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Did Nic stop and answer questions? I can’t see him doing this. I’ve seen him on the red carpet when he attends award shows and premiers and he never looked uncomfortable, but he’d hate this. He’s such an introvert.
Once inside, Gabriel releases my arm. “This is important, okay?” he says, making sure he has my full attention before continuing. “I made a point of the fact that we aren’t romantically involved, but there might still be some speculation. It’s best if you leave with Nic, but if things don’t go the way you hope, you can find me and David will take you wherever you want—a hotel, the airport, wherever. Don’t go rushing out the way we came in, especially if you’re upset, because you will be connected to me, not to Nic, by the press. Okay? It’s to protect us both,” he adds.
I nod. Christ, I should’ve waited at Nic’s place. Why am I doing this in public?
“Nic’s at the bar,” Gabriel says, motioning with his chin. “He hasn’t seen us yet. Good luck.”
For a moment I want to stay here, with Gabriel Sinclair, where it’s safe and my heart is safe. Broken, but safe. That’s old me though. Hiding from rejection by not trying. So I thank Gabriel and make my way to the bar. By the time I get through the crowd, Nic’s gone.
Goddammit.
I snag a flute of champagne off a passing server and follow the flow of people through the crowded room into a glittering ballroom. No one pays me any attention and I ignore the pretty famous people.
Various paintings are displayed on tables along one wall, a form in front of each for the silent auction. I spot Nic’s almost immediately and my heart swells even before I see how many people are bidding on it. Gabriel Sinclair’s pencil sketch of a car isn’t half bad, but Nic’s painting has color and a certain moodiness. I look at each in turn. Some of the celebrities have more artistic talent than others, but every single one makes me smile.
The crowd moves into another room, adjacent to the ballroom. It’s smaller and set up like a gallery. The paintings on the wall are by pros, and as far as I can tell, they’re ones on loan from various celebrities and rich people. A few belong in museums, but a number appear to be commissioned art, and each one is a unique little look into people I know without ever really knowing.
Suddenly, I’m standing in front of a painting I recognize because it’s mine. The little plaque next to it says‘Untitled by Jessica Foley, on loan from Dominic Fontana’and the last time I saw it was when I tossed it on top of the trash.
Tears fill my eyes and I don’t know what to feel. Upset I didn’t know, crushed that I ever captured this vulnerable moment in the first place, stunned that Nic would show it to the world.
People around me comment on it as they move by. How moving it is, how they feel the sadness. One person remarks on the strength and how brilliant it was to leave it unfinished because grief is unfinished. Others remark that it looks like a young Dominic Fontana, or murmur approvingly. A few people walk by after barely glancing at it, and that’s fine. Art is like that—not every piece is for everyone. But no one questions whether it belongs on this wall.
I need to find Nic. I spin around and run smack into someone.
Hands go to my waist, steadying me. It’s Nic. I don’t need to look up at his face to know it’s him. My breath catches, all my hopes rising and lodging in my throat. I have to force my eyes up to meet his.
“Are you really here?” he asks softly. “Or am I daydreaming?”
His gray eyes are soft, his expression relaxed but in a practiced way that he’s never quite mastered. There’s an undercurrent of tension, a tiny furrow between his eyebrows. I step back to take him in, his arms dropping away as I do. He’s so handsome, dressed in a black suit like Gabriel, but Nic makes it look like sin. “I’m here. I—” I wave my hand at my painting.
“Is it okay? I know it was a long time ago, and you never finished it.”
“It’s okay.” It’s more than okay. I doubt this will make or break me as an artist, but something I created is on this wall and people are looking. But I’m not here for this. “Is there some place we can talk?”
Nic leads me out of the room, back into the ballroom, and out via a different door. We exit onto a balcony overlooking the glittering lights of the city under an electric orange sky. We’re not alone, but it’s not crowded. I set my champagne glass on a nearby table. I’ve barely touched it. My stomach is already full of bubbles.
This is it. Now or never.
“I love you.” I blurt out.
What the fuck, brain? This is not how I’d planned to start. I’m scrambling to remember what else I needed to say, what should’ve come first. I have no clue. Nic staring at me, his eyes wide and unblinking, isn’t helping.
I open my mouth, and everything tumbles out. “I didn’t realize until we were together, painting in the attic, but I think I’ve loved you for a long time. My feelings for you were always confusing and complicated, and I didn’t like how that made me feel, I hated being the only one in my whole family you didn’t like, so I made a point of disliking you but I never really did. I love you.”
I have to pause to take a breath, but Nic doesn’t fill the silence. Tears prick my eyes because he hasn’t rushed in to say he feels the same, so probably he doesn’t. This is going to end in rejection and humiliation, but I’m going to finish this anyway, and at least I’ll know I tried. “I should’ve told you all this, as soon as I realized I was in over my head, but I was scared of what would happen if you didn’t feel the same. When I overheard you and Timothy, it hurt. I had to leave before you or anyone else could see, but when you hit your head—” I sniffle, trying to hold back the tears. I don’t want to remember this part. “I was scared I’d lose you for good, and I wanted to apologize and ask if we can be friends, and that’s what I want.”
Nic opens his mouth but I realize what I’ve just said and shake my head, quickly saying, “No, that’s not what I want. That’s what I’ll settle for if you don’t feel the same. What I want is you and I don’t know what that looks like for us or how it works, but I want to try.” There. I’ve said it. I take a deep breath and blow it out in a rush.
He’s still staring at me.
I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to stave off the tears so I don’t wreck my makeup. If I do, I’ll have to escape over the balcony lest I accidentally embarrass Gabriel Sinclair.
Nic still hasn’t said anything.
I’ll have to force him to say something to put me out of my misery. “What do you want?”
He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on mine. Another step and he brushes his fingertips over my cheek. His next step backs me against the balcony railing and his lips press light to mine as one hand grabs a handful of my hair and the other slides over the small of my back, holding me close.
