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Still in shock, I spend the rest of the evening mingling with attendees and foundation employees. Drinks and hors d’oeuvres are served, and after a little while, Aiden stands up to give a speech. He thanks everyone for coming, makes a few jokes, and finally, he turns to me.
My face reddens at the sudden attention while heads swivel toward me.
“I wanted to take a moment to discuss our artist tonight,” he says with a smile. “Lilly Richards, if you aren’t aware, is the talented woman who painted all these pieces you see displayed around us. As humble as she is, she would never have chosen herself to be the guest of honor here tonight. So that choice had to fall to me,” he says with a laugh. “And I think you’ll all agree it was a good choice.” Murmurs of agreement filter through the crowd, and I look down at my feet with a smile. Aiden continues, “Not only is she a gifted painter, but she’s the program manager at the Maria King Foundation—the reason it runs smoothly and continues to make a difference in our community.”
Aiden pauses, glancing throughout the room, his gaze landing on mine for a brief moment. “My mom loved everything about art,” he finally says. “Creating it, observing it, being in its presence. That was her life. That’s what she cared about.”
Just then, I notice Alec King off to the side, and I’m pleasantly surprised he showed up. Surely he’s a busy man. As Aiden continues to talk about their mom, Alec simply nods along, his gaze glued to his younger brother.
“Me and my brothers have done a lot. We’ve been busy,” Aiden says with a laugh. “But I think this foundation—this might be the thing I’m most proud of. It’s certainly what Mom would have been the proudest of. She’d be happy to see what it does for the Seattle community in her name.” Aiden takes a breath. Then that familiar smile returns to his face, and he looks back at the crowd again. “The foundation has plans to turn these art shows into a regular occurrence. So, thank you all for joining us tonight, and stay tuned for news on upcoming showcases.” He holds his glass of champagne high. “To my mom, Maria King.”
We all raise our glasses in a toast, and then the chatter in the room resumes. I watch Aiden walk over to Alec, the two of them quickly locked into a discussion which includes a hug.
I turn away, busying myself in the nearest conversation I can find between a few coworkers. Soon, I notice people beginning to filter out. I glance at the time on my phone—it’s a little after nine.
Monica sidles up to me, giving me a side hug. “I’m going to head out,” she says. “Again, beautiful work. Both your art and this whole thing.” She gestures around us.
I smile. “Thank you.”
She lowers her voice, glancing sideways. “Have you talked to Aiden?”
I shake my head. “No, but … we’re going to,” I admit.
She nods, giving me a pointed look. “Hear him out. That’s my vote. See you later.” And with that, she leaves.
Most of the other foundation employees head out as well, saying goodnight to me before they do so.
It isn’t long until the entire room has basically cleared out. It’s just me, a couple attendees who are pulling on their coats, and Aiden and Alec, who are still talking. I’d head out myself if I hadn’t promised Aiden I’d speak with him.
I shuffle nervously, biting my lip and staring up at one of my paintings. It’s then that they both notice me. Aiden says something to Alec, and after a clap on the back, they part ways, Alec heading for the door.
Aiden approaches me. He stands next to me, his hands in his pockets, silent for a moment. “I think the event went well, overall,” he finally says.
I nod. “I think so too.” I glance around, then laugh. “I still can’t believe …” I trail off.
He smiles. “A few people expressed interest in buying some of your pieces. I obviously didn’t want to agree before talking with you.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”
“Really. And I know they’d pay whatever you ask for them.”
“I—yes, I guess.” I laugh. “Wow. I don’t even know what I’d price them at …”
“You can take time to think it over,” Aiden assures me.
We stand in silence for a moment, the weight of the last couple weeks seeming to settle on our shoulders.
“Lilly, I’m sorry.” He says it quietly without looking at me. He’s staring down at his shoes, his hands still in his pockets. His eyebrows are drawn together in frustration. “I don’t have an excuse for the text messages you saw. I was a complete ass, and that’s it.”
I’m shocked at his honesty, at his willingness to admit it.
He looks up from the floor, meeting my gaze. “But I have to tell you that that text was sent before I got to know you. Before we spent time together, before the wedding, the dates we went on, before …” He swallows, clenching his fists. “Lilly, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for how you must have felt after seeing that. It was real to me, I swear it was.”
I’m at a loss for words.
“And if you don’t believe me, or forgive me, I understand. But I needed to tell you. I couldn’t live with myself without telling you.” He runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “I’m in love with you, Lilly. I spend every second thinking about you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you tease me, drive me crazy. I was an idiot to think that you were any less than … than the woman of my dreams.”
I stare at him for a long moment, and as the seconds tick by, I can see the hope slowly fading from his face. “You … love me?” I repeat. It’s the only thing I can manage to utter.
