“As a matter of fact, yes, but not mine.”
“It’s my first international trade show for my software development company,” Nikki said. “Thank goodness Damien’s going to be there to hold my hand.”
They had, I noticed, been holding hands or otherwise touching throughout the evening.
It had made me happy to see it. For that matter, it had made me want that, too. But even as I was wishing for that very thing, I realized that Cole had held my hand most of the afternoon. And now, his fingertips were resting on my thigh. During the meal, he’d brushed his thumb over my lip to catch a bit of mustard. And more than once he’d fed me a bite of dessert off his fork.
I reached over and took his hand, then met his eyes.
What? he mouthed.
But I just smiled, thinking of how much I already had, and how lucky I felt simply being with this man. And how, at least for the moment, everything was right with the world.
When Cole suggested that we take a quick stroll through the gallery, I’d expected to see colorful paintings that featured the sea. Wyland-style images that were so often popular in coastal communities.
What I saw instead, was me.
Not just me, of course. But there was an entire wall featuring portraits similar to the ones that I’d seen at the Chicago gallery. All anonymous, true, but now that I knew the subject of the portraits, it was easy enough to recognize myself.
“I had no idea,” I said, taking Cole’s hand. “How many of these have you painted?”
His mouth quirked up. “How many hours have I lost watching you?”
“Lost?” I teased.
“Invested,” he said. “Treasured. Enjoyed.”
I leaned in close and kissed him. “Better,” I said. “And I really am flattered. Awed.” I shook my head, not quite able to find the words. “Each time I see myself on a canvas and know that it was your brushstrokes that put me there—I don’t know, Cole. It makes me feel warm inside. It makes me feel special.”
“That’s because you are,” he said. “That’s because I can’t see you any other way.”
Nikki and Damien had come with us, and though Damien had moved to the far side of the room to admire some colorful glass sculptures, Nikki was close enough to have overheard our conversation. When Cole kissed my cheek, then headed across the room to join Damien, she moved to my side.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Nikki said, “but I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I love these images. I fell in love with the first one I saw even before I realized it was me.”
“Really?” She lifted a brow. “And when you realized that Cole had painted it?”
I pressed my lips together. “It’s like what I told him—it made me feel special.” What I didn’t add—what I still couldn’t say out loud—was that it made me feel loved.
Beside me, Nikki nodded, and I saw understanding on her face.
“Damien didn’t paint your portrait,” I said. “But I’m guessing you felt the same way.”
“You know about that?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It was kind of all over the news.” Damien Stark had paid a million dollars for a nude, erotic portrait of Nikki. She’d been anonymous in the portrait—her face hidden. But when her identity had been revealed—along with the fact that she and Damien were a couple—the press had gone on a feeding frenzy.
I’d felt bad for her at the time. Now, knowing her, I despised the press even more. “That must have been hell,” I added. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“So am I,” she said. “But I survived it. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t fun, but in the end I think it made me stronger. It sounds clichéd, but I really mean it. And one absolutely good thing came out of it.”
“What’s that?”
“Damien, of course. We came through it, and we came through it together. And when we did, we proved to the world what we already knew.”