I had done a lot of stupid things since I was brought to Damiano Gusto's mansion. Like when I tried to smack him, when I threw a vase at his head, or when I thought I could escape by attempting suicide(a memory I've shoved so far back in my head I almost don't remember), and then when I kissed him back on the balcony only just a few days after he saved me from killing myself.
But none of those compared to how stupid I was feeling now, when I no longer thought of the stupid dream where I pulled him close and crashed my lips on his. But now all that evaded my head was how warm and safe it felt when he kissed my forehead. It felt right, too right, like he had done it before.
And that was a foolish thing to think, because I didn't know him. He didn't know me.
What also felt foolish was my sitting in front of a blank canvas, not being able to pick up a paintbrush for the past 40 minutes.
"Sibby!", I heard Matteo say before I saw him barge into my room.
