Artist's Door

[catriana_fiction]

Title: Artist's Door
Series: Original
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Markus Kavannaugh, Niobe Blakes-Johnson
Rating: T
Chapters: One Shot
Summary: A long time ago I came up with this story and never finished it. This rewrite was my submission to the magazine Walking Blind. It ended up not making it because the spot for me had been filled but I figure I'd share anyway. I am not 100% happy with this story, mostly because I was restricted to 2500 words. Nonetheless, it was a challenge for me so I was content.

The story is about a famous artist named Markus who has held somewhat of an obsession over an individual named 'Anon'; an artist who submits art and articles to the magazine Artist's Door. He can't explain why but he finds himself incredibly drawn to this person who he doesn't even know if they're male or female. Despite this, he finds himself falling in love, even though he is already engaged (arranged marriage). When a cousin of his asks to sub for her at the university while she's on maternity leave, he runs into Niobe, a young woman who wishes to become an artist but is being forced to pursue law.  Immediately Markus is drawn to her and when she accidently drops a sketch of hers as they part he realizes why; she's none other than the mysterious 'Anon'. Knowing that this isn't coincidence; Markus finds himself having to make a decision: Rise up against his controlling family and finally seek independence to be with Niobe or walk away from the woman he's loved for years but has known for less than twenty four hours.
Notes: Unbeta'd. I know where the mistakes are, I just don't feel like fixing them.

Artist’s Door

By: Catriana

 

How do you explain love at first sight when you’ve never even seen the person? Is that even possible, to fall in love through other mediums? A voice, words, or even visual arts? You do not need to see the person to hear them sing, read their writing or admire their artwork; but is what you’re seeing and hearing truly them? Writing a character in a story doesn’t make you that character, singing about a love lost doesn’t mean you’re singing from personal experience. Looking at a painting doesn’t mean you’re looking into their heart and soul.

So why is it whenever I look at her work I cannot help but feel that I am looking at her?

Of course ‘her’ is a term only in my own mind; I do not know if this artist is male or female, it is merely a feeling. She goes only by ‘Anon’ and while she submits artwork and some minor articles to a magazine called Artist’s Door, no one knows who she is or whether or not she is male or female. The artwork she submits is haunting; always gothic in nature and completely opposite of my own fantasy-type art. I am an artist and somewhat famous but is not something I brag about nor is it something I go out of my way to broadcast. In fact, I’m a rather reclusive person, just like Anon. I was thrust into the spotlight at an early age and  eventually shied away from it. Haven’t wanted to be in the spotlight ever since.

This fact is what has led me to the state of Maine, where my cousin Shanna lived. She is the art professor at the university in Brunswick, mostly teaching art history. At the moment she is on maternity leave and has asked me to fill in for her. This normally would not be done but she’s rather good at pulling strings. It’s something different for me and it’s a very low key job. Unlike my fiancée Penelope, I do not have a love for big cities or the press being in my face – or life, for that matter. She and I are like oil and water; our families set up our arrangement, being a famous artist is only an extra perk to being a part of the powerful Kavanaugh family.

I’d trade anything to be a regular Joe Schmoe.

Apparently, I wasn’t watching where I was going because now I find myself practically slamming into someone as I round a corner, driving me from my thoughts. Both of us let out a small cry and my hands shoot out, grabbing slender arms and pulling forward to keep the other person from falling. My briefcase clatters to the ground along with at least three books that are not mine.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” the person I am keeping upright is female and…I did mention that thing about love at first sight, right? I’ve never found myself to be a fickle person but upon glancing at this young woman I find myself completely entranced by her beauty.

Dark mocha skin with impossibly thick wavy hair that falls to frame a heart shaped face, resting near her lower back. She has almond shaped eyes in the most beautiful shade of hazel I have ever seen. Bright green and brown mixed with flecks of gold, full unpainted lips that are slightly parted. I cannot rightly determine her exact ethnicity but she seems to be of African and Asian descent. She looks no more than nineteen or twenty and my heart is now slamming into my chest as I stand here like an idiot, staring at her.

Stop staring, idiot!

Immediately I release her, taking a step back to bend down and collect our things. It helps to distract, something I feel that I desperately need right now. I can’t even help the way my eyes briefly glanced at her attire and as I do my throat closes up. She is tall, around five seven or eight, wearing a cream blouse that looked attractive without showing off her cleavage and skinny jeans that hugged full hips and impossibly long legs. She has the most amazing body and I really need to stop staring before she determines that I’m some sort of pervert…which, considering the thoughts that are now floating through my mind would not be far from the truth.

Standing, I notice that her face is flushed and she is refusing to meet my gaze as if she’s shy. I find myself wanting to get to know her; to know everything about her, but it’s impossible. Even if I hold a sort of strange fascination for the artist Anon and now this beautiful woman, there is the fact that I am engaged. It being arranged doesn’t matter.

“I’m…I’m fine.” She says and oh gods even her voice is beautiful. Rich and feminine; it sounds as if she laughs often “Thank you.”

Hi me, try opening your mouth and speaking; otherwise she’s going to think you’re retarded.

 “I uh,” Great beginning, I sound so smooth “do you attend this university?” Of course she does, stupid, she’s carrying books and she’s walking the campus. Why am I acting ridiculous about this?

Her gaze shifts to my briefcase and I give her a small smile “I’m the sub for the art history class.” I answer her silent inquiry “My name is Markus Kavanaugh.”

The look on her face told me two things. One, she knows who I am; I can see the recognition in her eyes before she tried to cover it. More than likely this is also the reason for her shyness. Two – and this is mostly me being vain – she is attracted to me. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself because it’d be just wonderful if this dark skinned goddess felt a mutual attraction.

You. Have. Penelope. Oh right. Thank you conscious for that reminder.

“I’m also taking the art history class.” She says softly and finally meets my gaze “My name is Niobe Blakes-Johnson.” She smiles demurely “And I know who you are. You’re really famous in the art community. I’ve…admired your work for a while.”

“Do you like coffee?” Did I just blurt that out? What the hell am I doing? I must be out of my mind. But she knows me, she knows who I am. This beautiful woman…I want to paint her. I don’t even understand why but looking at her; I feel the same way I do whenever I look at Anon’s beautiful artwork. It makes absolutely no sense but I cannot shake the feeling.

Her beautiful eyes widen in complete shock “You want to…with me? Coffee?” a frustrated expression overcomes her – as if she’s mentally scolding herself – and I almost want to laugh at the irony. She is just as awkward and strange as me, it seems.

“Yes.” My voice sounds breathy and rushed “As an apology.”

She looks hesitant for a moment before nodding “Alright. I have classes until four so…maybe afterwards?”

I can’t even hold back my small sigh of relief “That sounds great.”

She smiles and the urge to paint her re-emerges and I know right here and now that I am not imagining things. This is love; love at first sight. I know it sounds eccentric, we artists tend to be that way.

“Well, I have to get going to class. Could you meet me at the front gates then?” at my nod she smiles and I swear my heart has just stopped “Oh and Markus…?” the smile widened “I’ll see you in the art history class.”

So now I’m stuck here standing like a right idiot while she walks away and yes, I am staring at those wonderful hips…

A sound catches my attention as I finally move forward; I’ve stepped on something it seems. Looking down I notice it’s a stray bit of paper; probably Niobe’s. When I bend down to pick it up my heart once again stops.

The sketch is absolutely breath taking. It is gothic in nature, a tall castle with the full moon shining down brightly. It is unfinished and very sketchy but I know this art style, I know this artist. I can’t even believe it and yet it explains so much. It explains how I just fell for her immediately even though I have my love for Anon. They are one in the same.

I can’t believe this but I’ve finally found her. This changes everything.

xxxxx

“You don’t want to be an artist?” I ask her as we sit in the coffee house. I haven’t told her that I know who she is and what she means to me…not yet “You’re amazing, I really think you would do well.”

I keep forgetting that I am who I am, for the compliment touches her deeply. Her look quickly changes into one of disappointment and regret. I wonder why?

“My parents don’t believe I could make anything out of myself by pursuing art.” She informs me “I’m studying to become a lawyer, that’s what they want for me.”

So her life is not her own, like myself. I’ve never opposed my family; I am where I am because of their influence. Hearing that she’s going through the same thing, however, bothers me. A lot. She deserves something better; she deserves the freedom to go as far as she can with her talents “What if I introduced your artwork to some individuals? I’m sure they’d pick you up.” Of that there’s no doubt. Many individuals want to know who she is and possibly hire her; her artwork and articles are highly desired “If your parents saw that you had a chance, perhaps they’d change their mind.”

She’s so stunned it almost looks comical “I can’t…I couldn’t impose on you like that Mr. Kavanaugh…”

“Markus.” I correct and feeling bold, I take her hands in mine. Immediately I feel a strong pull towards her. It feels so right to me, she feels right to me. I can’t believe how strongly I feel about her, it should be impossible “Just call me Markus, Niobe.” I smile warmly at her “Your artwork is more famous than you believe, even if you do submit to Artist’s Door anonymously.”

My smile widens when she almost flinches away from me when I reveal that I know the truth “I knew it was you the moment I looked at the picture. Do you know how many people want to know who you are? Me especially.” Unable to resist my thumb brushes along her wrist. I should stop, I know I should, but I can’t. For years I’ve pined for a person who many didn’t believe existed and now she’s right in front of me. For the first time in my life I feel myself wanting to push the envelope, to do something I truly want to do. Not even art had been my choice; my parents had seen my talent and I had been forced into a world I’ve never felt comfortable in. My career, finances, and my love life; none of that has been by choice. I want to rush headfirst into something for once; I want to do something that will make me happy. Just as I had known that ‘Anon’ was a woman and was someone I could love, those feelings extend to this woman, for she is that woman. She is beautiful, kind, humble and she can succeed as an artist, I know she can. “I want to know everything about you, Niobe.”

I don’t press her for an answer and she seems grateful for it. We’ve decided to go for a walk in the park and it is there that she begins to tell me about herself.

She is nineteen going on twenty and has two cousins she sees as sisters. Her parents had died when she was young and she was raised by her aunt and uncle. She wants to be an artist but her family is paying for her to be a lawyer. It’s not something she’s interested in at all. She picked the university out here because it’s so far away from home and she wants to be a little bit more independent.

Independent. Maybe I should stop being complacent and start controlling my own life as well.

It is late when I walk her to the dorms and we’ve spent the entire day together doing little but talking. Everything about her is amazing, including her desire to want to be strong and more independent. I’ve been thinking this entire time and I’ve decided to take this chance. It will cause hell and an incredible amount of drama but I don’t care anymore. I don’t believe in coincidences; this happened for a reason. This pull I have towards her isn’t some fleeting crush. So I’ve decided, I want her in my life; damn the consequences.

I decide to be daring again and pull her into my arms. She looks up at me and I see it; this isn’t one sided, this freakish pull is on both of our ends. Niobe; the woman I fell love with three years ago and who I’m falling hard for now after only hours of meeting her. This has to be fate or destiny or whatever.

Gods, let me be right on this “Give me a chance to get you noticed and if I can’t do it, continue to pursue your degree. If I can, become what you want to become. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.” I squeeze her hands “Everything about you is beautiful, Niobe. You should do what you love.”

She’s uncertain of course, but her hazel eyes flicker up to my green and I can see hope there “Markus I –“

I cut her off by framing her face in my hands and I commit my last act of bravery; I kiss her. She’s completely stunned but after a moment I can feel her arms wrapping around my shoulders and she returns my kiss. Time is passing but we don’t notice it, all that matters right now is this unreal connection between us.

“Give me a chance.” I whisper along her lips and we both know I’m now talking about more than just art “I’ve admired you for so long and now that I’ve met you I don’t want to give up and walk away.”

My admission stuns her but she recovers with a smile “Alright, I will.” And that is all I could ever hope or ask for.

Tomorrow, my fight for independence and personal happiness will begin. I’ll have to defy everyone and everything I know, all for a woman I’ve loved for years and only known for less than twenty four hours. In return, I’ll have the choice to pursue these feelings and this budding relationship.

I’m looking forward to it.