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It was this general openness to the public that had me pushing into the packed studio the evening of the largest of their exhibitions so far. There were so many people in the space, all focused on the art and the artists, that no one I’d met in my previous visits to the studio even noticed me walk through the doors.
That was perfectly fine by me. I had eyes for one woman, and one woman only.
I took a flute of champagne and walked through the exhibit, admiring the art but seeking a glimpse of Mackenzie’s raven-black hair. I hung back from the crowds, only stopping when I noticed a large pocket of people gathered around a watercolor painting of…
Myself.
My brows rose. I’d recognize Mackenzie’s deft hand anywhere, even without the calling card of my face plastered across a massive canvas. It was a different light than I’d ever seen myself in, though. I was used to the way business portraits captured what my father had called “strong familial features”, bringing them to the forefront to make me look powerful and intimidating. This was… strong, but in a different way. I looked like there was love in my eyes. Affirmation.
Was this how Mackenzie had seen me? How she still saw me?
I couldn’t help but stand and stare at the piece, taking in every brush stroke, every varied value and hue of paint. They said if an artist or a writer fell in love with you, you would become immortal; is this what they meant?
“Walker?”
Her voice came from behind me, soft, uncertain—curious. I turned around, the flute of champagne still in my hand.
My breath caught in my lungs, seizing almost painfully.
Mackenzie was beyond stunning. She was wrapped in a knee-length green silk cocktail dress that brought out the gorgeous hue of her eyes. Strappy silver heels clung to her feet. Her hair was a cascade of black curls down her back held up by a single silver and green accented barrette.
I smiled like the idiot I was, my lips spreading wide before my brain even gave the command. She was, and always would be, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my entire life.
“Mackenzie,” I murmured roughly, taking her hand in mine. I pressed a kiss to it; the red tinge to her skin went beautifully with the green of her dress. “I heard that you had an exhibit going. Heard about all the success that you’ve had recently. I wanted to come by and see you, tell you congratulations. I also… I wanted to talk.”
I expected her to have a guard up. To have rebuilt her walls even stronger this time to keep me out. Our journey so far hadn’t been a conventional one, after all. For all I knew, the silence between us over the last four weeks was exactly what she had wanted. Maybe she had no interest in what I had to say to her.
Call it my leap of faith, or my penance for being an idiot in the past, but I wasn’t going to let the possibility of getting my heart crushed keep me from doing what I came here to do.
“Okay,” she finally said, further surprising the shit out of me. She slipped her hand into mine, tugging me along with her. “Outside? It’s really crowded in here.”
Outside was a trek up the stairs, to the roof where not too long ago, we’d shared a hot, tender moment. The air was crisp like it had been that night. It clung to my skin as I took in a deep breath, coming face to face with the woman I loved.
Macks wrapped her arms around herself, tilting her head as she regarded me.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she admitted softly. “I didn’t think you’d come… after all this time.”
“What can I say? I couldn’t stay away.” I smiled. “I couldn’t not see how well you were doing. You’ve worked so hard, it felt like I’d be doing you a disservice to not come support you and celebrate how well you’ve done.”
She flushed. “Thank you, Walker.” She tugged her plump bottom lip between her teeth. “Is that… the only reason that you came around?”
My heart thudded hard in my chest, and instead of answering that question directly, I leaned against the railing lining the top of the roof.
“I saw your painting of me. It was… inspired.”
That pretty little flush came back, and she shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Well, I was inspired. Your face is very suitable for breathtaking pieces of art.”
I shook my head and leaned toward her, my gaze intense. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? It felt… alive. I’ve never even seen myself like that in pictures. You captured me in a way I never knew anyone could. You see me differently than other people.”
“Walker—”
I held up my hand.
“Just… listen to what I have to say? Please? I… I should never have asked you to fill in as my wife the way that I did. It was selfish and wrong of me, and it was exploiting what we used to have. The love we used to have. No matter what I tell myself about my motivations or my feelings, it was still wrong. It should have never crossed my mind.”
I sighed, gathering my thoughts.
“With that said,” I continued softly. “I don’t regret it—I don’t regret connecting with you again. I don’t regret having the time that I did to call you my wife. I don’t regret moving you into my house, or loving you, or anything we’ve done together in the last few months. I don’t regret you.”
