Chapter 30 #2
Jared glances at the slideshow and chuckles. I follow his line of sight and find myself smiling at a photo of Lita and a young, dark-haired boy wearing giant welder’s goggles. “Last time we talked, you said you had a kid at the art center doing metal sculpture and scaring the hell out of Lita."
I laugh. "That’s him. Diego. He's fourteen and yes, he’s very enthusiastic with a blowtorch.
Lita would never admit it, but I think she loves him.
" The memory of that conversation—Jared on a video call, giving me advice on how to mentor a gifted kid with more talent than patience—makes me realize how much I've missed having him and Melanie close.
"Hell of a thing you've built here," Jared says, looking from me to Nick. I get the sense he’s not just talking about the Chelsea Recreation Center or his mother’s namesake art building. "I know you don’t need to hear it from me, Nick, but I’m proud of you."
Nick's jaw tightens, the only sign that the words have hit home. "Glad you made the trip."
"Wouldn't have missed it," Jared says, the hint of his drawl deepening as he reaches over and draws Melanie close. "Take care of each other. The only thing that matters in the end is the person standing beside you through this crazy fucking journey called life."
Nick nods. "Don't I know it."
They step away with well wishes for tonight and a promise to see us at the wedding.
No sooner have they gone, than Gavin Castille arrives, champagne in hand, that easy Australian charm already at full wattage.
He leans in to kiss my cheek, lingering a beat too long, the way Gavin does everything, pushing just slightly past the line because it amuses him.
"Avery, you look breathtaking." He grins over my shoulder. "Nick's a lucky bastard and he knows it."
Nick growls low under his breath, but there’s not much bite in it. He gives me a look that says he’s not worried about any other man moving in on me when he knows I’m carrying his child and there’s a gold band at home signifying I belong to him and only him from now until death do we part.
I return his smile, reaching over to thread our fingers together. “Nice to see you again, Gavin.”
Nick frowns. “Again?”
“Avery and her beautiful friends stopped by GC today for lunch,” Gavin informs him. “You should come in more often too. Maybe tell your new chef at Vendange to ease up on the competitive espionage.”
“The what?”
“It’s nothing,” I interject, laughing. “Tasha was just trying to rattle his cage today.”
“Oh, it’s rattled,” Gavin says, but he’s grinning so broadly that both of his dimples make an appearance. “If I catch this Isla Shaw person in my restaurant trying to recon my recipes, it’s game on. She won’t know what hit her.”
Nick chuckles, shaking his head now. “I’ll be sure to pass it along.”
“Avery, good luck up there tonight,” Gavin says. “I know you won’t need it.” He glances at Nick. “As for you, just stay close to your fiancée. She always makes you look good.”
“I won’t argue with that,” Nick replies.
The friends shake hands, then Gavin drifts toward the bar, leaving Nick and me alone in the circulating crowd of gala attendees.
A woman in a foundation blazer touches Nick's shoulder. "Mr. Baine, Ms. Ross? They're ready for you now."
I swallow the last of my nerves as we’re led toward the front of the grand ballroom.
The stage is small, intimate, set against the projected backdrop of the rec center.
Nick leads me up the steps with his hand warm around mine, and the room's attention shifts toward us. Hundreds of faces, soft light, and a hush that travels over the gathering until it’s completely silent except for the soft soundtrack accompanying the slideshow.
Then, even that goes silent as Nick takes the stage. He squeezes my fingers once before releasing my hand to approach the podium, then steps to the microphone.
"Thank you all for being here tonight." His voice fills the room, steady, certain.
"Your support is set to transform what began as a single recreation center in Chelsea into something much larger.
A nationwide expansion. Thousands of children served.
Programs that give kids the tools to build lives worth living. "
His right hand grips the edge of the lectern, those scarred fingers wrapped around polished wood as his deep voice commands the attention of every person in front of him.
"The Elizabeth Xavier Center holds particular significance for me.
" His voice shifts, something unguarded surfacing beneath the polish.
"It carries my mother's name. A woman who believed art had the power to save us, even in the darkest circumstances.
She gave me my first set of paints when I was four.
She taught me to see the world as something that could be shaped into something better, transformed, made new. "
He almost never speaks about her publicly, and the control it takes is visible only to me because I know where to look.
The slight tension in his jaw, the careful measure of his breathing, the way his hand grips harder without him realizing it.
My chest aches for him as he recounts some of his past pain for these people.
I ache for the boy he was, and the man he's become in spite of everything that tried to destroy him.
"She died when I was ten. I spent years believing that the part of me she nurtured, the part of me that could feel happiness and hope, died with her.
" He pauses. The room holds its breath. "I was wrong.
It just needed somewhere safe to grow again.
That's what these programs offer. A safe place.
A chance to discover that you have something worth expressing.
Something worth protecting, worth fighting for. "
Four hundred people sit in silence, and I am standing just several feet from the man I married in secret only days ago, now watching him open wounds in front of strangers because children he'll never meet might need to know they're not alone.
My eyes burn. My throat aches with the effort of keeping still, of not reaching for him, of letting him have this moment on his own terms.
"I’m pleased to announce the next phase of expansion tonight.
Three new cities next year, and a matching campaign starting tonight.
Every dollar donated between now and January will be matched by the Baine Foundation, up to fifty million.
" His gaze finds me. Not heated. Not possessive.
Just connection. "But the heart of what we do is our art program.
And that exists because of someone who understands, in ways I never fully could, what it means to turn pain into something worth keeping. "
The look he gives me is brief, but it lands in my body like a tender hand scooping into my breast and holding my heart.
"Avery Ross has built something extraordinary. She’s my partner in everything I do, the woman I love, and I'm honored to introduce her now."
Applause swells through the ballroom as Nick steps back from the podium and motions for me to join him. When I move to take his place, he cradles my face and kisses me—fleeting, but full of meaning—and his solemn gaze carries everything we can't say in front of this room.
Then he's gone from the stage, and I'm alone.
The room spreads out before me, faces and candlelight and the receding thunder of their warm applause.
I glance away from the crowd for a moment, searching for Nick.
He's positioned himself off to the side, where he can watch without drawing focus.
His affectionate expression steadies me, grounding me in a way I didn't know I needed until this exact moment.
I take a breath.
Then I step to the microphone.