Chapter Nineteen
Jesse
I gulped as Malcom took my arm and steered me toward the center of the room. I turned my head, throwing a panicked look at the girls. Lily mouthed, “You’ve got this,” while the rest gave me thumbs-up and manic grins before following us.
Malcom led me to the main hall of the gallery, in front of one of the large marble columns where my biggest painting hung—a piece I’d made just for tonight.
My heart hammered, my palms damp as I glanced at the crowd.
Sebastian stood out instantly, his face glowing with pride.
He made a heart with his hands, and for one dangerous second I almost forgot every word of my speech.
But tonight wasn’t about Sebastian and me. It was about the people who’d come here, giving me the gift of their time and attention.
Beside me, Malcom lifted the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. Tonight, we celebrate the work of a young and incredibly talented artist. Please welcome Ms. Jesse Nielsen!”
The applause rolled over me, steadying my nerves. I took the mic and smiled, adrenaline burning away my fear.
“Welcome, everyone! I can’t tell you how surreal it feels to see my work up on these walls. My dad used to say that you can exist without art, but you can’t really live without it. Art is how I make sense of the world, how I capture the beauty, the chaos, the humor.”
I moistened my lips. “You’ll see mythology colliding with city streets, seasons painted as living, breathing women, and sketches of the fierce Manhattan ladies who inspire me daily.
It’s all a mashup of magic and grit, old stories and new struggles.
My hope is that something here will spark with you, remind you that there’s wonder tucked into the most unexpected places.
Even in the concrete jungle. Maybe even next door. ”
I glanced at Sebastian, his smile lighting me up from the inside, then refocused on the crowd.
“Most of all, I want this to be a conversation between my brushstrokes and your imagination. Dive in, make it yours, and thank you so much for being here tonight.”
The applause swelled again, thunder in my chest.
As the evening unfolded, more guests streamed in, the gallery buzzing with laughter and the soft hum of the jazz trio.
Everywhere I looked, people were leaning in, pointing, debating, engaging with my work.
Watching strangers find pieces of themselves in my art filled me with a pride so fierce I almost didn’t recognize myself.
I drifted from one conversation to another—sometimes laughing, sometimes explaining, sometimes just listening as people told me what a painting meant to them. It was exactly what I’d hoped for: my work wasn’t just hanging on walls—it was alive, sparking something real.
By the time the sun slipped low and the lights inside glowed warmer, red dots had appeared on more than half of my pieces.
That alone should have sent me floating.
But what meant more was the rhythm Sebastian and I had fallen into.
He never hovered, but he was always there, handing me a drink, slipping me a bite to eat, catching my eye from across the room with that quiet, steady pride.
Somehow, in a single day, he’d mastered knowing when to give me space and when to anchor me.
By six o’clock, my feet screamed from the heels and my throat was sandpaper. Sebastian guided me to a quiet corner and eased me into a chair, kneading my shoulders until I nearly groaned out loud.
“Oh, God.” I let my head fall back. “You’re my guardian angel.”
“I try,” he murmured, his thumbs working magic.
I tried to convince him to go home, to rest after the endless hours on his feet, but he only looked offended. “Desert you now? Not a chance. Jess, I’ve never been prouder in my life.”
My chest tightened, the exhaustion melting under his words. “Thank you, Sebastian. That means a lot.”
He brushed a kiss against the side of my hair. “Jan texted she’s on her way.”
And just as he said it, I saw her enter with a group of women.
Even at this hour, Janine looked immaculate, her jet-black hair sleek, her suit sharp. Her friends were dressed in variations of the same polished uniform: fitted skirts, muted blouses, and just the right heels. They swept into the gallery like a tide of elegance and quiet authority.
“Sorry we’re late, traffic was insane,” Janine said, slipping off her jacket with practiced grace.
“Hi, Janine.” I touched her arm lightly, grateful she’d come. “Thank you so much for coming tonight. And ladies, we’re thrilled to have you here.”
Their smiles were polite, their eyes already straying toward Sebastian. He stepped in smoothly, dimples flashing. “Refreshments are over there, and great art is everywhere.”
Like clockwork, their postures straightened, shoulders back, chests lifted. I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. By now, I was used to women forgetting about oxygen the moment Sebastian walked into the room.
“Sebastian,” I said sweetly, “why don’t you show our guests around? I’d love to steal Janine for a moment.”
Surprise flickered across both their faces, but Sebastian gave my hand a quick squeeze before ushering her friends toward the champagne.
Left alone, Janine glanced around, her brows arching in measured appreciation. “This is truly lovely work.”
“Thank you.” I meant it. Her approval mattered to Sebastian, and now, somehow, to me too. “There’s something I’d really like to show you.”
I guided her toward the Manhattan Women series. When she stopped to take them in—hands loose at her sides, lips curving just slightly—I felt the nerves prickle up my spine.
“I love this,” she said, almost under her breath.
Her expression told me she was more than polite. She was engaged, and that gave me courage.
“I made this collection as a tribute to modern, strong, fashionable women,” I explained softly.
“I sketched the women who inspire me most. My closest friends.” I pointed them out—Sue, Lily, Ange, Nikki—all marked with discreet red dots.
Then, heart thudding, I gestured to another. “And… I made one of you.”
The drawing showed a slender woman in a crisp white blouse, red skirt, and black heels, sitting in the middle of an empty Madison Avenue with a martini in hand. A definition of confidence and composure—that’s how I saw Janine Wright.
Her lips parted as she stared at it, then at me. For once, the sharp lines of her face softened.
“Jesse… this is beautiful. And so thoughtful.” Her voice dropped, almost reverent. “Thank you. I would love to buy this.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head firmly. “This is my gift to you. See the red dot? That means it’s already spoken for.”
A faint, lopsided smile tugged at her lips. “Then I’d better be gracious about it. Truly, this is the most meaningful gift I’ve ever received.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “And yes, that includes all of Sebastian’s gifts. Please don’t tell him, but he’s terrible at it.”
I laughed, the tension easing out of my shoulders. “I don’t know about that. His first gift to me was a stack of waffles buried in berries, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce. That was enough to get me hooked.”
Her eyes warmed with amusement. “Well, I’ll give him credit for originality. He had to learn, you know. I was rarely home, never had free time, so he learned to cook when he was a teenager. Good thing he likes it.”
My smile softened. “It couldn’t have been easy for you, being both his sister and his mom at the same time.”
Janine’s expression shifted, something nostalgic flickering in her eyes.
“It wasn’t easy. But we managed. And looking at him now…
” Her gaze drifted across the gallery, where Sebastian was trying to point out brushstrokes while her friends blatantly ogled him.
Her lips curved. “I think we did alright.”
I followed her gaze, my own chest tightening with affection. “You did more than alright. He’s incredible.”
“Yes, he is,” she said simply.
Then she turned back to me. “You really are very talented, Jesse. I’m glad Sebastian convinced Malcom to offer you this exhibit.”