Chapter 56 Rosalie #2
I took in a deep breath. “Ugh, maybe this night would be better if you left.”
“You want me to leave? But you seemed to care about my absence.”
I crossed my arms, trying to act as if I didn’t like to argue with him, but I did. “I didn’t say I cared. I just noticed. There’s a difference.”
Max’s lips curved upward. “Noticed? That’s quite the step up. Careful—if you sweet-talk me any more, I might think you like me.”
I rolled my eyes, desperately trying to calm the pounding of my heart. “You really do have an inflated sense of self-worth, don’t you?”
Max took a step closer to me, lifting my chin with the edge of his finger. “It’s only inflated if it’s not true. And from where I’m standing, it seems you like me—even just a little bit.”
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I quickly turned my head to hide the blush I knew was spreading across my face. Why did he always have this effect on me? It was annoying, how easily he could unravel me with just a few words, a single touch . . .
The truth was, I didn’t like him; I loved him. I was scared to be the first one to say it. Those three words. Those stupid eight letters I’d kept deep in my heart for years.
I’d loved him the moment he commented on my shoes.
Those achy black Valentinos he chose for me.
That was years ago, before there was anything resembling a romantic connection between us.
But he’d carried me home and said he didn’t want to hear me complain.
I knew now it was because he’d wanted to hold me.
“Okay,” I admitted with a careful smile. “Maybe I like you a little bit.”
Max smiled—a slow, genuine smile that made me blush even more. “Finally,” he admitted as he pulled me in for a kiss.
The night moved on, and soon, it was time for everyone to move from the house to the gallery, which was just a fifteen-minute drive away.
As Max and I got out of the car, following many people inside, I gathered myself, smoothed down my dress once more, and took another deep, calming breath.
Max’s grip on my hand tightened as he led me through the crowd of people, most of which I recognized as my relatives.
They were standing across the room, mingling with his.
I never thought I’d see them get along like this, considering their history of disagreements and feuds, but the new art hanging from the walls seemed to keep their insults to a minimum.
Max led me near the bar and ordered himself a glass of whiskey, neat, before ordering me a martini (of course) with an extra olive. I hoped I could handle a second.
The gallery was stunning, just like last year. The high ceilings gave the chatter an echo as everyone started to walk around admiring the pieces.
As I walked through too, I saw men with earpieces in sharp suits scanning the crowd.
I remembered how one of them had thought I wanted to steal the art last time.
I fought that battle still, especially with the pastel colors Brooke had used this year.
I wanted every single one of these paintings, especially the light green one.
“Is this the one you like?” Max’s voice cut through my thoughts. He stood beside me, hands in his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Yes. I think it would look great above the fireplace,” I replied with a grin.
“Did Margot ever give you a piece?” he asked, taking a sip of his whiskey.
Oh.
I remembered the piece. I loved it, but most importantly, I loved the meaning behind it.
The canvas was covered in black and white paint, but it had a bright red slash in the middle.
Margot was holding onto it for me—at least I thought she was.
I wasn’t sure if she still had it. If I were her, I would’ve sold it by now, especially considering the offers she must have received.
“I never picked it up.”
“No?”
“No,” I finally said as I stabbed the olive with the toothpick and put it between my teeth. “I don’t take gifts from men who trick me.”
“You’ll be taking gifts now,” he said with another sip of his whiskey. “They’re nonrefundable, I’m afraid.”
“They?” I swallowed. “Did you buy me more than one, Max?” I asked, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, while inside, I was dying. I bit on the inside of my cheek, hoping he didn’t notice my nerves. Max knew how much I loved Brooke’s art.
“I didn’t buy you one,” he said, looking down at me.
“Oh—”
“I bought them all.”
I felt frozen. I didn’t want to ask about the total—the thought alone made me queasy. Brooke’s art was expensive.
“Why did you buy them all?” I asked.
He smiled. “Because I like art.”
He made it sound like I was supposed to know this, but I knew the truth instead. Max didn’t like art. The last time he’d looked at something that made him think creatively was probably a picture book when he was five. He was the most analytical man I’d ever met.
“Because you like art?” I asked, playfully mocking him.
“Yeah, that’s right.” He nodded confidently.
I raised an eyebrow. “I thought we weren’t allowed to lie to each other anymore.”
“I’m not lying. My wife likes art, so I like art.”
“Hmm. It sounds like she has you wrapped around her finger,” I said, leaning into the bar as I lifted the drink to my lips.
“You have no idea.”
“She also sounds expensive,” I said.
Max chuckled quietly. “She’s worth every penny.” His words took on a more serious note.
I bit my lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to break free. “Well, if you’re going to spoil her with all this art, you might need to hang it up on the walls for her too.”
He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “And who said I have to do that?”
“I did.”
He smiled. “You got it, boss.”
Instead of saying thank you, I launched forward, throwing my arms around Max in a bear hug.
He scooped me up, lifting me off the ground and holding onto me tight.
With my cheek pressed against his, I could feel his smile against mine.
His large arms held me perfectly still, as if he knew this hug spoke for me.
I love you.
It was my favorite hug to ever exist.
The End