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"He gave a talk in Los Angeles to thousands of people, and he told them about your arthritis and how you force yourself to walk a mile a day. Then he challenged the entire audience to walk their own mile every day."
Charlie started the dart, using a backstitch to secure it. She poked a finger, then sucked on it so the material wouldn't stain.
"That's sweet of him. But a mile isn't very much." Mom pointed at the dart. "Go over it once more with a backstitch."
Charlie switched directions, rolling the material over her index finger. "It depends on how far your mile is, doesn't it? And how hard it is."
"I suppose." Her mother was quiet for a long moment. "How long is your mile, Charlie?"
She tied off the thread and snipped the ends, laughing a little as she admitted, "I'm not even sure what my mile is."
Was it the chariot? All her art? The commissions? A big-money art career? Was it Magnolia Gardens for her mother? Maybe it was the pleasure she got from teaching. Despite yet another letter from the school she'd shoved into the drawer just yesterday without making a firm decision, teaching her students how to create art from what everyone else thought was junk had always made Charlie feel good.
But was that it? Or could her mile be falling recklessly for Sebastian? Not part of the way, but risking it all, every ounce of her heart and soul.
"It's all right, dear," her mother said as though she could read Charlie's confusion in the frown on her face. "You've got all the time in the world to figure it out."
But she didn't. She only had a little over a month until the chariot had to be completed. After that, she wouldn't see Sebastian day in and day out, wouldn't have dinner with him, discuss her day with him. Wouldn't have the pleasure of knowing he might drop by for a kiss at any moment, when just the sight of him would brighten her entire world.
"Let's finish the sewing," her mother said, "and think about the rest later. I have an idea for fixing the beads on the purse too."
Yes, Charlie thought. Finish the sewing. Worry later.
Or, better yet, she could try to make herself believe what Sebastian had told her dozens of times since they'd first met--that everything was going to work out beyond her wildest dreams. In which case, there would be more parties like this one to deal with, more dresses to find and fix, more hours of work to squeeze in--
Stop. She was borrowing trouble again. Especially since she was only a fraction of the seamstress her mother was and needed one hundred percent focus to get it right.
Putting her head down, she began to sew as though her life depended on it. And right then, if it meant managing to make Sebastian proud of her at the big hotel gala, it felt as though her life and her future actually did depend on this one dress.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
For the night of the gala at the Regent Hotel, Walter Braedon had comped Charlie and Sebastian the penthouse suite, so they headed over early that afternoon to dress for the evening.
It had been nearly a week since they'd seen each other. With business to take care of in England, Sebastian had literally ached by the time he'd finally pulled her into his arms again. All he wanted, all he'd been able to think about for a week--hell, ever since the moment he'd met her--was her lips beneath his, her body quaking in bliss against him as he buried himself as deeply inside her as he possibly could. But though the sparks between them blew as hot as ever, he knew she was nervous about tonight. It had been tempting to take her mind off it in every sexy, delectable way he could think of, but his arrival at the airport had run late, and they'd had to head straight to the Regent.
Sebastian approached the hotel slowly, coasting past the rams in the center of the circular drive so that Charlie would get the full effect of her incredible creations. She gasped with sheer awe, one hand squeezing his arm, the other covering her mouth.
"Oh, my God."
"I agree. They're pretty damned spectacular."
The animals reared against each other so that you could almost hear the clash of their horns. They battled on a splendid pedestal of mountain boulders surrounded by a garden of rock and exotic cacti, as though they were out in the wild rather than in the center of downtown San Jose. He pulled up beneath the portico. The Regent was grand, its gold front doors framed by huge columns and a flagstone entryway containing ferns, water lilies, and rippling fountains that sounded like music. Braedon had created a flawless setting.
"My rams." Her voice trembled. "Here, in the middle of a palace. I can hardly believe it."
When she turned to him, tears sparkled in her eyes, and his heart bubbled over with joy. He'd done right by her in finding the Regent and Walter Braedon. This was what he'd hoped for her, to see her work displayed for thousands. He hated the huge stumble he'd made with her over the cost of the velvet dress, but all of that was forgotten in the wonder on her beautiful face.
Under the portico, after the valet took his car, Sebastian hugged her tightly. "Believe, Charlie." He took her hands in his and held them to his chest. "I always have."
"Somehow it's even better than seeing the dragon outside the church. I'm not even sure why."
But he was. Just as he'd said on stage in Los Angeles, sometimes people were too close to things to see them clearly. She'd seen her rams only in her yard, and the dragon in front of a modest church. For the first time, she was viewing her work as it was meant to be: the centerpiece for all to marvel at.
Once inside, Sebastian checked them in while Charlie gazed raptly at replicas of Rodin's famous thinking man and his embracing lovers at the foot of the stairs. One day people would study her work with that same rapt attention. He would make it happen for her. He would give her everything.
She pivoted suddenly and caught him watching her, their eyes locking across the expanse of marble, the lovers kissing behind her.
He wanted her just that way, naked and in his arms. But they hadn't even shared a bed yet. That thought consumed him as they rode the elevator to the top floor. The penthouse had two bedrooms, each with an ensuite bathroom. But they never got a chance to think about keeping one of those bedrooms locked, because a call from Europe came just as they entered the suite.
