Chapter Ten
It was unusual that Sydney was home late in the afternoon. No modeling, no classes, she had time to paint in the low, shadowy light of the dying day. She hadn’t turned on a lamp because she liked painting in the darkening atmosphere. She painted the withering roses and the falling petals of the flowers sitting on the table in front of her. It didn’t really matter that she could barely see them; she was painting what was in her heart.
At that moment, everything in her world was laced with sadness. The music playing in the background, the magical mood of the fading day, and the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. One glad thing – her body seemed at peace. Despite her gross reservations about Malcolm and Tomas, she’d loved having s*x with them. The memory of her remarkable
