Hours later, the glow of the screen is the only light left in the room when I finally lean back and rub at my eyes. The skyline beyond my window has shifted from gold to violet, the first pinpricks of city lights flickering to life. I blink, surprised to realize how late it’s gotten, and that I still haven’t seen the guys all day.
A soft knock taps against my door before it eases open. Lesha’s head appears, a grin tugging at her mouth. “Ma’am, there’s a car waiting outside for you. Arranged by your partners. I’ve been given explicit instructions to make sure you stop working and actually get in, or you’ll be late.”
I frown faintly. “Late for what?”
She just lifts her brows in a way that says she knows but she’s not about to ruin the secret.
With a sigh, I drag my phone out of my bag. The screen is flooded with missed calls and messages, most of them from the guys. My lips twitch as I scroll and find warm threats about withholding food, kisses, andotherthings if I dare stay chained to my desk instead of following their plan.
A huff escapes me, equal parts exasperated and fond, as I gather my bag and push to my feet. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”
Lesha beams like she’s pulled off a monumental task. “Good. Have fun, ma’am.”
The car ride is short, but I keep my face turned toward the window the whole way, watching the blur of neon and headlights ripple across the glass. The city hums with its usual restless energy, and instead of draining me, it fills me. Six years here, and I still feel alive every time I let it wash over me. Alive and at peace.
We pull up sooner than I expect, the car easing to a stop in front of one of my favorite art exhibits. My brows pinch asI notice the usual glass walls are draped in heavy black fabric, hiding the view inside. Before I can puzzle it out, the door opens and a hand helps me out.
“Welcome, Ms. Van Helsing,” an attendant greets warmly as he pulls the door open.
Confusion tangles in my chest as I step forward and into the space. My heels echo sharply in the dark room, the sound jolting as my mind begins to hesitate with nervous energy. Just as my eyes begin to adjust to the dark, the lights blaze on all at once.
A gasp is stuck in my throat.
Everywhere I look, there are faces I love.
My fathers and my mother. Aunt Deva, Aunt Alexanra, Aunt Bex, Aunt Lo, Aunt Jade, and my million uncles. Then there’s my adopted grandparents, as I call them, much to Ama’s dismay, each time I lovingly call her GrAma.
They’re all gathered, all smiling and waiting for me.
But that isn’t what steals the air from my lungs, entirely. It’s the walls.
Every inch is lined with art.Myart. Some pieces are the messy, desperate projects from college nights spent huddled over sketchpads, others are canvases painted in the quiet hours of our loft, when the world was asleep and I was finally free enough to create again.
Tears blur my vision as my hands fly to my mouth. A choked gasp escapes me as I spin slowly, taking in the impossible. I never even thought of applying to have my work on display anywhere–never quite finding the confidence to believe that any of it was worth the wall space.
Now here they are, staring back in varying colors and mediums, brushstrokes and graphite, every piece of me made visible.
“Briar.”
The sound of my name pulls me from the blur of color and canvas. I turn, and there they are.
Elias in a perfectly tailored suit, glasses glinting under the lights. Callum with his tie loose already, the grin he usually hides tugging at his mouth. Dante, tall and steady at their side, his dark gaze locked on me like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
They step forward in unison, parting the gathered crowd until it feels like it’s only the four of us in the room.
Elias is the first to speak, his voice warm but low enough that it feels private. “Do you know how hard it was to keep this from you? Six years of watching you hide away your art. We knew we needed to submit your work to be curated for a show, to make sure you see how extraordinary everyone thinks you and your art is.”
Callum takes my hand, lifting it to his lips. His thumb brushes over my knuckles as his blue eyes catch the light. “This exhibit–it’s not just about your art. It’s about you choosing to live. To dream. To create. We wanted you to see all of the art you’ve created as you’ve healed, and grown, and pushed yourself to help others. All of your phases–just as beautiful as the last.”
Dante closes the last step between us, his hand settling gently at the curve of my waist. His voice is rough and intimate. “We love you, Briar. More than anything. And we’ve been waiting for the right moment to ask…”
Elias slips a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. Callum produces another, grinning like he can’t hold it in. Dante follows, his box simple but steady in his hand.
All three of them open at once, the glint of matching rings catching the light.
“Will you marry us?” Elias asks, his smile tight with nerves, even as his stormy blue eyes blaze with certainty.
“Will you let us spend every day proving you will always be our everything?” Callum adds, his voice cracking at the edges.
