23. Chapter 23 Clay
C lenching my teeth so hard my jaw ached from my ears to my chin, I worked on consciously relaxing my shoulders. Lucy was brave tonight. Not just for helping pull this show together, but for letting herself be seen.
Fully seen.
The bare sweep of her back. The soft curve of her shoulders. The birthmark she used to hide.
And now she stood in front of a crowd, glowing. Calm. Confident.
It was just one more thing to love.
Elbowing Nick in the gut wouldn’t be the gentlemanly thing to do.
But after he stared at Lucy’s breasts like he was considering taking up residency, it was hard to remember my manners.
Especially when he’d utterly forgotten his.
I’d expected more discretion from a man used to working undercover.
Just my luck that the persona he’d chosen to adopt for the evening was horny by nature.
Sliding between them and offering my jacket wasn’t about jealousy. It was about giving her a shield if she wanted it.
When she reached for my hand instead, that simple touch was enough to unlock my jaw. If she was fine, I was fine.
I wasn’t the jealous type. But I also couldn’t stand creeps.
And Nick seemed oblivious to the fact that Lucy and I were a couple.
Asking her to marry me right now would be a dick move.
Especially after I’d vowed to stop. But the urge rode me hard.
And it didn’t take more than a microsecond of introspection to figure out why.
Because when I saw her standing tall, owning the room…I’d never wanted to be hers more.
What Jen and I had was gentle, the sort of love that matured out of first love.
Things with Lucy were different. We had sharp edges. Independent lives. Wounds we didn’t expect each other to fix. Loving her wasn’t easy. It wasn’t soft. It was exciting. Challenging. It was a choice I made every damn day.
And in moments like this, watching her shine, it felt like the most powerful kind of love there was.
Anya jumped into the fray, picking up the thread of the conversation. “So, Nick. Have you made any purchases tonight?”
“I’ve got my eye on a few things,” he said easily.
I tensed, but he kept his gaze neutral. If he’d darted down to Lucy’s cleavage again, I might have dropped any pretense of cool.
“A lot of the art has sold already,” he observed. “Have any of you made purchases?”
“Not yet,” Violet said with a smile. “But we just got here. Shall we circulate?”
Slowly, our group made a tour of the gallery, pausing in front of each arrangement. I should have been focused on the number of “sold” tags supporting our volunteer program, but I could only be aware of Lucy at my side.
Was she clinging to me because she knew I was one titty-glance from decking our good DEA agent?
Chaz and his wife, Dr. Underwood, approached our group.
They’d dressed for the occasion, choosing flamboyant Bride of Frankenstein and Frankenstein wigs with the requisite white streaks.
Megan wore a flowing black satin dress that hugged her generous curves, while her husband sported a black suit coat and tie.
“Lucy and Clay, there you are. Can I introduce you around? There are a few patrons here who would like to meet you.”
Chaz whisked us away, keeping us busy with a steady stream of introductions. Lucy finished her wine, and I jumped on the excuse to escape.
“Thanks, Chaz. Lucy and I need refills. We’ll see you later?” Hastily, I tugged her back to the drink line. “What would you like?”
“Just water.”
We huddled in a corner with our glasses, relieved to be alone, if only for a moment.
“Have you spotted anything interesting tonight?” I searched the crowd for Agent Harris and our friends.
“Nothing overt. But in the permanent installation section, Chaz has a whole new fleet of works by A.A.”
“And?” I prompted, not sure what she was getting at.
“Clay, they’re all new. Even if A.A. is extremely prolific, it’s odd. If nothing else, you’d think they’d want to control the market, not publish too many pieces at once.”
“Is this a scarcity thing?” I asked, never sure how the whole art world functioned. How anyone could pay almost forty-five million dollars for a badly drawn woman just because the artist’s name was Picasso was beyond me.
“Yes. But more than that, I’m surprised at how fast the market for A.A.
’s art moves. Most pieces take weeks, months, or sometimes years to sell.
Especially the way Chaz has them priced.
” She shook her head. “Everything I’m seeing in the display is new.
He’s turned over the entire studio in just a few weeks. ”
“So, Chaz is really good at marketing A.A.’s work?” I asked.
“Or really good at running a front,” she muttered. “Using the art world to launder cash is as old as time.”
“But on San Juan Island, what could he be selling?”
Across the room, Chaz leaned in to shake hands with the mayor, his wife beaming at his side.
Lucy looked grim. “This is where our good friend 007 comes back into play. It seems like too much of a coincidence that a case with Jordan Dawkin’s initials showed up in Chaz’s back room. And it’s a little convenient that Chaz’s wife is a physician.”
“You know her well?”
“Only from yoga classes at Anya’s studio.”
Rae and the rest of the gang circulated to our corner with Agent Harris in tow. He smiled at Lucy, his gaze briefly dropping to her chest, and I suppressed a growl, wrapping an arm around her possessively.
“Did you finish your rounds?” Lucy asked easily, seeming oblivious to my proprietary move.
Rae’s lips twitched. “Yes. We even made it to the curtained corner.”
Lucy groaned, the long, low sound of pain making me chuckle.
“I’m going to be afraid to check my email tomorrow. How many angry parents made it that far?”
Zach chuckled. “Relax. Gran is back there, holding court. No one who catches a glimpse of her even remembers there’s artwork behind her anymore.”
Drew dropped his chin to his chest, rubbing his forehead. “I still can’t believe we’re related.”
Anya patted his shoulder consolingly. “Neither can anyone else, love. Neither can anyone else.”
“Why is no one paying attention to the art?” I asked.
Zach grinned, his dimple flashing. “Because Gran, in her infinite wisdom, decided to dress as the original temptress for tonight’s show.”
Lucy scrunched her nose. “She’s the Devil too?”
Anya laughed. “Maybe not the one you know – she dressed as Eve.”
The mind boggled. Maybe it was for the best that she’d hidden behind the curtained corner.
“Adam-and-Eve Eve?” Lucy wondered.
Rae nodded. “Yes. But don’t worry – she’s wearing a nude bodysuit and at least four fig leaves.”
“You could cover her in a forest of leaves, and it still wouldn’t be enough,” Drew complained.
Gran Fenwick was a hoot, but I was glad she wasn’t my grandmother. Thoughts of family led to thoughts of Thanksgiving, and the question I still needed to ask Lucy.
“This I’ve gotta see,” Lucy said, brightening. Her earlier concerns about being blamed for Gran’s artistic choices vanished. Maybe she realized Gran would always outdo herself, drawing all the attention and any potential criticism away from anyone else.
I arched a brow at our friends, downing my water in one big gulp. “If you’ll excuse us, apparently we have a date with a curtain.”
Anya dropped a gentle hand on Lucy’s arm. “Fair warning. Mr. Reyes is back there too.”
“Joy,” I muttered, guiding Lucy through the crowd to the back corner.
As promised, Chaz had erected a free-standing black curtain to cordon off that section of the gallery. As we approached, a throaty giggle spread from behind the black fabric, making me pause. Lucy and I exchanged glances.
“Do we dare?” I asked.
Lucy grimaced, her distaste dissolving into a broad grin as a masculine chuckle joined the flirtatious sounds emerging from the corner.
“They say art is an act of courage.”
Ruefully, I whispered, “When it comes to Gran, I’m not that brave.”
Lucy laughed, tugging me by my jacket lapel. “C’mon, my dark underlord. We’ve got this.”
The sparkle in her eye, the lilt in her voice – both struck me like a blow to the heart.
I ached to say the words again. But I’d promised not to.
Not yet. The moment crystalized, frozen in time.
Lucy’s breathtaking beauty, coupled with her confidence in our ability to handle anything together cemented my own certainty.
We slipped behind the curtain.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Chaz had played with the lighting in this section, choosing to be more subtle. It created shadows. Writhing shadows. I slapped my palm over my eyes. No one needed to see that.
“Hello, Gran.” Lucy’s voice sounded amused. “Nice to see you too, Mr. Reyes.”
Is it though? I’d like to see him dressed in his normal flannel. Not wrapped around Barbara Fenwick like a pretzel, clad in only a bodysuit and some well-placed fake fig leaves.
Gran cackled, the sound full of glee. Slowly, I let my palm fall. Mr. Reyes had shuffled behind Gran, no doubt trying to hide any bulges behind his fig leaf. I grimaced. No one needed to be thinking about Mr. Reyes’s fig leaf.
I cleared my throat, nodding at the older man. Graciously, he nodded back, as if we hadn’t caught him making out with his octogenarian partner in crime.
“There you are,” Gran said regally. “Our wonderful instructors. Ollie and I wouldn’t be here tonight without you.
” Her wrinkled cheeks stretched in a grin.
She’d tamed her pink hair into something more demure for the evening.
“We had so much fun in class. Do you plan on running another session for winter?”
“God no.”
I choked off a laugh at Lucy’s vehement response. Clearing my throat, I tried for diplomacy. “I think we’ll keep this an annual thing. I’m glad you both had fun,” I said, including Mr. Reyes in my nod.
“Artistic expression is so freeing,” Gran said, a gleam in her eyes.
“You weren’t already free?” I’d uttered the words softly, not intending for her to pick them up, but Gran’s hearing was darn good.
She laughed, the sound long and full, ringing through the small space. She really did look happy. It was her joy I’d need to hold on to when the inevitable angry comments about tonight caught my eye on WNFH.
“I love helping out a good cause.” The way Gran stared me down before shifting her gaze to Lucy’s hand in mine made me think she was taking credit for more than just a boost to the visitors’ fund.
Gran smoothed her hair delicately, giving me a mischievous smile. “Well, children. My work here is done. Have a wonderful night.”
She and Mr. Reyes slipped out, hand in hand. Their butt leaves twitched in unison, oddly mesmerizing. Slowly, I shook my head from side to side, still not convinced anything from our conversation with her was real. It had the cloudy aura of a dream. Or a nightmare.
Lucy’s expression was caught in a mix of admiration and fear. “You think we’ll be like that when we’re in our eighties?”
I slipped my hand into hers, squeezing. Grounding myself in her touch.
“I only hope I wear my fig leaves half as well.”