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“But you’d see how wonderful a father he was, how great he raised those kids, and want to be a part of that.”
“So instead, you didn’t give me that option. The option of a great father.”
“I—”
“No. I don’t want to discuss this anymore.” I sigh. “Back to the problem. So, Carl is holding this over your head. How does marriage play into it?”
She bites her lip and sighs. “He wanted you two to get married, sign a bad prenup, and then force a divorce on you both. The prenup would have an amendment that would give Jasper and the Pierce family our share of Leads Energy.”
“What?” I whisper the word, but the horror behind it— “Why would you have ever allowed it?”
“I was still trying to find a way out of this!”
“By being…” I stop myself from saying hateful things. “This isn’t the way. Just tell William.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I can’t.”
I look at my mother, frail in her older age and wonder how she and William got together in the first place, then decide that I’d rather not know. But I can’t stop looking at her and wondering where my tough-as-nails, take-no-shit mother is. When I need her most.
“I need… I need time to figure this out.”
“What are you going to do?” She looks at me in a panic and then stands quickly. “You won’t tell William?”
“I will,” I state, knowing for a fact that someday, it will happen. “I deserve the chance to know him, and he deserves to know he’s the father of another child. Just… not right now. Right now, I’m going to handle the Pierces.”
“How?”
“I have my ways.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
“You are art in
its purest form
few lines and
a million metaphors.”
-dt
Warren
The day has dawned bright and freezing, the late October air threatening the first snowfall. Which almost always happened on Halloween in Denver for whatever reason.
But the gallery was ready for the opening night.
Over the last week, as I’d finish pieces, Freddie’s people would come and carefully move each piece to the gallery. I’d never had anyone outside of myself care so much about the art I worked on.
It was an experience I hoped to repeat.
I arrived at the gallery early after getting myself ready. I wore dark jeans and a black button-down shirt. My beard was groomed, and my hair was neatly tucked back into a low bun. I was as professional as I was going to get.
I was dying for a glimpse of Jane.
All day I’d been excited and nervous to see her. We’d barely spoken in the last six days, she told me she’d had a lot going on and I’d been working overtime to finish everything in time. I’d only just finished a close-up drawing of Graham’s dog Rudy yesterday and they’d come late last night to get it.
Now, as I stepped into the gallery and blinked, emotion overwhelmed me at what I saw. Everywhere, on every wall and down a hallway that looped around the back, was my work. My art.
