“I like to travel.”
“Where have you been?”
“Lots of places. All over Europe. Japan. I went to Russia a few years ago.”
“And how was that?” I notice he’s not taking notes.
Hmm.
“I went with my parents for an art exhibition there.”
“Right. They’re massive collectors.”
“Yes. My mother has become an expert in the art world. She’ll travel anywhere just to get a piece she’s had her eye on. We went to Russia in February a couple of years ago. It was freezing. We got stuck there for days because they kept canceling the flights due to weather,” I explain.
“Did you like Russia?”
“It was beautiful, but so terribly cold. The sky was this steely gray and it never changed. Maybe during a different season, I would appreciate it more.”
He actually types something in his notes and I wish I knew what he wrote. “What else do you like to do?”
“I like to read.”
His gaze flickers to mine. “Boring.”
“You can’t have the kind of grade point average we have without doing a lot of reading too,” I point out.
“True. I don’t read much for pleasure though.”
It’s how he uses the word ‘pleasure,’ and the way he says it, that makes me think of…
Things.
Wicked things.
What does he do for pleasure?
“What else, Birdy?” he asks, his voice quiet. Probing.
“I like art,” I admit.
“What kind?”
“All kinds. When you’re dragged to various art galleries your entire life, you start to appreciate what you see. Pieces eventually start speaking to you. Suddenly you have a growing list of artists you admire.” A sigh leaves me. “I resisted at first. I never wanted to go to museums or art galleries. I thought they were boring.”
“When you’re little, that’s what they are. Extremely boring,” he says.
“Exactly. I started appreciating it more when I was thirteen. There are pieces I fell in love with.” A smile teases the corner of my lips. “There’s one in particular I discovered a couple of years ago that’s my absolute favorite.”
His eyes light with curiosity. “What is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” I should’ve never admitted that. He wouldn’t care. Not really. “Just a piece I found myself drawn to.”
“Tell me about it,” he urges, and I hurriedly shake my head.
“It’s boring.”
“Come on, Wren.”