He caught my gaze as he slowed to a stop and held me prisoner by the podium. “The thought of never seeing you again shatters what’s left of me.”
“Then don’t—”
“I don’t have a choice, Olin! I never had a choice.”
“You do! Everyone does.”
“Not everyone.” He pulled me into him, smothering me in another bone-crushing hug. A hug I’d wanted once upon a time but now squirmed to be free from. He kissed my temple, his entire body trembling in despair. “I love you now and always, O. You were the only one I wanted. The only one who owned me. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”
Tears leaked down my cheeks. “Gil...please.”
“I love you. But I can’t save you.” He pulled back, his own tears glittering in his gaze. “I tried, and I failed. That’s how fucking pathetic I am. How useless.”
“You’re not useless.”
“I failed everyone.”
“That’s not true.” My gaze danced over the warehouse, looking for freedom. “Stop saying that.”
“It is true. And I’m about to let you down all over again.”
“Please.” I reached for him. To hit him, kiss him, try to knock some sense into him. “Why are you doing this? What the hell is so important that you’d allow that bastard to turn you into a killer?”
His eyes were endlessly sad, eternally broken. “She is what’s important. The only thing that matters.”
“Who? Who is important?”
“Olive.”
My heart stopped beating.
Olive.
So he was dreaming of another O.
Another love called Olive.
Olive!
Pain I’d never felt before slithered through me. My voice was barely audible. “Who’s Olive, Gil?”
He grimaced and shrugged as if he’d already hammered the nails into his own coffin. “It doesn’t—”
“It. Fucking. Matters!” My voice resonated with more rage than I’d ever shown. “You owe me that at least. You owe me the fucking truth, Gilbert Clark.”
He inhaled, shuddering. “Olive is...” He couldn’t look at me. “Olive is my daughter.”
White noise stole me.
The ground was no longer stable.
Daughter.
He has...a daughter?
A moan of pure tragedy escaped me.
“I’m so sorry, O.” Dragging me into him, he kissed my forehead. A slash of liquid appeared on his cheek, entrapment wrapping him in an unwinnable nightmare. “That bastard has my daughter.” His voice cracked again, his head bent. “He has my own flesh and blood. My utmost responsibility. But he’ll trade...your life for hers.”
Every extremity turned to stone. How did he have a daughter? When did this happen? How and who with? Questions crowded my tongue but fear made me weak. “Why didn’t you tell me—”
“I couldn’t.”
“You could! She’s your child! The police—”
“Aren’t capable of helping. I’m past their help now.”
“Let me go. I’ll—”
“I can’t.” Another glitter of grief on his cheek. “I can’t let you go. I’m so sorry, owl.”
His despair turned to ruthlessness.
His love turned to coldness.
He kissed me one last time...and bent to grab the rope.
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“Must be brave, stubborn, and impervious to the tempers of loved ones.”
The first line hissed with history.
“Hours are endless, pay is non-existence, quitting absolutely forbidden.”
The second line ached with truth.
“Able to function on no sleep, refrain from running when times get hard, and be more than just a canvas but a lover.”
The third thrummed with honesty.
“Other attributes required: forgiving, opinionated, and not afraid to tell me when I’m wrong. Must also enjoy being touched and kissed at any time of my choosing.”
The fourth glowed with promise.
“Call or email ‘YOUR HEART, HIS SOUL’ if interested in applying.”
The final made my future unfold.
The advert was so similar to one I should never have applied for.
A twist of fate that brought two destined people back together.
A job I would take in a heartbeat if the employer could offer such terms.
But I wasn’t free.
Neither was Gil.
Therefore, my interview could never happen.
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Pepper Winters is a multiple New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today International Bestseller.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Body Painter has been a labour of love.
I first started this book in June 2017, put it aside until December 2017, wrote 63,000 words, put it on the back burner to write The Boy & His Ribbon, The Girl & Her Ren, and The Son & His Hope, deleted the original 63,000 words, started fresh in March 2019, wrote 137,000 words, sent to betas for feedback, deleted 30,000 words, rewrote 25,000 words and changed some key character personalities.
In the middle of that convoluted process, I almost deleted the entire thing for the second time, almost printed it off and burned it, almost printed it off to let my horses eat it, and overall lost faith that there was a story worthwhile telling in the mess I had created.
But...I’m glad I stuck with it.
Because I really like what is left and hope you enjoyed reading it!
I get asked all the time what inspired me to write. Normally, I have no reply—just the typical generic answer of ‘a story randomly popped into my head and I can’t explain where or why’. But this time...a few things intrigued me enough to create the tale of THE BODY PAINTER.
First, I binge-watched the Netflix show of Skin Wars. I loved watching the artists turn people into creations.
Second, I read a news article of an old man who went to a catholic school when he was young, run by nuns. He never married and spent his life alone, until one day, a young woman knocked on his door claiming to be his daughter. When he was young, a nun sexually abused him. She had a child and never told him. The daughter found out and tracked him down.
It really touched me that story. To think of a young boy being taken advantage of by someone who should be in a position of trust, leaving him with a daughter he never knew about.
Obviously I’ve taken creative license and changed the story to how I needed Gil’s life to unfold but those are the two main areas of inspiration for this tale.
And now, onto my thank you list.
Thank you so much to Heather (Po), Chanpreet, Heather (Pe), Nicole, Selena, Nina, Tamicka, Julia, Effie, Melissa, Michell, and Rochelle. You all provided invaluable feedback and I’m ever so grateful for your time and honesty.
Thank you to Heather (Po) for the quote from Van Gough at the beginning and for reading chapters again and again.
Thank you to Effie for being the first to read the finalized rewritten draft and talking me off the ledge.
Thank you to Selena for running my group, Pepper’s Playground, so efficiently.
Thank you to all my readers for their immense patience with this tale...it truly has been a long time coming.
And lastly, thank you to my husband for giving me the life I’ve always dreamed about.
I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
Love,
Pepper
xxx
The Body Painter (Master of Trickery Book 1) Page 42
