36. Gianna
“You okay?” I asked as Emerson parked the car in the parking garage under the auction house.
“I’m good,” he assured me, though he didn’t smile. He looked formal in his navy suit and white dress shirt. He’d skipped the tie, but he still looked buttoned-up. Not only were the clothes out of place—though I wouldn’t complain; the man looked good—but the normal lightness that surrounded him was missing.
The man had been tense since Jake had shown up. And there was an edge to his kiss. Lately, every kiss was laced with a hint of goodbye. But I didn’t want to say goodbye.
His strong hands were locked on the wheel, and he oozed competence. There was a security in the certainty with which Emerson moved through the world. Even when he was impulsive, he was confident. Being so close to that strength bolstered me in ways I’d never known existed.
Once he’d helped me out of the car—insisting it was the gentlemanly thing to do—we walked up the ramp to the street. As I reached for the entrance, his hand brushed mine. He simply raised a brow, the look sending sparks through me, and I let him open the door. The way Emerson approached each task made it clear that he didn’t think me less capable than he was. No, he went out of his way for me because he wanted to.
He loved showering people he cared about with physical affection like a hug or a squeeze of the hand. He was touchy. It was still foreign to me, since I’d grown up in a home where hugs weren’t common, despite how loving and supportive Pop was in every other way. But even though it hadn’t been my norm for so long, Emerson’s touch quieted this yearning inside me.
He also showered people with love through his actions. Ways he communicated his feelings without words. And those in particular locked tight in my chest.
I picked up a program and turned, ready to head in, but he grasped my wrist and locked it between his strong fingers. Forcing me to face him.
“Before we go in,” he said with a thick swallow, “I need to tell you something.”
My heart panged in my chest at the anxiety and fear etched into every line on his face. “Okay.”
He sucked in a deep breath, and when he opened his mouth, his words poured out fast. “I probably should have told you before now, but I worried you’d say no. And I want this moment for you. And I know you want it for you too.”
I tipped my head, confused, as my pulse quickened.
“The artist I’m excited to see featured tonight is…” He took a breath. “It’s you.”
My lung seized up as I gaped at him. “What?”
“Your work is on the block tonight.”
Wobbling, I grasped his arm to steady myself. My paintings were here? He released my hand and cupped my upper arms, like he was worried I’d fall over. Or maybe bolt. With a roll of my shoulders, I stepped out of his gasp and flipped through the program.
Page eight. I cleared my throat, but it was no use. My heart had firmly lodged itself there.
There in front of me were three of my paintings. One of Puff. The second was of the stadium. The third, New York City in the snow. Each had a price listed as well. The New York street scene was listed for five hundred dollars, but the one of Puff was four thousand. A burst of air escaped me. Who would pay that?
“How?” I blinked at the page, then up at him.
Guilt emanated from him, in the look on his face, in his eyes. “I gave them to Wren.”
Bits and pieces of the conversation I’d had with her about selling my work floated through my brain. She’d asked…
But what if no one wanted them? My heart hammered in my ears, and my chest felt tight. A warm palm pressed to my cheek and Emerson tilted my head, forcing me to focus on him.
“Trust me. You are talented.” His green eyes were flooded with nothing but open honesty. “Trust yourself. And your own skill. Gi, the auction house was swamped with so much early interest that they upped the starting bid for the painting of Puff.”
“What?”
“She listed each one for five hundred originally, but they got so many calls once she displayed them on their website that she raised the price before they even moved to the block.”
My body had gone numb, and though I could hear his words, I was struggling to comprehend the meaning. This couldn’t be real.
“You are amazing and talented,” he pleaded with me. “Trust yourself.”
Stunned speechless, all I could do was stare at the page in the book. Three of my paintings were listed there. Up for auction. I swallowed, thinking about all the hours of painting and sketching that had gone into each one. The hundreds of pictures I’d made. My breath caught when I zeroed in on a name. Four simple letters. Gano. Listed as an up-and-coming artist in the Boston area.
“I believe in you. But if you don’t want to do this, then let’s go.” He pulled me toward the door.
Finally finding my wits, I yanked back, holding us in place. “It’s always been a dream,” I whispered.
Head tilted, he angled in closer. “What?”
“This has always been a dream.” One that I only voiced to my mother. One that seemed more like a child’s daydream than a possibility, so it had lived deep inside.
Breaths coming quickly, I studied him. This gorgeous man in front of me. No one had ever been as excited about my painting as Emerson was. He was more passionate about every single work of art than even I was. I hid them away. He framed them and put them on display. He gifted them. He offered them up for sale when I was too scared to do it myself. He was the support I never knew I needed.
“Thank you.” I choked out the words and leaned into him.
Automatically, he wrapped his arms around me. “So we are going in?” He sounded so unsure.
But I nodded.
“Hell yeah we are.” He held me closer for another moment, and when he released me, he put a hand to the small of my back and guided me down a hallway.
We’d barely made it through the next set of doors when Hannah appeared.
“Let me grab a picture,” she said. The directive was clearly a demand, rather than a suggestion.
“Here?” I asked, my voice still shaky.
“Yes, I like to document it when our boys look cultured. Posting pictures of them at events like this one and other formal shit. Makes them look like they know more than just how to throw a ball.” She held up her phone. “So hop over there by the art and smile.”
“Dance, monkey, dance.” Emerson clapped his hands and spun in a circle, making Hannah laugh.
I rolled my eyes. He was such a ham.
“Come here.” He tucked an arm around my waist.
“Me?” I asked, rearing back.
Hannah stepped back and held up her phone, nodding. “Pose with the handsome baseball player.”
“Wait, you’re posting this on social media?” I asked, my feet locked on the floor. “I’m not sure I should be in the picture.”
“If anyone should be in a picture tonight, it’s you.” Emerson yanked me by the waist and positioned me where Hannah wanted us to be. Lowering his head, he whispered, “I don’t give a shit about the social media post. I don’t give a shit about seeming cultured. But I give a lot of shits about you. And that’s what tonight is about. You.” As he stood to his full height, his green eyes shone bright. “So smile,” he said, tucking me into his body.
Giving in, I placed a hand on his chest and smiled for Hannah.
“That was perfect.” She smirked at her phone’s screen. “Culture achieved. Thanks, Em.”
“Anytime, bebé,” he called over his shoulder as he led me away.
My entire body shuddered at the word, and he froze mid-step.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why?” I whispered, standing stock still in the middle of the doorway to the massive auction room.
He blinked down at me, his lips pulled down at the corners.
“Why is everyone baby but me?” I whispered.
With one side of his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he surveyed the crowded room, and instead of stepping in, he pulled me off to the side by the bathrooms.
“Look at me,” he demanded. When I couldn’t, he used two fingers to tip my chin up. “Bebé is anyone. A dime dozen. Could be a friend or a stranger. She doesn’t matter.” He swallowed. “You, Gi.” He shook his head. “You could never be just anyone.”
As his words sank in, my stomach flipped.
“From the second we met, I knew you were special. You were my butterfly. Always meant to soar.” His smile was soft. “You just needed some time and some Boston air to come out of the cocoon.” With a slow breath in, he studied my face, his eyes warm and full of affection. “But Mariposa—butterfly,” he said, “you are soaring.”
Butterfly. He’d been calling me that for as long as I’d known him. It just became the norm, and I never wondered why. I shut my eyes, fighting back emotion. Because fuck. I’d gotten upset, and once again, he’d proven there was no reason to be. This man was far and away the best one I knew.
“I didn’t need Boston air,” I whispered. “Just you.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “So you want to go in now? I promise to work on using bebé less. I didn’t realize it bothered you, or I would have stopped long ago.”
I shook my head. “Let them be your bebés.” I swallowed. “As long as I’m your only mariposa.”
He brushed a thumb over my cheek. “Always and forever.”
And once again, nothing about our connection felt casual.
The moment we finally stepped into the auction room, my heart leaped, and I took off as fast as my shoes would let me.
“Oh my gosh!” Linc and Eli were dressed in white suits, and Mila wore a gorgeous blue dress. “I cannot believe you’re here.” I glanced over my shoulder and found Emerson sauntering up behind me. “You are full of surprises today.”
“Like we’d miss your big day.” Linc tilted and peered around me, taking Emerson in. “And there is the man of my dreams.”
“You’re an asshole,” Eli muttered.
“I’m your asshole.” He smirked at his boyfriend.
Eli’s face didn’t change. He simply leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “Congrats, babe.” Then he shifted his attention to Emerson and held out a hand. “I’m Eli, the very patient boyfriend.”
“I heard we’re doing Spain Jazz, as a throuple, in the fall,” Emerson teased.
Eli dropped his head back and groaned. “Oh hell, that’s why he loves you.”
The whole group laughed so loudly the people around us turned to stare.
“I’ll get the drinks,” Eli muttered once we’d composed ourselves.
“Bubbly for the girl of the hour,” Linc shouted after him.
“I’m going to…” Emerson nodded at the Revs players who were mingling on the other side of the room. It made sense that he should be with them. He and I weren’t pretending tonight. He squeezed my shoulder when I nodded.
But even as I agreed and let him go, pain lanced my chest. Because I liked it better when he was beside me.
“So, it’s still…?” Mila watched Em as he walked away.
I shrugged.
“There’s my girl.”
I spun at my father’s voice. He stepped up beside me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I’m so proud of you. Did you see them?”
“Uh…” I shook my head.
“Damn, Gi.” He chuckled. “Come here.” Turning on his heel, he dragged me over to the set of paintings. There were about twenty lined up in frames along the front of the room.
My three pieces were set up side by side in beautiful gold frames. I swallowed at the sight of them lined up with paintings by other artists. Wow. My work was currently sitting on the auction block.
My eyes pricked with emotion, and I bit it down hard to stop the tears from forming. Blinking furiously, I cleared my throat. “It’s cool.”
“It’s talent and hard work,” my father corrected. “Your mom would be so proud.” Pop shook his head. “Not to say she wouldn’t be proud every day, because she would, but she always hoped you’d stay as excited and confident.”
As a kid, I had been. Always demanding they frame and hang my creations. Somewhere along the way, I had lost that. But someone was determined I get it back. I glanced over my shoulder. Across the room, Emerson met my gaze and gave me a quick nod before turning back to his conversation with Asher Price.
“She’d like him too,” my dad said quietly.
I spun back to him. That wasn’t a statement my father had ever made about one of my boyfriends, and yet…
“We’re not…” I swallowed and shook my head. “A thing.”
Pop cocked a brow, and I braced myself for twenty questions.
“Who’s ready for a toast?” Linc called, with Mila and Eli on his heels. I couldn’t say I minded the interruption as he handed out drinks. “Don’t worry,” he said as he handed one to Pop, “yours is club soda. So you get the sparkle and none of the bad heart no-no.”
We all clinked, and just as we were taking that first sip, a small bell rang, signaling that the auction would begin in five minutes. My stomach fluttered. I wanted to be confident in the moment, so I forced my shoulders back and inhaled deeply.
“So what’s the etiquette for this shit? Like clap or jump up and yell ‘hell yeah’?” Linc asked.
Mila sighed. “We went through this.”
“He knows.” Eli shook his head.
“You’re going to behave, right?” I asked Linc. If he got up and started a wave or something when my first painting sold, then I could guarantee this would be my first and last auction here.
“We discussed rules.” Eli raised a brow.
“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you, babe.” He gave me a small shimmy. “We are full of classy today.”
“Eli and I have a plan to keep a lid on him,” Mila assured me, pulling me in for a side hug.
“Gianna!” Avery whisper-yelled as she approached. When she looped her arms around me, I took a heartbeat to savor the gesture. “This is so amazing. I can’t wait to hear the gavel bang when you sell your first painting.”
Behind her, the rest of the Revs appeared.
“Hey, Gi.” Chris held a fist out to me. “Congrats.”
I smiled at my brother, but my focus was quickly stolen when Emerson stepped out from behind him, eyes shining. For a long moment, I couldn’t look away. My palms were clammy and my heart was racing. What I needed in this instant was a real hug. And maybe a pep talk. But Chris was here, and Em and I weren’t supposed to be a thing. Kyle elbowed Em, pulling his attention away from me and breaking our connection.
“We should sit,” Avery said. “I’m totally getting the eye from Wren.”
We slowly shuffled to the section that had been roped off for us. As I waited for Mila to fill the next open seat, I rubbed a hand over my stomach.
Chill, Gi. This is going to be amazing.
Letting go of these nerves was easier said than done.
Once Mila was sitting, I settled beside her, and Pop took the seat beside me. After a second, he frowned and turned in his chair, scanning the people around us.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, leaning in and keeping my voice low.
“Nothing,” he said. But he stood up and tipped forward so he could see down the row. “I need an aisle seat. I can’t be cramped up like this. It makes me hurt.”
Hurt? My stomach sank. He hadn’t complained about pain in weeks.
“What?” I asked, scooting forward in my chair, ready to help him out of here.
“Don’t worry.” He waved me off. “I just want more room.” He looked at Emerson, who had taken the aisle seat. “Switch with me?”
Emerson popped out of his chair and moved instantly so Pop could sit down. “Is that better?” he asked when my father was settled.
Pop nodded and shooed him away. Emerson chuckled at him, then turned and moved toward me. My mouth lifted slightly as the rich scent of his cologne filled the air.
“Hey,” I said as he sat beside me. Instantly, I was enveloped in his warmth and scent, and my nerves drifted away.
“Hey.” He smirked, leaning back in his seat. As he adjusted, our arms grazed, and his pinkie twitched, brushing against mine.
I glanced down at the sensation, and he did it again.
“Nervous?” he asked.
I shrugged, feeling much more settled than I had only a moment ago. “People will bid on them, right?”
“Hell yeah, they will,” he agreed, ghosting that finger along the side of my hand.
And they did. When my first painting sold for eight thousand dollars, he locked his pinkie with mine and grinned so wide it hurt to look at him.
Damn, was I glad he was here with me.