Meet me here at midnight,” he said, his voice low enough to feel like a secret just for us. “If you want the truth about what happened to Marcus and what your mom had to do with it I’ll show you everything.”
I should have said no. I should have gone back to my room and pretended none of this was happening.
“Midnight,” I said instead. “I’ll be here.”
- Writer
