Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
There was something very special in the air today. Lizzy was painting again with a renewed sense of purpose and inspiration—fueled by Anne’s easel and William’s love. Her soul overflowed.
Second only to the shady piece of grass beside Bow Bridge, one of the spare bedrooms—now a temporary art studio—in William’s new townhouse was Lizzy’s happiest, sunniest place to paint.
The proximity to Central Park inspired their creativity.
As the new place started to take shape and her items from Brooklyn merged with William’s in their new home, she was getting her groove back, feeling more like herself than ever since The Discard of Jane.
Old dreams materialized and new ones formed.
Just this morning, she thought of an exciting exhibition for La Tempera, and when William returned from the deli with egg sandwiches, she planned to discuss it.
If Guy were willing, she would exhibit a series of watercolor pieces depicting Central Park landmarks during the gallery’s off-season.
She was super excited about all the new things happening in her and William’s life.
Monday had been his first day of limiting his workweek to thirty hours and delegating to his capable team.
Wearing an old pair of paint-speckled linen overalls over a tank top and listening to a Yacht Rock playlist, she plopped the paintbrush into the jar of water, grabbed her coffee, and stepped back from the canvas. Taking a sip, she admired her newest piece. Not bad.
“Boo!” William said from the doorway, causing her to jump and spill the bean down her overalls, adding brown to the many colors.
“William!”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t and just laughed, walking to her. “Wow. You’ve made progress. I like it—a lot. It’ll look great in the downstairs guest room.” He kissed her.
“You think? Maybe. I might have other plans for that guest room.”
“Whatever you want to do is fine with me. Just don’t hang my beach painting in there. I want to hang that over the mantle,” he teased.
“Hmm, let’s see—me in a see-through chemise in place of a Seurat masterpiece.”
“Why not? You’re priceless and have the body of Venus. And every time I walk into the living room, I can see you half-naked and drenched in the duality of moonlight in sunlight.”
“I’m sure it’ll be a smash hit at all the dinner parties we have planned.” She kissed him.
“Actually, it may help me close a few deals without playing hardball.”
“Ha. Ha. Did you get breakfast? I’m famished!”
“I did. I also purchased the Times.”
“Why did you buy a weekday print?”
“Because a friend of mine on the foundation board delivered the final salvo of assured destruction to a mutual acquaintance of ours in the form of an art review. Turns out that my little seed planting about Wickham’s purported AI photography provoked a visceral reaction in her.
The poor woman met him about a year ago and had a very unpleasant sexual experience with him. ”
He grinned, not for the woman’s unfortunate hook up but for the cold dish of revenge she apparently wrote up in this morning’s Art & Design section.
“Big Tom would not be happy with you getting up in someone’s business. It’s not the Wyomingite way,” she teased.
“Good thing I’m a Manhattanite. The paper is in the kitchen if you’d like to savor the douchebag’s downfall. It’s brilliant and totally deserving of print over digital, maybe even framing, next to the shitter. The guy and his five aliases will never work in the industry again. He’s ruined.”
Shocked, she leaned back. “Five aliases?”
“Yup. I quote,” He dramatically cleared his throat.
“Let me state unequivocally Mr. Chance/Wickham/Jones/Chase/Ander’s work is not ‘bravely edgy’ conceptual AI, as he claims. It is poorly lit, bad pornography.
Obscene and crudely hypersexualized, his body of work (pun intended) exploits a steady stream of ex-lovers and na?ve women, some as young as fifteen. ”
He paused. “I think the rest went like this—Degeneracy aside, his photography is corrosive to the trust and profound respect that must exist between creators and their subjects, between artists and the public. His reputation is not salvageable. Nor should it be. The fraud should never work again in any institution that claims to support art, artists, women, or integrity. In fact, there is no room for him in a civilized society. As for his underage exploitation, he should be in prison. Buyers beware, and NYPD take note.”
“Wow, you memorized it.”
“After gloating over it at least twelve times, I retained the most salient points. The whole excoriating article is a beautiful obituary to a swell guy. Add that to the federal investigation and he’s done.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll read it later.
” The last thing she wanted was to waste brain power on George.
Yes, it stabbed at her heart a tiny bit, but being surrounded by unconditional love these many weeks, she’d come so far in her healing.
In fact, she was well on her way to restoring her usurped identity and hijacked life.
And with that, she finally found her nerve to speak what had been weighing heavily on her mind.
Placing her mug on the window ledge, she said, “Forget about him.” She took a deep breath.
“Babe, before we eat ... if you have a sec, I want to talk to you about something important.”
“That sounds serious.”
“Just a smidge. It may put a tiny wrinkle in some plans we’re making, though.”
“That’s not a problem. I have something to talk to you about as well.”
“Well, then, you go first.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
He took a seat in her artist chair, then wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to stand between his spread knees. “So, Beanz’s sappy, over-the-top society wedding got me thinking. How about today?” he asked with a pleading excitement in his blue eyes.
“Today, what?”
“Today. You and me. Let’s start forever as Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy today. Unless, of course, you want a big wedding, then we can wait.”
Her heart leaped. “Seriously?” She excitedly laughed. “Oh, William ... I only want you. I would say ‘I do’ anywhere, at any time you want. You know I don’t need a fancy, expensive wedding, just you.”
“Yeah. My feelings exactly. So, is that a yes?”
“That’s an absolutely, positively, resounding yes, but can we pull it off on such short notice?”
He glanced at his watch. “Aunt Catherine sent a waiver for the twenty-four-hour wait to one of her cronies at the courthouse. So, if you want, she can marry us at four.”
“Four? What should I wear? Shouldn’t we call Gigi and Charlie as witnesses? But Caroline and Rick have left for Bali, and what about your cousin, Anne, and my friend Charlotte? And we cannot leave Guy out! He can give me away in my father’s absence!”
“Take a breath.”
And she did.
“Don’t worry about anything. It’s all taken care of.
All you have to do is show up on my arm, and forever starts at 4:05.
I hope you don’t mind, but I bought you something special to wear .
..” His smile slightly faded. “What? You’re biting your lip.
What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy? Did you have a dress planned? I’m sorry ... I shouldn’t have—”
“What? I’m over the moon happy! It’s ... just so surreal! Everything, and I mean everything, is happening so fast. I feel like the time we were apart is playing catch-up in lightspeed mode.”
He let out a deep breath, his love-filled gaze holding hers. “It’s true. I think the universe is putting everything back on track, making up for lost time. So, you’re okay with today?”
“Yes. I’ll marry you, Mr. Darcy.” She grinned.
“Good, because I’m so in love with you, Lizzy. I don’t even want to wait until four.”
She smoothed her hands up his shoulders. “I feel the same. I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone. You know, I think this may be the most spur-of-the-moment thing you have ever done, William. I’m a little caught off guard.”
“Oh, I don’t know, going to Paris was pretty spontaneous, but this ranks up there. It feels good to live with your zest for life again. Now, what did you want to tell me?”
“Right. Spontaneity. Now would be the perfect time.” She swallowed hard, not quite prepared or equipped to say what she wanted to or felt, for that matter. It was still new, even if she’d been obsessed with the idea of it for the last four weeks. “Okay, so about the painting—of me ...”
“I was only joking. Hang it in the spare bedroom downstairs if you want. It’s your place now.”
“No, I can’t hang it there. So ... um, about extemporaneous decisions,” she tried again, heart thundering. “Whew. That night ... when I, without any forethought, seduced you on the beach ...”
“Yeah, that night, wow. I’m glad you just went with the flow. Talk about getting lucky. Sorta like on the beach Saturday night at Beanz’s wedding.”
“Yeah ... so ... wow ... boy, that night in June, I sure did go with the flow, all right. I went all in and scored big time.”
“I did, too, if memory serves.” He chuckled.
“Yes, you did.” She leaned over to his ear and whispered. “We made a baby. You’re going to be a daddy in March.”
William’s eyes sparkled, and he grinned, then whispered with a chuckle into her ear, “I know.”
Shocked, she asked. “What? How do you know?”
“You mean apart from your skipping periods?”
“Yeah. I wondered if you noticed. What else?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes!”
He smiled wickedly, then cracked his knuckles, followed by a wiggle of his fingers.
“Uh, oh,” she laughed.
Sliding a hand under the overall bib, he cupped her swollen breast, then brushed his thumb over her super-sensitive nipple, shooting her to an orgasmic-level response. If this weren’t such a serious conversation, she’d jump his bones right here. She moaned, enjoying the tickle to her womanhood.
“Exactly. Did you really think I would overlook this highly tantalizing change?” He chuckled, and so did she.