The first thing I saw was Maria’s face.
She stood in the doorway of the sitting room, one hand pressed against her mouth, all the color drained from her cheeks.
The second thing I saw was Sophia.
She was beside my chair, still holding the watercolor brush between two small fingers.
A bead of blue paint trembled at its tip.
The third thing I saw was myself reflected in the black glass of the rain-darkened window.
A yellow sun covered one cheek.
A blue butterfly stretched awkwardly across my forehead.
A rainbow, crooked and uneven, crossed the bridge of my nose.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Maria recovered first.
“Mr.
Cole, I am so sorry.”
She rushed forward and reached for Sophia’s wrist.
“I told you to stay at the table.
You cannot touch Mr.
Cole.
You cannot—”
“Stop.”
Maria froze.
Sophia’s eyes lifted to mine.
There was no fear in them yet.
That made the moment stranger.
Adults knew enough about me to fear consequences before I announced them.
Sophia only knew that she had been painting and that I had unexpectedly opened my eyes.
I looked at the brush.
“Why did you do that?”
Maria closed her eyes briefly, probably imagining herself carrying a cardboard box out through the service entrance before dinner.
Sophia considered my question seriously.
Then she pointed at my cheek.
“You looked sad.”
I said nothing.
“So I made you pretty.”
Maria whispered, “Sophia.”
But Sophia wasn’t finished.
She leaned closer, studying her work.
“You still need green.”
Something inside me moved.
Not dramatically.
There was no lightning strike, no cinematic revelation accompanied by thunder outside the windows.
It was smaller than that.
And because it was smaller, it frightened me more.
I wanted to laugh.
I had almost forgotten what that felt like.
I looked again at my reflection.
For years, photographs of me had been controlled with almost ridiculous precision.
Tailored suits.
Neutral backgrounds.
Correct lighting.
No candid expressions unless somebody on my communications team approved them afterward.
That man in the window looked nothing like Ethan Cole, developer and billionaire.
He looked ridiculous.
He also looked alive.
Maria reached toward the side table for a cloth.
“I’ll clean it immediately.”
“Don’t.”
