This is a small introduction to a new story I might continue. Please tell me if you like it or it seems to have any potential. I really wanted to create a teacher/student story between Rose and Dimitri, with a different twist.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer- All characters belong to Richelle Mead.

"I don't understand why I need to take an art class," I complained for the 10thtime that day. My dad, who had been quite tired of my whining, didn't even stop what he was doing.

"We've been over this kiz, your therapist thinks you need a healthy hobby to channel your emotions." I rolled my eyes. I am never letting him talk to Dierdre again.

"Why can't I do something I'd actually enjoy like kick boxing or karate?"

That question made my dad give me his full attention. "Really Rose? Do you really want to talk about why those might not be the healthiest hobbies for you or should we ask Mia's nose?" I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back from responding harshly. "I am saying this with love Rose, learning to fight is the last thing you need right now."

"But-"

"Just go for one week! That's all Dierdre and I are asking from you, and if you really don't feel even a little bit better by the end of it, than you can quit."

One week? I think I could survive one week.

"Promise?" I asked, bringing my pinky towards him. Without hesitation, he hooked his pinky with mine.

"Pinky promise." He swore.

I let go and grabbed my keys from the kitchen counter, bidding him goodbye.

A lot had changed in my life in the past few months; getting so bad that my dad urged me to see a therapist. I was starting my last year of high school this week and my dad believed a therapist would help me enough that I could pass my final year without a hitch.

The therapist, Dierdre, found my methods to cope with anger and stress to be 'unhealthy' so she suggested I find a hobby to help me relax. It was a choice between an art class or knitting, and since I'm not an 80 year old woman, I chose the former, which was where I was heading now.

The class was three days a week, taking place at a small art studio one town over. I racked my brain the whole way over trying to remember the name of the teacher that was listed on the information sheet Dierdre gave me, but I couldn't for the life of me. Pulling into the lot, I noticed only 5 other cars parked there. I was hoping that was a good thing. Less people meant less conversations I had to pretend to care about.
I walked in, with 2 minutes left to spare and was immediately met with an angry, hard voice.

"You're late, hurry up and get ready." The man who spoke barely turned around to look at me. He was tall and built, and completely unlike someone I wasn't expecting to see in an art studio.

"Excuse me?" There were five easels set up, four of them already taken up by people way older than me.

The man who spoke to me turned around, his dark eyes, glaring in my direction. "I don't deal well with tardiness. Hurry up and take your clothes off or you can leave."

My jaw fell open and I looked at the paintings and art sculptures around the room as if they would tell me what the hell was going on.

"My-huh?" Great response Rose.

The man rolled his eyes and pointed to the couch set up at the front. "Take your clothes off and pose, or get out so I can find a new model."

"But I-"

"I don't care for excuses."

"You don't understand, I'm not-"

"Now!"

Startled, I looked at the man, then the couch, then at the four other students sitting there, watching me. Did Dierdre sign me up to take an art class or did she volunteer me to be the art? Damn I wish I had paid closer attention to her.

I don't know if it was a mixture of shock and embarrassment, and fact that the man in front of me was quite intimidating and seeming to get more annoyed the longer I stood there, but I complied.

I was also petty as hell, and hoping that once he realized what a huge mistake he made by not giving me a chance to explain myself, he would be way more humiliated than I felt right now.

He must have seen the decision on my face and gestured me to go behind a small screen in the corner of the room. I quickly stripped naked, my heart pounding against my chest. I may be doing this to get back at him, but that didn't calm my nerves in the slightest. I hadn't really done anything exciting this summer and this would make one hell of a story to tell Lissa once school started. I put on the small robe hanging on the wall and stepped out of the safety of the screen.

I discreetly took a look around the room at the other artists, trying to guess if any of them seemed like perverts. There was an older woman with greying hair and dangly, colorful jewelry, an old man with wild, curly hair, a long beard and glasses, and two middle-aged men wearing designer, floral button-downs and leaning comfortably close to one another. Seems safe enough.

The tall, angry man-who I could only assume was the art teacher- walked over with a painting. "You're going to lay back against the couch like this, with your arm resting above your head." I tried to memorize the painting and nodded. Trying not to think about how this would be the first time I'd be getting naked in front of another person-or people for that matter- I dropped my robe and laid back against the couch.

For the first time, I felt like I was being looked at like an object, but in a good way. Even the man with the beard was squinting, his gaze scrutinizing me as if was a bowl of fruit or a vase full of flowers. No one, including the teacher whose name I still could not remember, looked at me with anything close to a sexual gaze, and it comforted me.

The teacher walked over to me and moved my arm a bit to his liking. My breath hitched at the contact and I was suddenly aware of him for the first time. A blush I couldn't control spread across my face and chest. I couldn't deny he was handsome, his long hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He was so close to me, I could smell his aftershave filling my senses.

I think his name started with a B, or maybe it was an A.

Pleased with my position, he away back to his own easel, looking at me just as the other artists in the room were.
Just as I seemed to be getting bored, the door burst open. "Sorry I'm late! I got a flat tire on my way here and it took forever to get it changed!" I sat up, looking to see an older, pretty brunette standing by the door. "It'll only take a minute for me to change. Do you still-oh!" She stopped as she spotted me sitting on the couch.

I smiled at her; she must have been the model for the class.

Keeping that same smile on my face, I turned to the teacher, who looked frozen, his gaze bouncing between me and the model.

For the second time, his icy glare found me. "Who is the model for this class?"

The other girl spoke up, "I am."

His brown eyes that had already been looking at me darkened, and suddenly his gaze shifted. I was no longer a professional model or a piece of art, and instead became a real life, naked girl right before him. His eyes roamed down my face, to my chest, all the way down my feet, before his furious glare came back.

"I'm actually one of your students."

"What compelled you to get naked for the class then?" I detected a Russian accent, becoming more pronounced in his evident frustration.

I stood up and put the robe back on. "I tried to explain, but you wouldn't let me talk."

His jaw clenched and with great effort he spoke. "It seems I owe you an apology. I am sorry if I made you feel in any way uncomfortable." I shrugged, it honestly wasn't as bad as I thought, but I wasn't going to admit that to him.

He turned to the model. "So you're Lola O'Hara, the model for this class." The girl in question nodded and I went behind the screen to quickly change back into my clothes.

I settled in front of the empty easel, turning to my classmates. They seemed amused by the whole ordeal and gave me friendly looks, instantly making me more comfortable. The model came back out and dropped her robe.

He explained the same pose to her. As I picked up one of the pencils provided, I understood why everyone's gaze seemed so dispassionate. It was my first time drawing a nude model, yet there was nothing sexual about it. I was painfully aware of the teacher though, his brown eyes making me nervous every time they passed by me.

"So you're Mr. Belikov," I asked when he walked behind us, scrutinizing our artwork. I was definitely doing the shittiest job compared to the other four students, but I couldn't lie and say I wasn't enjoying it. There was something soothing about it, and I was a bit thankful I decided to give this art thing a chance.

He stopped behind me and I was once again hit with his scent. He smelled so good.

"And you must be Rosemarie," he spoke, his voice the softest I'd heard it since I met him.

Turning to look at him over my shoulder, I responded. "Please, call me Rose."

XXXX

"You what?" Lissa exclaimed as I recounted my art class fiasco. It was the first day of senior year, before the first bell.

"I didn't know what else to do Liss and he wouldn't listen to me."

"Rose, only you would try to prove your point to someone by getting actually naked."

I shrugged. "Whatever, it definitely made the class more memorable."

"It wasn't weird being nude in front of all those people?" Her cheeks turned pink just asking me.

"Honestly no." I told her truthfully. "The other students were older and really nice and they didn't look at me like I was a naked girl. It was if I was some mannequin or a literal piece of art they were assessing."

Well almost everyone looked at me like that. As hard as I tried, I couldn't forget the way the art teacher's gaze shifted once he realized who I was.

Before I could tell Lissa that, the first bell rang, cutting our conversation short. We had completely different classes and I had to wait until lunch to see her again.

To no one's surprise, Alto kicked me out five minutes early, saying something about my 'fresh mouth' and 'disrespectful attitude' when I innocently asked him if he went tanning on the sun over summer break. His already sunburnt skin brightened as he screamed at me to get out. Everyone knew Alto and I didn't get along and I used getting kicked out as an opportunity to make it to my next class early and finding a good seat.

It was English Literature, a requirement I needed to graduate. I had spent the last three years building a good relationship with Ms. Karp and I hoped that came in handy for my final year, because English class was never my strong suit. I had just claimed the seat by wall, when the teacher walked in.

And it sure as hell wasn't Ms. Karp.

My head snapped in his direction; it couldn't be?

Belikov hadn't noticed me yet, keeping his broad and muscular back turned towards me as he wrote his name in perfect handwriting on the board.

He finally turned, his brown eyes widening as he saw me sitting there.

"What are you doing here?"