55. Opening Reception
Samantha
When I step out of the bathroom wrapped in my bath towel, Alexander is finishing fastening his cufflinks—the ones I gave him for his IPO. With a smooth motion, he opens the wardrobe and pulls out a black fabric garment bag.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“A surprise,” he replies with an enigmatic smile.
I place it on the bed and open it carefully. Inside is a stunning draped gown in black lace and silk, signed Yves Saint Laurent.
“You went completely overboard!”
“You need a special outfit to mark the occasion.”
“Thank you. I love it.”
I kiss him softly on the lips before stepping back to put it on. Alexander helps me zip it up. His hands linger on my skin. I smile.
The dress is magnificent. It enhances my curves and gives me the bearing of a goddess.
“No,” he says, as if I’d spoken out loud. “You’re the one who’s magnificent, Sam.”
He smiles at me through the mirror and adds, “I’m starting to know you, that’s all. And I’ll tell you you’re beautiful as many times as it takes for you to believe it.”
Then he leans in and kisses my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glint of light before his arm slips in front of me and something cool settles against my skin.
Stunned, I discover a breathtaking diamond necklace: delicate flowers sparkling brilliantly, ending in a larger teardrop-shaped gem.
“I wanted to mark this evening,” he says simply, holding my emotional gaze in the mirror.
“You’re crazy.”
“Yes. About you.”
I turn toward him and kiss him gently on the lips.
I don’t try to reason with him. He’s happy to shower me with gifts, and after all those years of coming second to my sister, I’m happy to finally be someone’s priority.
“Thank you.”
We don’t deepen the kiss. There’s no time for that. Not tonight. Still, I savor a few extra seconds in his arms.
*
We arrive at the Levasseur Gallery about thirty minutes later. We shake hands with Cédric Levasseur, then with Lyne, his secretary. Our friends arrive almost immediately—first Emelyne, Mara, and Matthieu. Then Florence, David, Manon, and Oliver.
My parents won’t be coming.
That’s okay. I’ve mourned that relationship. You can’t force people to love you.
It’s their loss, not mine.
Absentmindedly, I rest a hand on my stomach, where a tiny being is growing, and I smile. I haven’t told Alexander yet, but I know it’s a dream he’s carried for a long time.
I want to surprise him.
While he’s talking with Emelyne and Mara, I make a round of the rooms, buzzing with excitement. Everything is ready: champagne, hors d’oeuvres, lighting. Every detail is in place.
The attention given to our couple had an unexpected effect—both on MatchMapping and on my own visibility. People wanted to discover my work, and some of them could afford to buy it. Tonight, I’m opening my first solo exhibition. Two years after graduating, it’s an achievement I’m proud of.
Guests begin to arrive in droves—around sixty people, carefully selected.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. de La Tour. We’re delighted to welcome you tonight,” says Cédric Levasseur. “This is Samantha Chevalier, the artist whose two works you’ve already acquired.”
I greet them with a nod.
“I believe we’ve met before,” Eva de La Tour says. “At a gala.”
“Exactly. A little over two years ago, shortly before MatchMapping went public.”
“Call me next week,” she adds, handing me her card. “I’d love to feature you at my next gala in support of the Espoir Foundation.”
“It would be an honor.”
Next come Nathan and Hélo?se Raynaud, who had also purchased several of my works for the lobby of Phéa Derma.
“Your paintings are creating quite a stir,” Nathan tells me with a smile. “Visitors sometimes forget why they came in the first place.”
My ego is flattered, of course—but what truly matters is seeing how deeply my work moves people.
The evening flies by. I move from group to group, exchanging a few words with everyone.
“Your work is remarkable,” a young man in a three-piece suit tells me, beaming. “How did you achieve such mastery of watercolor? It feels like the light comes straight off the page.”
I take the time to answer him. No sooner do I finish than he asks another question. He’s clearly trying to hold my attention, and even if he’s attractive—and undoubtedly very wealthy—only one man matters to me.
A little apart, surrounded by our friends, Alexander watches me with quiet pride, never trying to impose himself. I excuse myself and join him.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He answers with a sincere smile, without the slightest shadow.
“Perfect. This is your night. Enjoy your guests.”
“I know some of them can be a bit… persistent.”
His smile widens.
“They’re under your spell—like I am. But don’t worry. I don’t feel threatened. You’ve never given me a single reason to doubt your love. So go on.”
The evening ends far too quickly. It’s a success: more than half of my works have been sold.
“To Sam and her success!” Emelyne declares as we have dinner together afterward.
“To Sam!”
“And what are you going to do with your earnings?” David asks.
“I’m going to sign the lease on the artist studio I’ve been dreaming of. My work is fairly solitary, and this space will let me be around other artists, share creative energy.”
“That’s a great idea!” Emelyne enthuses, sitting beside me.
“And you know what? The place is big enough for two. Would you like to share it with me?”
“Absolutely!”
We hug each other tightly.
“Do you remember the cow story?” I ask her.
It takes her two seconds to remember before she bursts out laughing.
“What—are you falling apart without your best friend?”
“Exactly!”
And we hug again, surrounded by our friends’ affectionate laughter.
*
I had planned to announce my pregnancy the next day.
But when I wake up, I’m alone in the bedroom.
Slipping quickly into a robe, I get up to look for Alexander when my foot lands on a smooth, cold pebble.
I frown. What is that doing there? Then I notice others—just as round and flat—forming a path I follow, intrigued. What has he come up with now?
The pebbles lead me into the living room, where Alexander is waiting, wearing low-slung pajama bottoms. I admire his sculpted muscles, his abs, the line of hair disappearing beneath the fabric. He’s devastatingly handsome.
“Good morning, sweetheart. My eyes are up here,” he teases.
I bite my lower lip, full of regret, and lift my gaze to his mischievous face. I step closer to kiss him, but he raises a hand, stopping me halfway.
And then he drops to one knee.
“Did you know that male penguins offer a pebble to their chosen mate?” he asks, eyes sparkling.
He pulls a pebble from his pocket. I frown, confused, until he lifts the lid of a pebble-shaped box. Inside, I discover a stunning solitaire diamond. A smile spreads across my lips as understanding washes over me.
“If she accepts it, they become partners for life,” he continues.
I laugh and throw myself into his arms.
We kiss until we’re breathless.
“You know,” I tell him, “if we’re doing this like penguins, we’ll have to figure out a way for you to incubate the egg too.”
He frowns, confused.
“Well yes,” I explain. “With penguins, both parents take turns incubating the egg.”
A long silence follows.
“No!” he exclaims, stunned. “No—this isn’t what I think it is?”
He can barely contain his joy.
“Yes. It’s exactly what you think.”
He pulls me into his arms.
“You’ve just made me the happiest man alive.”