Malia’s POV
There was a huge painting of me on the wall. I moved towards it like a magnet.
“Do you like it?” Ronan asked from behind me.
“How? When?” I was baffled. I didn’t remember posing for a painting or picture.
He moved from behind me to stand beside me. I turned to him expectantly.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I may or may not have taken a picture of you when you were having an animated conversation with Derek. I had to wait for the perfect moment to capture your delightful expression.”
I fell silent for a moment trying to remember the particular day that this must have happened.
Ronan mistook my silence for displeasure. “I could have it rubbed off if you don’t like it,” he said.
“What? No,” I exclaimed and turned to face the painting.
“It’s really beautiful. I hadn’t imagined that I could ever look this good. I’d love to meet the artist who did this,” I enthused.
I was really impressed by the extraordinary talent of the artist. He had found a way to express the mood of that very moment through my eyes.
“I’m the artist,” I heard Ronan say.
My head snapped towards him and my eyes widened. “Are you serious?” I asked.
He nodded and his lips curved into a smile.
“I had no idea you were an artist,” I said softly in awe.
“This is amazing. You have such amazing talent,” I couldn’t help singing him some praise.
“Please do not exaggerate my skill,” he shrugged, the tiniest of smile appearing on his face.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m just stating facts here. Please tell me that you have an art gallery where your works are in full display.”
He shook his head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Why the hell not?” I wondered.
“Malia, I am the beta of this pack and in case you haven’t noticed, this position comes with a whole lot of responsibilities. I do not have the time to paint,” he replied.
I studied him for a moment. “That’s not completely true is it?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” He asked with his eyebrows furrowed.
“This is obviously not your first painting,” I began, gesturing to the wall. “You must have had lots and lots of practice. So tell me, where are your other paintings and how many people have you shown them to?”
“Well, apart from you, my brother, my mom, Derek and Scott have seen some of my paintings,” he answered.
“I see. Be honest with me Ronan. Is it that you’re too busy to paint and run an art gallery or you’re just too scared to let others see your work?” I asked.
He didn’t have to say anything. I saw the answer in his grey eyes.
“But why? What are you so afraid of? Trust me, I’m not flattering you when I say you have an amazing talent. It’s a fact. Your gift doesn’t deserve to be hidden,” I convinced.
He drew in a deep breath and I saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes.
“My father hated the fact that I loved to paint for reasons best known to him. Perhaps he wanted to get me to focus more on becoming a soldier. At that time and age, I wasn’t interested in it one bit. He ridiculed my paintings at the slightest chance he got. So for some time, I painted in secret and never dared to show him any more of my works again.”
“Oh,” I murmured thinking how unkind the late Alpha must have been.
I took one of his hands in mine and squeezed gently. “He’s gone now. You can show your paintings to the world,” I said.
“It’s not that easy, Malia. I still hear his derogatory remarks. A part of me believes them and thinks that most people will also share my father’s sentiments about my paintings,” he replied.
“Oh Ronan,” I sighed and wrapped my arms around him in a hug.
His arms went around the small of my back and he rested his chin on my head.
We stayed like that in silence for a moment.
“You’re yet to see the rest of the designs,” he said, freeing me from his embrace.
I smiled as he brought my attention to the new pieces of furniture and interesting sculptures.
“You have excellent taste,” I commented.
“Yeah, I got it from my mother. Redecorating was one of her greatest hobbies,” he said and I could see the flash of pain in his eyes.
It was obvious that he missed his mother and that her death had left a void.
“Were you two very close? I mean you and your mom.”
He nodded. “She was my confidante.”
I reached for his hand again to offer him comfort. “I’m really sorry that she had to die,” I said.
He drew in a ragged breath. “So am I.”
“How did she die if you don’t mind me asking?”
He closed his eyes for a moment and I feared that I might have reopened a wound.
“I’m so sorry. Forget I asked,” I said.
He opened his eyes and my heart ached because of the pain I saw in them.
“No, it’s okay. She died giving birth to our sister,” he replied.
“Wait. What? You have a sister? How come I haven’t heard about her once?” I queried.
“My dad hated her from the moment she was born. He blamed her for the death of his mate and wanted nothing to do with her. One of my aunties took her away. We haven’t seen either of them since then,” he answered.
I gasped in shock.
“Pardon me for saying this but your father wasn’t reasonable. Even if he wanted to blame someone, it shouldn’t have been the baby but him. After all, he was the one who got her pregnant.”
“I’m not blaming him of course. I’m just saying,” I added.
“I understand,” he replied and went on to intently study the marble-tiled floor.
I was curious about the sister that no one ever talked about. Why hadn’t Ronan and Ryder gone to see her since then? Or did they also blame her for their mother’s death? I wondered.
I really wanted to ask Ronan these questions but I didn’t want to appear too nosy.
“Let’s get going,” he said and walked towards the door without sparing me a glance.