Chapter 30
THIRTY
Waking up in William’s apartment felt like old times, bringing forth dozens of fond memories, each one giving Lizzy the best feels to counteract the miserableness of the Gleason/George/Jane situation looming over her head.
Wearing William’s T-shirt, she held a steaming cup of coffee, gazing out at the skyline view.
Here, in this love shack, she felt safe.
Still, no matter how hard she tried not to dwell on all the hurts Jane had caused, they fought for dominance in her thoughts, creeping back into what would otherwise be a halcyon morning.
If her sister was involved in ruining the gallery’s reputation, then that was a hard line across her soul that could never be uncrossed.
Her therapist once said, “A detached empath is a dangerous person to a narcissist.” Not only was she detached beyond ignoring, she was also about to discard Jane, not the other way around.
It took her years to get up the nerve to face reality and not the altered reality her sister lived in.
The agent of chaos, an emotional assassin, had no self-reflection; therefore, she had no accountability for her hurtful actions or words. It was time to stand up for herself.
And just like that, she pushed the thought from her mind, focusing on the infinitely more pleasant recollection of last night’s midnight conversation. Oh, how she had missed them!
In the middle of the night, she opened her eyes, surprised to see William watching over her in the dark. Lying beside each other, they didn’t speak for cherished seconds of unbridled love, palpable in their gazes.
He reached out, caressing her arm. It looked as though his emotions would burst at the slightest provocation, but she said nothing, just held his beautiful countenance in her heart, locking the memory of it for all eternity.
“Is this really happening?” he whispered.
“I don’t know. It may be a wonderful dream.”
Running his hand across her waist he replied. “How’s this for confirmation?”
“Still not convincing. I wanted this for so long and now that it’s here, I can’t believe it’s real.”
“So true. I’m afraid to go to sleep. If it’s another dream, I’ll wake up in the morning with Caroline in bed beside me.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, that’s what happened on the beach. You were in my arms one minute, then the next, she was in your place. She claimed we made love, but I couldn’t believe it. Tanked-up as I was, no one kisses like you, Lizzy.”
“That explains so much as to why you didn’t know for sure what we did. I know you were drunk, but you asked me to marry you that night.”
“Now that I’m sober and have the nerve ...” He dragged her closer. “I’ll ask you again. Will you marry me?”
“I think you should do something about your current fiancée before you ask and I answer.”
“Let’s just pretend I have. Will you marry me, Lizzy?”
“Without any doubt in my mind, yes, I’ll marry you, William Darcy. I don’t want to ever spend another day without you.”
He offered his pinky, and she hooked hers with it.
Turning to face the galley kitchen, she took in the living space.
Everything around her was familiar and soothing to her unsettled anxiety over Jane.
“Alexis, play Lizzy’s Playlist,” she instructed.
Sure enough, he hadn’t deleted it. Brooks and Dunn singing “Ain’t Nuthin’ Bout You” put a smile on her face, instantaneously transporting her back to dancing with William at Wild Bill’s, and him lip-syncing the lyrics to her.
She nearly danced from room to room, feeling more lighthearted than when she woke this morning without him beside her.
Opening the door to his office, she stopped at the threshold, met by a covered canvas on an easel.
This must be the piece he’s working on. She shouldn’t look but couldn’t help her curiosity.
One peek at what inspired him couldn’t hurt.
As though he were in the apartment, she sneakily tiptoed to the painting, then turned back a corner of the white linen.
“No!” She laughed, covering her mouth in a weird sort of emotional soup of elation, embarrassment, and flattery. “William, this is amazing,” she whispered, pulling back the entire fabric to expose her likeness.
There she was—his inspiration—right down to her nipples.
He’d captured her resemblance perfectly, remembering every nuance of that moonlit night, portraying his lust in each stroke.
She recalled her impasto snow lesson and how cold it was that day in Central Park—his perfect execution in capturing the temperature.
Had he lusted for her while painting her on the beach?
Running her hand down the rippling waves, she admired the proficient execution of each raised impasto edge made by the palette knife.
Not because she was the subject, but because of the skill, she regarded this as his finest work.
The molded edges of the impasto technique were more pronounced, something beyond what a palette knife might deliver. Perhaps he used a new molding agent.
Her phone chirped, and she tugged the sheet down like she’d been discovered.
- “Meet me at our place in CP. Ten o’clock.”
Her heart skipped.
She downed the espresso, then dashed out of the room. Tossing items out of her suitcase, she finally landed on a clean, pretty sundress she’d purchased for Paris.
What happened in his meeting with Carrie this morning?
How did she take the news? She doubted he chickened out but there was always that possibility.
After all, he loved his fiancée enough to want to spend his life with her.
Breaking off a wedding was probably the hardest thing to do when a couple shared a deep love bond.
At five minutes to ten, Lizzy stood at her favorite location beside The Lake and the lovely tree she’d painted under many times, both alone and with William.
The picturesque location was home to many picnics and Indian Summer days spent laughing and even some spent crying after her sister’s strategic devaluing.
After breaking up, she’d exposed herself to cold February hours sitting on the bench.
Lost in memories, she stared out at the bridge, beating herself up for what she did to him.
It felt appropriate that he’d bring her news at this location.
She scrolled through her photos from their few days in Paris, each one filling her heart as she witnessed the gradual stripping of the people they’d become when apart from each other.
Their Sixth Arrondissement selfies made her giggle at the memory of him straddling the bike after their ride back to the Ritz in the teeming rain.
Deconstruction complete: He hadn’t complained once, even if he was drenched, and his feet and balls hurt.
Watching his approach, she noted his serious expression and her heart fell into her stomach. Maybe he had changed his mind about their future. A sick feeling quickly rose.
“Howdy,” she greeted.
Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her to him, kissing her like he’d been without oxygen all morning. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, employing that sexy voice she loved so much.
“If you can greet me like that every morning, then I’m all in,” she breathed.
“Me, too. I’m sorry I had to leave you so early. I bet you’ve been on the edge of your seat, wondering what happened.”
“I have! I resisted texting, so I spent my morning admiring your artwork.”
“And?”
“As I always known, you are an amazing artist.”
“I had good inspiration,” he said, dropping another peck to her lips.
“Seriously, William, not because you painted me, it’s because it was perfectly executed.”
“Thank you.”
“I am curious, though. What section did you use your fingers for?”
“Guess,” he said, then grinned.
“I should have known!” She chuckled and shook her head. “So, what did she say?”
Taking her hand, he led her to the park bench. “Before I get into it, I have several confessions to make, and I don’t want you to interrupt me.”
“I’d never do that.”
He gave her the fish eye because he knew her so well when she got excited about something. “Of course you will, but I have to say them fast or I may chicken out by the time I get to the last.”
Disquieted, she examined his face, but he continued to hold her hand, thumb rubbing hers back and forth in nervous anxiety.
“You’re the bravest man I know. You never chicken out.”
“That’s only where business and bike riding are concerned. When it comes to my emotions—and you—it’s different.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Okay, here it goes. Regarding Gleason, he’s going to make good on what happened and has apologized.”
“Why would he talk to ...”
“Wait,” he laughed. “Let me get it out.”
“Sorry.” She zipped her lip.
“Gleason was my mother’s protégé and friend.
He’s also on the board of her art foundation.
After I took the liberty of thoroughly examining La Tempera’s financial position and saw the amount of debt you were holding against the gallery’s limited cash flow and your salary, I asked him to do me a favor.
At my request, he called you for the exhibition, and I committed to reimbursing him twenty of the thirty percent commission the gallery received. ”
He searched her face for a reaction, but she said nothing in her shock.
Half filled with gratitude, yet half affronted that he’d looked into her finances and had the audacity to have her back behind her back, her mind whirled from his confession.
She didn’t know if she should hug William or slap Fitzwilliam.
“The malicious telephone calls were from a male and a female. We can assume we know who was behind them, but it will be up to you to get to the bottom of it with your sister. I know it’s unlike you, but you need to use whatever leverage you have to get her to confess.
You need to play dirty, Lizzy, and if you can’t, then I will.
She needs to be held accountable for her actions. ”
She nodded, having already started the process.