Unfaithful: Web Of Betrayal

David Bowie was playing. She could hear it stepping up the stairs to the second floor. The gallery manager told her Roman was working in his painting room. He never lets anyone up there unless it’s very urgent. But he told the manager to let Olivia come up when she arrived.

The door was slightly ajar. “Fame” was playing rather loud from the inside. She hesitated for a moment before she pushed the door with her fingers. It slowly opened up to the painting room she never entered before.

The whole room was lined with grid windows, bright with sunlight. She clutched the folder against her chest as she stepped on the hard wooden floor into the vast interior.

Roman was sitting in front of a canvas by one of the windows at the end of the room. A lot of canvases were stacked and leaned against the wall on the floor. Some of them were on easels, some were painted, some were blank.

He was shirtless, with his jeans hanging just above his pelvis. His tanned skin was smeared with paint here and there. He is sitting on a stool with his back against the direct sunlight and a big brush between his teeth. His waves fell over his eyes. Even with the loud music, he knew someone was entering the room.

His face glowed with a wide smile, and his eyes always found her with a little spark that sent shivers down her spine. He raised his finger as a sign for her to wait; he was almost done with it.

She curved her lips. She knew better than to interrupt an artist at work with a small talk or even a simple hello. She took a stroll around the room and looked at the paintings. She imagined how much time he spent in that room to do all the work he’d done, to stroke colors one brush at a time, trying to express what he felt or what he thought on the canvas. Then she came to a painting that looked familiar, a woman in blue by the beach lifting up her dress while trying to test the water with her foot. How long did he spend creating that piece? How long did he let that woman in the painting stay inside his head until he finished it?

“That’s you,” his voice fell softly in her ear.

A woman in blue. Of course. She turned to look; he was standing behind her while wiping his hands with a small towel. He was so close she could smell the paint thinner coming from the towel.

“I don’t remember dipping my foot in the water at the beach, though,” she commented.

He smiled, “Not literally.”

Their eyes locked. The painting says more than words can describe it. He saw something as they stared into each other’s eyes. She looked away. He walked towards the door without saying anything, and her heart throbs. He shut the door and turned the key, then he walked over to his stereo and turned off the music. She felt her stomach tightened.

“Okay … talk to me,” he said from across the room.

“I need you to look at my sketch for Kelly’s living room.”

“Not about that … talk to me …” he insisted.Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

She fidgeted on her feet, “I don’t know what you mean … I told you I was coming to discuss Kelly’s house.”

He walked over to her and leaned his rear end on a wooden cabinet beside her, “I know … but I’m more interested in talking about why you’ve been crying.”

Her heart fell to the floor; she couldn’t hide anything from him. She shrugged, “Oh, I just didn’t get enough sleep last night … is it that obvious?” she tried to deny it.

He tilted his head to one side, pressed his lips together, and tucked her hair behind her ear, “I know what lack of sleep looks like … and that’s not it.”

They fell silent for a moment. Olivia was not there to tell him how bad she felt the night before, being alone in her house waiting or not waiting for her husband to come home. Waiting or not waiting for something remarkable to happen in her life, even though the thing she wanted the most seemed to drift further away from her.

“I wonder how long will you let this go on,” he continued. “Why are you doing this to yourself? I don’t want you to do this to yourself … if that counts for anything.” His finger traced down her cheek.

She turned to avoid any further gesture from his hand, “I don’t like talking about personal stuff with my business partner.”

He laughed, folding his arms before him, “So now you’re putting me in that spot? Business partner? After you tried to friendzone me and failed?”

She didn’t respond.

“You know that’s just you trying to deny the truth … who am I to you, Olivia? Really? Don’t try to create a place for me so that I can fit into your reality … who am I to you? Truthfully.”

She shot him a look. She was faced with two choices, to tell the truth or lie. She wasn’t choosing either of them. She looked away again.

“Just say the words, Olivia …. just say it … and put us both out of our miseries,” he added.

“Every marriage has its problems; it’s nothing special … every relationship has its challenges … mine included,” she said with a low voice.

“But not everyone can fix it … and not everyone is worth the effort … do you think he’s worth it?”

She sighed, “My marriage is worth it … the years I’ve invested in it is worth it.”

“You mean the years you’ve wasted on him? And the years you will be wasting on him even further? This brought me to my question, is he worth it?” he stepped closer to her to look straight into her eyes.

His blunt words took her aback; the only thing that stirred her inside was the truth in his questions.

“Come on… are you seriously going to spend the years of your life waiting for him to come home wondering if he’s still lying to you?”

He saw the shock on her face; he’d been waiting for the right moment to tell her, “I know about Sienna.”

“Urgh …” she walked away. The sound of her name disgusted her, “It’s not about that anymore.”

“Really? You mean you’ve forgiven and forgotten? Are you saying that when you let me kiss you … made love to you … Sienna had nothing to do with it?”

“Don’t!” she pointed a finger at him, “Don’t reduce what we had into that … I wasn’t taking revenge or anything like that …”

“I didn’t say that. I’m simply saying you’re on a sinking ship … your husband and Sienna put the hole in it, and you’re the only one shoveling the water out … you see a lifeboat; you have a chance to get out … are you going to take it?”

He was wrong about that. Her hands were shaking; she didn’t realize talking about it with Roman would cause her so much distress. “But you are not a lifeboat.”

He looked at her intently. She didn’t want to finish her sentence. She’s still trying to understand it herself; what if Roman was the harbor? What if he’s the one she was supposed to be with, and all the adversity she had to go through was the path to find him?

“Say the words, Olivia,” he said, his bright blue eyes piercing through her.

How could she deny how she feels inside when they look at each other like that? How could she abandon her ship without hurting anyone, including herself? She felt her tears pushing from the back of her eyelids. Her lips trembled.

“I can’t,” she barely had a voice to say it. She touched his face and walked away.