Chapter 28
WRITTEN IN GOLD (HOLDEN)
Four Months Later
Irun a hand down my suit, flattening every edge for what feels like the millionth time.
The backstage of the art museum feels cluttered. Not because it’s a smaller museum in Portland, but because it’s tonight.
I check my reflection in a large, gilded mirror on the walls.
It probably used to belong to the pope or something. I’m just glad it’s here so I can make sure my bow tie isn’t crooked.
Kit perches on a wooden crate, polishing her glasses on her skirt.
“You look fine, Dad. Stop stressing.” I don’t blame her for sounding weary. It’s only the sixth time she’s told me.
The precious cargo is still in my breast pocket.
No one’s gotten violently ill.
All is right with the world.
I drop my hand and turn to face her. “One more check. Do I look okay?”
“I just said you look fine. Gah!” She laughs.
I do look fine, perfectly presentable, but it feels like this collar wants to strangle me.
Can’t remember the last time I felt this nervous. Hell, this is Clee’s big night, and I want to add to her success, not infect her with my jitters.
“You could wipe your forehead. You’re sweating,” Kit says unhelpfully.
I glower at her, wiping my skin with the back of my hand.
“Time?” I clip.
“Half past six.”
Almost time to meet Cleo.
“Let’s check the back room,” I say.
“Daaad.” Kit drops down and grabs my arm. “You’ve already checked like, five million times. I went and looked again while you were busy. Everything’s cool. Seriously.”
Cool?
Not possible with the sword of destiny hanging over my head.
I turn and look down at Kit, who wears an adorably frustrated smile. For a second, this situation feels weirdly inverted, like I’m the child and she’s the adult, fussing over me.
She even reaches up on her toes and straightens my bow tie.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
“Are you?”
“Um, yeah?” She frowns at me. “I was born ready.”
“It’s just— This is a big deal.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “If Clee says yes—if she accepts—it’s a permanent change. No going back for me, for her, or for you.”
Kit rolls her eyes and pushes her glasses up her nose.
“Jeez Louise, Dad. I’ve been ready for this longer than you have. I’ve wanted you to have a life forever.”
Yeah, don’t remind me.
I want to tell her our two-family life was still living, but she’s right. It took forever and an age to get here.
Kit, it’s easy for her.
She still sees the world in black and white, all neat, clean lines.
Over the past few months, we’ve made a new life together, and some days I think she’s had an easier time with the change than I have. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade one second of sharing our house with Cleo.
It’s just been one hell of an adjustment, despite being overwhelmingly positive.
“Anyway, we talked about this. You talked at me until you were blue in the face and I listened patiently. Remember?” Kit scolds me again with her eyes.
“And I bought you ice cream every other time for being such a good listener.” I mock scowl at her, but it’s true. The second I decided on writing our whole future in stone, I ran it past my little girl first.
It’s not just my life now. Never was. It’s Kit’s, too.
Luckily, there was never any question and zero complications in her mind.
“Okay, okay,” I grumble, kissing her on the forehead. “Message received, loud and clear.” I check my watch. “I should find Clee. You know what to do?”
“Yes, Dad, I know. Now go. Scram, or you’re gonna miss the show. She’ll never forgive you for that.”
I’ve never seen the love of my life look so starry-eyed.
We’re standing in the middle of the display room with glittery gold details on the walls and a sparkling chandelier overhead, lost in the crowds and the glamor.
I can’t tell if she’s more awestruck by the turnout or the setting.
Clee’s red lips fall open as she stares at everyone. There’s a bubbling glass flute in her hand, but she barely touches her champagne.
People love her stuff.
And why the hell wouldn’t they?
That’s the part I had unshakable confidence in. There are folks here from across the whole damn world.
The Hera Egg is a big draw, displayed proudly in the center of the room. People crowd the glass case, marveling at the newly refurbished treasure. They worked miracles with the repair.
It’s not perfect—never could be after I shot it to bits—but the fragments wound up being bigger than they seemed.
Jasper Fairfax owed me a favor for saving his ass. He felt awful about helping the wolves into our lives, despite having a literal gun to his head.
So, after the dust settled, he connected us with restoration experts and paid the bill. People with unholy talent. They did an unbelievable job repairing ninety percent of the ruined egg.
From a distance, the thing looks nearly as perfect as it did the first time I ever saw it.
All the cracks that were too big to be filled are now lined with gold.
Cleo says it’s a lot like some fancy Japanese art technique. All I know is it’s goddamned beautiful, this broken marvel made whole. The golden imperfections add to its soul, glowing under the soft lights.
I squeeze Cleo’s hand until she looks up at me.
“Amazing, amazing,” she whispers.
“Never had any doubt it would be, Clee.”
“But Holden—seriously. Look at it.”
“Seriously,” I repeat. “People aren’t just here for the egg, you know. They won’t shut up about your art.”
I raise her hand to my lips as she laughs.
Then she looks over the scene and finally sips her champagne with a soft smile. “I know. My stuff has done okay, but—”
“More than okay, liar,” I interrupt gruffly.
Ever since the heist and the attention it brought, her textured art has exploded.
Not in a small way either. There are viral videos all over the internet with millions of views.
They’ve brought her fame, respect, and a nice haul of money. Not that either of us need it.
First time in my life I can say that, and I still can’t believe it.
My girl’s done mighty well for herself, staking her name on her own terms. Same for me as I slowly hack away at getting my consulting biz off the ground.
I landed my first big client a couple months ago, Enguard Security from California, a premier firm looking to start up a satellite branch in New York and Boston. They want to know the lay of the land and decided I’m the right man for the job.
But this gallery is her first public show. Her debut, a double feature shared with the return of the legendary Hera Egg.
After the New York debacle, plans changed.
She agreed to loan the egg out to a smaller local museum in Portland first to help promote tourism.
Now, she stares at it with wide eyes like she can’t quite believe our luck.
Screw Cleopatra of Egypt. She’s younger than Alexander the Great and she’s taking the world by storm.
I’m so fucking proud of her.
We stroll the room. So many people recognize her in that stunning red dress and start gushing.
Family names roll past, people I’m just getting to know. Ethan and Hattie Blackthorn. Margot and Kane Saint with two kids who are already thick as thieves with Kit.
Big names in the art world, too.
I don’t know them from Adam, though I looked at everyone who bought tickets, just to be on the safe side.
A man never buries his instincts. No Russian mafia in sight.
“You’re doing great,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss her. No one here knows or cares who I am except for the fact I’m obviously her man.
As long as they understand that, it suits me just fine. So does seeing her looking so radiant.
Let her shine.
Let her have the night of her life.
I’m happy to stand back and watch and when the time is right—we’ll see.
When I pull back, her eyes are glowing.
“I can’t believe it’s going so well,” she whispers. “Maybe dreams do come true.”
“They do when you put in the work,” I remind her. I couldn’t count the late nights and sixteen-hour days as she’s worked on the displays and with the restoration team.
So many pieces with the international crowd coming in.
Still, it’s like what happened in New York set her free, like transferring a plant from a pot to open soil. Or maybe it’s what happened after, when I took her home and moved her stuff into my room, and we sat Kit down and said we’d try to make a thing of this.
Or maybe it was her old man finally going into rehab and cleaning himself up. I could see the strain Gordon put on her, the way she hated seeing him wasting away, poisoned and bitter.
Some wall around her broke in that second.
All the pieces on the wall and mounted to small podiums in this room means something. Even to me, and modern art still feels fucking indecipherable.
It’s not all her textured wall pieces, though. She’s included some pencil sketches. A couple tasteful nudes, both female and male.
A winding river.
Fiery fall foliage.
Landscapes, real and dreamlike, colorfully haunted.
I see Kit’s silhouette painted in dusky blue. No name ID, of course, but I know my daughter. She did that one while my little girl was working intently at a canvas.
All these little fragments of her life committed to living memory. Despite being on display for all the world to see, it doesn’t feel like I expected.
There’s no privacy violated here. If anything, it feels more like a soft confession to the world, and where’s the harm in that?
I love her. I love her chaos. I love her spark.
Finally, late into the evening, the crowd starts to thin.
I’m actually laughing as an animated Gordon talks about the time a glass sculptor in Vegas left him a five-hundred-pound life-sized bear and he had to figure out how to ship it home.
His eyes are brighter and his skin doesn’t have that papery pale look anymore.
Even though Clee’s smile hasn’t dimmed once, I can see she’s getting tired, a little overwhelmed.
Once Gordon walks off, more alive than ever, I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“I have something for you,” I say, leading her through the last gaggle of smiling people. “One more piece that never made it to the floor, waiting in the back.”
She frowns. “There’s something else?”
“Just follow me, Clee. You’ll see.” I rest my hand on the small of her back, guiding her.
Kit’s been back here for ten whole minutes, bursting at the seams and staying up past her bedtime on what should be a school night.
The door says No Entry. I push it open anyway.
“Oh,” Cleo says faintly when she sees the black walls and lighting. There’s a single tall object under a sheet. Beside it, my daughter beams.
“Hiii!” she chirps, throwing me an anxious look. “Are we ready?”
I nod.
Just like I planned. It’s now or never.
My heart lurches.
Kit grins and drops the sheet, revealing a set of three sculpted hands and forearms, rising up from the pedestal, holding a brilliant gold ring. They’ve been painted in the same brilliant blue and white stripes and gold of the Hera Egg.
Cleo’s breath catches.
She presses a hand to her mouth.
For a second, I’m afraid she’ll hit the floor.
“Kit’s idea.” I clear my throat. “I could’ve done this the normal, boring way, but you know I’m no wordsmith. You remember when she did that project a couple months ago, casting our hands from clay? She needled me until I did one, too.”
“I remember,” Cleo breathes, her eyes gleaming. “I thought it was just for school…”
“It was!” Kit says brightly. “But I had a thought, and Dad liked it. So I painted it.”
“She did a bang-up job,” I say. “So good, I knew it was perfect.” Clearing my throat again, I grab the ring off the palm of the big hand and sink down on one knee.
“Clee, you’re the love of my life. Tonight was your dream come true, and you’re mine.
Will you marry me, woman? Will you let us share the same dreams forever? ”
The hand over her mouth shakes. A hot, glinting tear spills down her face as she nods vigorously.
“Holy… Holden, I would’ve married you months ago!”
Dammit, I grin.
And I spring to my feet, pulling her into a hug, flattening her against my chest.
“I love you,” I growl into her hair.
“I love you, too.”
Kit’s laughing grin turns into a ten-year-old’s grimace as I catch Cleo’s chin and bring her lips to mine.
I don’t care.
I kiss her slowly, madly, and deeply, putting all the words I don’t know how to articulate into this tangle of lips.
How much I want her.
How much I love her.
How much she’ll always mean to me tonight, tomorrow, and eternally.
Everything. That’s what she is.
Everything I gave up before she came along, blazing into my life like a falling star, the bap on the head I sorely needed.
She wraps her arms around my neck and holds on so tight. I almost forget about Kit until she clears her throat.
“Hey, guys… aren’t you forgetting something?”
Cleo laughs as she breaks away, giggling and red-faced. I grab her hand and slide the ring onto her finger.
Fits perfectly, just like I knew it would, the tiny diamonds shimmering like the night sky. I knew she wouldn’t want one so lavish or detailed it might get in the way of her painting—so it’s small and delicate.
Beautiful, just like her.
“I love it,” she whispers, glancing up at me and biting her lip. Then she looks at Kit and holds her arm out. Kit runs into her embrace a second later. “And I love you, too. How long have you been keeping this little secret, hmm?”
“Almost as long as we’ve been planning the show,” I say. “I was always planning to propose tonight, but Kit gave me the inspiration.”
“And it worked!” she says smugly. “I knew it would.”
“It’s perfect,” Cleo says, looking back at the hands, all reaching up in a waving salute. “The Hera Egg gave us a family.” She sighs and leans her head against my shoulder. “Gramps must’ve known what he was doing.”
I nod.
Whether he did or not, the boss’ flair for life paid off. Always did.
As we step into the night and breathe the fresh fall air, I look at the yawning sky above, burning with stars. Somewhere up there, I bet there’s familiar laughter.
Leonidas Blackthorn is looking down, chuckling at his handiwork.
I wrap my arms around her and Kit, smiling like I haven’t in years.
“Here’s to family.” I stop and press my chin to her hair, inhaling my fiancée’s heavenly scent.
She smells like apple blossoms and destiny. The scent of life.
“Family,” she echoes reverently. “And the man, the life, the home I always needed.”