Page 20 of The Billionaire's Destiny

My heart swelled as I hugged him close. The old urge to fight or run was gone. There was only Rocco. His open heart and unwavering support had won me from the very beginning.

“You already do. Every day, Rocco. You do.”

“Can I get your opinion on something?” I motioned for Rocco to follow me, eager for him to see the pieces I hoped would win Perchance to Dream Publishing’s approval for the illustration job.

“Of course,” he said and joined me by the easels, where my three artworks stood. I depicted Brenna’s first encounter with the Shadow King in Fairy. In the first, she is disoriented: wide-eyed and breathless, her child form gone, lost in an unfamiliar world. In the second, the shadow comes like a fog covering her; the king’s eyes burning through the gloom. The final image showed them seeing each other, and recognition flashes; her defenses crumble, and the glamour dissolves as he looms godlike. Brenna falls to her knees, but there’s still determination in her face that she’d rise again.

Rocco studied them with a thoughtful, attentive gaze. When he turned his head toward me again, I handed him some of my original sketches to pair with my progress.

“So, what do you think?” I chewed my lip and folded my hands behind my back to keep them from shaking. These were pieces from my soul, a visual soliloquy to the beauty of the written words. My dream was more than just winning the job; it was validation of my work. Rocco was at the top of his game, and I wanted his opinion not as my husband, but as a professional visual artist who worked with many creators.

His gaze returned to the easels with laser-focused as he looked over each image, giving them his full attention, which I appreciated. When he was finished, he turned to me rubbing his chin. “Hmm.”

I raised my brows, my pulse speeding up. “What?”

“The pictures are brilliant.”

I nudged his arm. “Come on, give me a real critique.”

“I did. They’re amazing.”

I squinted. “Amazing? Come on.”

“I’m serious.”

I huffed. “You’re only saying that because you’re married to me.”

He took my hands. “I gave you my honest answer. Look at me, Bella.”

I met his eyes. There it was: tenderness. Not just from what he’d overheard from my conversation with Cassidy, but from genuine care shining through.

“You took an idea and brought it to life with such vividness; I’m floored. You captured the interplay of light and shadow in this one.” He pointed to the first image on the canvas. “The composition draws my eye right to the emotion in the scene. If anything, have you considered deepening the background hues a little more?”

I lifted a shoulder. “I did, but I wanted to show transition.”

He nodded. “Perhaps. But honestly, it works. Your pictures and sketches feel magical and real at the same time. Truly remarkable.”

I beamed at him. “Really?”

“Really, Bella. I’m astounded that you’ve done them so fast and so well.”

“Once inspiration hits, it’s like a spark in my mind that has to burst free.” I mimed an explosion from my head, laughing.

He chuckled. “Look at you.”

I raised my brows. “What?”

“You. I love seeing you silly, joyful.”

My smile widened. “I am.” I hadn’t thought much about my feelings, only tried to make everyone else happy. With Rocco, I felt joy in my soul.

He kissed my cheek. “So, time to get dressed.”

“For what?” I asked.

“You forgot,” he said, smiling. “We have the Accademia Gallery’s annual fundraiser.”

“Oh yeah. Yay,” I clapped, bouncing on my toes. Visiting the gallery and seeing Michelangelo’sDavidwas a dream of mine since I first saw it. But then I remembered the press would be there.What if they already heard what my father said about my mother and me?