I’m the contracted bride of the billionaire

Amelia stepped back from the half-finished canvas on her easel and sighed in frustration. The vase of daffodils she was attempting to capture seemed to mock her with their cheery yellow brightness. No matter how she mixed the paint and stroked the brush, she couldn’t replicate their vibrancy.

Cleaning her brushes in the sink, Amelia glanced around her cramped studio apartment. Canvases leaned against every wall, some marked with splatters of color, others bare and unfinished. This month’s rent was due soon but her bank account balance was still distressingly meager.

Trying to make it as an artist in New York was a constant battle. Galleries and clients liked her unique, expressive style well enough, but never hired her for the really lucrative commissions. “Too edgy and emotional for corporate office lobbies,” one agent had told her politely after rejecting her portfolio.

Amelia poured herself a glass of cheap wine, not even bothering to change out of her paint-stained overalls. Another Saturday night alone, trying not to obsess over her lack of artistic or financial success.

Setting the wine down, she flipped open her sketchbook, idly riffling through charcoal studies of street scenes, subway riders, a feeding pigeon. Sketching random moments of beauty was the one thing that gave her a sense of purpose. If only it paid the bills.

Her fingers paused on the quick portrait she had drawn of Philip at the coffee shop. Just a glancing capture of his chiseled features and intense gaze over the rim of his mug. But the lines practically vibrated with a vitality she couldn’t remember conjuring before.

Amelia smiled thinking back on their chance encounter at the mall. When they collided in the atrium, she’d taken Philip for just another entitled pretty boy. But their conversation over coffee had revealed a charming vulnerability and curiosity utterly unlike the wealthy heirs she despised.

Those striking greenish eyes and mussed chestnut hair had imprinted themselves on her artist’s memory. But it was Philip’s willingness to open up over personal hopes and fears that truly made her eager to see him again. Amelia had never believed in fairy tale romances, yet something about Philip made her pulse quicken whenever she recalled his voice.

Their “chance collision,” as he’d earnestly termed it, had felt like destiny. Coffee wasn’t enough. She needed more time in his singular presence to see if her instincts were right.

Saturday suddenly seemed very far away. Amelia glanced at her silent phone, wondering if she should throw caution aside and call him first. The boutique had passed along his number with the security footage. But a traditional rich boy like Philip would probably balk at a woman making the first move.

With a huff of frustration, Amelia grabbed her sketchpad and keys. Brooding in her apartment wouldn’t pay the bills – she needed to clear her head with a long walk.

Outside, the energy of the bustling East Village streets instantly swept her artistic senses up. After stopping for a bagel at her favorite cafe, Amelia found a sunny bench in Tompkins Square Park and began sketching a pair of breakdancers performing on flattened cardboard.

She let herself get lost in translating their athletic grace through smudgy charcoal lines. This was why she endured the unheated apartment and ramen noodle budget – capturing the poetry of ordinary people’s lives. Nothing made her feel more content.

“Hey girl, thought I’d find you out here grinding the pavement!”

Amelia looked up with a grin as her friend and sometime-model Juniper plopped down on the bench beside her. The purple-haired waitress always brought laughter and bold honesty into any situation – qualities Amelia appreciated.

“Just doing my street observation as usual,” Amelia waved her sketchpad. “What’s the gossip at the cafe today?”

“Oh, I don’t just sling coffee and scones, honey. I’m working my music angle too – got a gig singing at Rockwood Hall next Friday!” Juniper announced proudly.

“No way, congrats!” Amelia gave her an impulsive hug. “I’ll definitely be there to cheer you on.” She wished she had half this girl’s confidence.

“So, what about you?” Juniper nudged her shoulder. “Meet any hot prospects lately at your laundromat socials or whatever?”Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

Amelia laughed ruefully. “You know me, married to my work.” But her traitorous mind immediately conjured up images of Philip.

“What’s that smile about? Oh ho, you totally met someone!” Juniper deduced with glee. “Spill!”

Amelia hesitated, but had to talk about him or burst. “Okay, don’t freak, but I met this guy named Philip at the mall…” She recounted their electric conversation over coffee. “He’s picking me up again next Saturday.”

“Oooh, Amelia’s moving up in the world! Mall honey sounds sexy,” Juniper teased.

Amelia swatted her arm. “Oh stop, he’s probably just being nice.” But the goofy grin on her face betrayed her excitement.

“Uh huh. Well, you have fun with Prince Charming this weekend.” Juniper’s smile turned mischievous. “And don’t think you’re getting away without introducing us. I gotta size this guy up.”

Amelia laughed, heart brimming with anticipation for Saturday. She still thought the idea of instant attraction and romantic destiny was mostly fictional. But how else could she explain the exhilarating pull she felt towards Philip after just one brief meeting? The man simply fascinated her like no other.

Sketching for another hour, Amelia headed home as the March sun sank lower, casting long shadows between the buildings. She was eager to capture the day’s inspiration on canvas while it still burned freshly in her mind’s eye.

Humming softly, Amelia unlocked her apartment door already envisioning bold swirls of color expressing both the kinetic breakdancers and her own soaring emotions. She refused to pine after some guy she barely knew. But the inspiration Philip had sparked felt like the beginnings of a turning point.

As Amelia painted into the night, her brushstrokes came bolder and further frenzied, reflecting the whirlwind of feelings and possibilities that Philip had awakened within her. The oil began to take shape, landing the substance of her hassle with Philip, the electric connection they participated, and the dreams that sounded within reach.

But as Amelia stepped back to respect her work, a bite ran down her chine. There, in the midst of vibrant colors and flowing lines, she noticed commodity peculiar. A figure surfaced from the chaos – an enigmatic figure lurking in the background, incompletely obscured by the layers of makeup.

She had not designedly painted that figure. It had appeared as if by its own accord, as if the oil itself had come alive with a retired communication. Amelia’s heart contended as she studied the mysterious figure, trying to make out its features and decrypt its meaning.

Was it a warning? A presentiment of commodity dark and minatory lurking in the murk of her newfound happiness? Or maybe it was a symbol of the challenges and obstacles she’d have to overcome to pursue her dreams and embrace the love she had set up.

The suspension hung heavy in the air as Amelia goggled at the oil, her mind swirling with unanswered questions. What did the figure represent? And how would it impact her life and the budding relationship with Philip?