“It’s yours,” Lincoln says, appearing beside me, now in a pale blue button-down.
“I…” I don’t have any words. It’s too much. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to say. “You can’t…”
“Only I decide what I can and can’t do, darling.”
This isn’t fair. I came up here to yell at him. Or kiss him.
And now…
“If it’s too much,” he says. “I can hold on to it for you. Until you decide what you want to do with it.”
I don’t even know what I’m going to do with Lincoln, let alone a painting that cost him—god, I’m not sure I want to know how much.
I spin around to face him, my hands landing on my hips so I can make this point without jumping him like my body wants to. Priorities. “We’re gonna circle back around to,” I gesture behind me, “all that. What I want to start with is, what the hell?”
His smile widens. “You don’t like the roses?”
He’s kidding, right? “What I didn’t like was waking up alone to a scrap of paper and half my salary worth of a botanic garden. You didn’t think about maybe, I don’t know, sticking around? Not making me think I’d been the victim of the weirdest crime in history?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
My heart dips and dives in my chest, and for a moment, everything feels too big to contain. I have to get a grip.
The giddiness translates to a laugh that bubbles out of me, and the brightness in his eyes is about to be my undoing. I push past him to address the room. “A surprise, he says. Yeah, you surprised me right into almost calling a lawyer.”
The room is no help. It’s like a crystal ball sent me to my dream home. I turn back to face him. He’s still watching me with open appreciation.
“Stop smiling at me like that. It makes me want to kiss you.”
He steps close enough that I can smell his body wash. It’s disgusting. Which is what I would say if I was a liar. Of course it’s delicious. What else would it be?
“That’s a good instinct; you should follow that.” He smiles as he hooks a finger in the pocket of my overalls, pulling me closer.
“Stop it,” I say, but I’m smiling too much to sell it. Damn his steel-gray eyes and international charm. My heart can’t cope with this. His ridiculously huge shoulders are currently framed by the— my— painting. He’s too beautiful for my health. I need a distraction. “What were you doing when we came in, anyway?”
“Working.”
I cock my brow. “Shirtless?”
“It helps me get into character.”
Character?
At my confusion, he softens, reaching for my hand. “Here, let me show you.”
I follow him down the hallway, spying the main bedroom ahead, but we stop instead in front of a converted hall closet. “Welcome to my studio.”
The walls are covered in black soundproofing foam, with a microphone stand, headphones and a laptop set up inside. There aren’t any instruments in here—no guitars (shame) or sheet music. A singer, maybe?
Except that’s a script I can see on the screen. So… voiceover? I mean, yeah, with a voice like that, why not? I’d pay for it.
Let’s not say that out loud.
“This is a bit of a temporary setup until I can install better equipment, but it works well enough for now. Sorry about before. I was in the middle of recording when I heard the lift.” There’s pride in his expression. I recognize it from the years I spent watching Ciara talk about the ocean, or Emma talk about governance, or Manny testing out a new cocktail.
It’s a whole new side of him. Not the cocky traveler, not the stoic son, but the soft, private part. I can’t believe he’s just letting me see it.
Lincoln mistakes my awe for confusion. “Ivy, I’d like to introduce you to my alter ego, Mr. Silver.”
