Everyone has to start somewhere,' he says, his eyes dark and smoldering, his fingers seeking the scar on my face.The one on my forehead. The one that's hidden under my bangs. The one he has no way of knowing about.'Even Picasso had a teacher.' He smiles, withdrawing his hand and the warmth that came with it, returning to his painting, as I remind myself to breathe.
-Alyson Noel
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