Chapter 34
thirty-four
. . .
SUMMER
It’s been four days since Charleston. Four days since I touched myself in front of Rory, and he hasn’t brought it up. Not once.
He’s been polite. Respectful. His usual charming self.
It’s as if I didn’t fall apart under his voice, then watch him lick me off his fingers. And it’s driving me insane.
Every time he brushes past me in the kitchen, every time I hear him laugh with Whitney from the porch, or he splits his chocolate banana protein shake with me because I need fuel to paint, I feel it all over again.
I’ve thrown myself into painting. Kept myself busy with a few extra shifts at the café. Anything to keep from looking at him like he’s the answer to every problem I’ve ever had.
But tonight? Tonight, I have to put on a dress and walk into a country club ballroom for a swimming charity gala and pretend I’m not coming undone every time he looks at me.
Walking in to The Golden Lane Project gala, the scene is reminiscent of many I recall from my old life. An opulent venue with sparkling chandeliers hanging from high ceilings. A string quartet is playing in the background while waiters glide though the ballroom with trays of champagne.
A waiter stops beside me and I take the offered champagne. My head is clear again after my fun last night and I know I need to keep my wits about me, but it gives me something to do with my restless hands.
That’s when I see him.
Across the room, talking to a group of people, is Rory looking heartbreakingly handsome in a black suit.
He’d needed to come to the event early to meet with the foundation chairs so he’d gotten ready and left even before I’d gotten home from visiting Cal with the dogs.
I take a moment to watch him. His charismatic smile, the way he’s genuine and engaged. He’s mesmerizing.
Suddenly, his eyes find mine and his smile widens. I watch him excuse himself and make his way over to me. As he advances, his confident stride and sexy grin cause my heart to stutter. It’s like watching a tidal wave approach. Fascinating and eloquently beautiful, even though you know it’s got the power to destroy you.
He greets me with a kiss on the cheek, but the way he possessively places a hand on my waist to pull me toward him provides the overwhelming crash I’d anticipated.
“You look…” He shakes his head like he’s lost for words. “Stunning.”
His touch is gentle, but there’s heat beneath it. A smoldering, patient heat that sits low in my belly. And when his hand slides to my back and his fingertips graze the exposed skin of my backless dress, it’s effortless, like his hands were always meant to find my skin.
As he leads me around the room, introducing me to people, his hand never strays far. Sliding from the small of my back to my lower hip, then grazing my arm before brushing my waist with the kind of ease that sets every nerve on fire. I should be focused on smiling and nodding, but all I can think about is how those same hands might look pressing my thighs open.
Finally, we stop at a standing table with Winnie, Whitney, and some of Rory’s teammates, and I’m thankful for the support. I’m already overheated and we’ve barely touched.
There’s a large crowd of people near the tables on the far side of the room, and I notice Rory’s parents are among them.
“What’s going on over there?” I ask.
“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Winnie’s eyes light up. “There’s a Covey up for bid.”
“What?” My heart stops.
Suddenly, I feel naked. Exposed.
I glance down to make sure I’m still fully clothed because the thought of something I painted being up for silent auction at one of the largest galas in North Carolina is sending me into a spiral.
“Well, it was in the silent auction,” Logan says, “but so many people were bidding on it, they’re planning to move it to a live auction.”
I’m stunned at Logan’s response. That can’t be right.
“Let’s take a look.” Rory’s hand finds the small of my back again as he urges me forward.
Once we’re closer, I see the painting. They’ve moved it to an easel on the stage. It’s one of my larger pieces. I’d started it small, but the scene demanded more space.
It’s a golden-hour ocean scene. The first painting I’d done after meeting Rory.
The sun is low in the sky, casting a warm, golden reflection across the water. The edges of the painting are a deep blue, with the color fading into warmth the closer the water is to the setting sun. From where we’re standing it’s hard to see, but I know it’s there. The barely visible silhouette of a swimmer in the distance.
While I’m standing frozen in front of my own work, Rory’s parents approach.
“Mom, Dad.” Rory’s voice is warm and steady. “You’ve already met my wife, Summer.”
“Right.” His mom gives me a quick glance, but seems unbothered and distracted.
I don’t know what I expected from Rory’s parents tonight, but they’re acting even more strange than the night I announced we were married.
“How is your evening going?” I ask, trying to keep things light.
“If you must know, Lucinda Boswell is getting on my last nerve. She kept outbidding me in the silent auction for this painting.”
“Oh?” My heart skips a beat. Rory’s mom is bidding on my art? That’s the last thing I would have expected.
“You know the anonymous beach artist.” She motions toward the stage. “It’s up for auction. I had told Lucinda how much I wanted it and now she’s on a mission to claim it for herself.”
Not just bidding, fighting over it.
As more people gather, Whitney joins us and greets her parents.
“How can they tell it’s really a Covey?” Whitney asks.
“See the little signature on the bottom right corner.” Winnie points to the bottom of the canvas.
Whitney squints to see the small marking I make on all my paintings. “Yeah, but couldn’t someone fake that?”
My pulse quickens at the conversation. I know it’s real because I painted it, but they’re right, someone could mimic the style and try to pass it off as one. My fingers tighten around the stem of my champagne glass.
Rory must notice my nerves, because his grip tightens on my waist.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he whispers, pulling me in closer before taking a sip of his soda water with lime. “Do you like the painting?”
I swallow and nod. “Yeah, it’s…” My words trail off because it’s hard for me to talk about my art even if no one knows it’s mine. Just seeing it sitting up there in front of all these people is making it hard to breathe.
To calm my nerves, I take a sip of champagne.
“We’ll start the bidding at seven thousand dollars,” the auctioneer announces.
The champagne I just attempted to swallow sprays from my mouth. Coughing loudly, I clutch my burning chest.
“You okay?” Rory looks down at me, concern in his eyes as he rubs my back.
“Fine.” I nod, still coughing as I try to recover.
The bidding takes off fast. Rory’s mom and another woman across the room who must be Lucinda Boswell go back and forth while more paddles rise. With each paddle lift, I’m growing increasingly uncomfortable. I’d never imagined to hear such large dollar amounts associated with my art. When the bid reaches twenty thousand dollars, I want to tap Rory’s mom on the shoulder and tell her I’ll paint her something else, but that would give me away, and I’m not ready for that.
“We have an anonymous bidder that will match any bid,” the auctioneer announces while out of the corner of my eye I see Rory pocket his phone.
There’s a flurry of chatter in the room.
Rory’s mom scowls in Lucinda’s direction, but it’s clear someone wants it even more than they do.
“Twenty-two thousand?” the auctioneer calls, looking into the crowd.
We watch Lucinda shake her head, indicating she’s out. Maybe it’s the fact that her friend won’t end up with the painting, either, but Mary Ann drops her paddle to indicate she’s also done.
“Sold for twenty-two thousand dollars,” the auctioneer announces ecstatically.
I stand frozen, my jaw on the floor.
Rory leans close again. “That was fun.”
“Can you imagine?” Mary Ann says, fanning herself with her auction paddle. “Twenty-two thousand dollars for a painting by some anonymous beach rat.”
My heart stumbles. Beach rat?
“I think it’s beautiful,” Rory says calmly, pulling me in tighter like somehow he knows I need the reassurance.
“Mm,” Mary Ann hums, clearly distracted by her own irritation. “Let’s just hope Lucinda’s out of town when the next one comes up.”
If Rory’s mom knew I was the artist, would she still want it?
Rory’s father’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Son, I hope you were smart about this and signed a prenup.” He motions to where Rory’s hand is resting on my hip.
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Shields,” I say sweetly, turning toward him with a practiced smile I haven’t used in years. “I don’t want Rory for his money. I’m here for other things, if you know what I mean.” I punctuate it with a cheeky wink.
Beside me, Rory lets out a laugh, his eyes dancing with amusement, and I can't help the rush of satisfaction that floods my chest.
But under it all, beneath the glamour and the glitter and the jokes, I feel something else.
His touch on my hip.
The heat simmering between us.
And the knowledge that tonight, something’s going to give.