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I felt a new sense of creativity flow through me, lighting me up from inside. It was even more intense than when I’d first moved into the house with Walker. I was trying out new styles, new subjects, new techniques. I was mixing mediums and experimenting with realistic, lifelike paintings. I would have dabbled in sculpture if there’d been enough time, but I put that on the back burner for the time being.
Walker was… incredible. He handled all the planning with Alex. Normally, Alex and I would split the organizational duties, but Walker refused to let me worry about any of it. He said he wanted me to take the time to focus on my art.
Every time I remembered those words and thought about the look in his eyes as he spoke them, my heart thudded a little harder in my chest.
It wasn’t just the time Walker gave me to work. It wasn’t just the effort he put into organizing the show. It was his belief in me that inspired me the most.
I felt like I was on fire, unable to stop creating.
Throwing caution to the wind, I strayed away from my usual go-to fantasy pieces. I loved them, and they would always be my niche. But it would be expected, if not by the general public—most of whom didn’t know my work at all yet—then by my fellow artists at the studio. And I wanted to surprise them. To show them another side of me.
So I did pieces that were more realistic. I painted Alex. I painted the twins. I walked up and down New York City’s streets, drawing inspiration from everything I saw. My collection was a vignette of New York, its people—rich, poor, man, woman—with just the hint of something more lying under the surface. The fantasy and mystery were much more subtle than in my usual pieces—a peek into the magic of NYC.
I even painted a portrait of Walker, although I wasn’t sure I’d have the guts to show that one.
I had snapped a picture of him looking out over the city line one evening when he’d come home. He’d been bathed in moonlight filtering over his suit, but there was a certain air of melancholy in the gaze he leveled out the window. I poured the most of myself into that piece, spending hours trying to get the mood right, to capture Walker’s expression perfectly, to lay out the contrast between light and darkness.
As I painted, I found myself drawn into his expression, trying to guess at his thoughts. He didn’t even know I’d taken the picture—he certainly wasn’t posing. But his face was so compelling, so stunningly beautiful. And what was making him sad? Where did that touch of melancholy come from?
And why did I feel such a strong draw to know everything about this man? To crawl inside his soul?
If this was just a friend arrangement, why was my heart so tangled up?
* * *
I walked through the gallery, dolled up for the first time in years in a little red cocktail dress—which Walker had ordered special for me—paired with a pair of strappy gold heels. My champagne glass nearly shook in my hand as I gazed around me, a look of pure amazement crossing my face.
That was the busiest and most packed the gallery had been in years.
People from all walks of life filled the space. Some were obviously rich, interested in adding niche and offbeat art to their collections. Others were average, every-day people off the street who’d just popped in out of curiosity.
Children, parents, couples. They milled around the gallery, traveled up and down the stairs, re-visited pieces. Walker had even arranged for catering, something Alex and I had never been able to afford at our previous showings. I couldn’t help smiling as I watched the crowd enjoy wine and gourmet finger foods while they oohed and aahed over impressive art.
And… it was impressive.
Ash and Aven had put together a wall-length piece on the middle gallery level for neon graffiti art depicting nude bodies—something new for them, even if in their usual style. Alex had his usual, though he went for bold color choices that he usually avoided. Everyone in the studio, from the newest members to the ones who’d been founding members of the collective, had really stepped it up. It showed.
“Well, well, there you are. I was wondering if you were off hiding somewhere on purpose.”
Walker came behind me, wrapping his arms around me. His chin rested on my head.
I smiled. “I just wanted to take it all in
. I don’t know how you did all of this, but it’s… holy shit, Walker. I can’t believe any of this is real, is truly happening, but I’m so happy it is.”
“You know, people are talking about your pieces. A lot. Especially one featuring a certain handsome businessman in his home—”
I grimaced. I’d barely worked up the courage to show that piece. It felt so personal, so intimate, I almost hadn’t wanted to share it with the world. I’d felt a little jealous of anyone getting to see that side of Walker except me.
But then I’d reminded myself I didn’t have a right to him like that. As easy as it was to lose sight of that fact when I was so swept up in everything, Walker Prince wasn’t mine.
“I almost didn’t bring that piece,” I admitted. “Do you mind?”
“Hardly.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my hair.
Then he pulled away from me and turned me around to face him. He was dressed impeccably in a deep charcoal suit. The crimson red of my dress and the shade of his suit went well together, I thought impulsively. Kind of like we did…
I smiled up at him, ignoring the stupid butterflies going nuts in my stomach.
