His gaze speared mine, challenging, wicked. “Don’t make any plans for tomorrow.”
A shaky laugh escaped me, though my knees nearly buckled. God, I wanted to believe he wasn’t joking.
“I can’t wait. But right now, we really need to go.”
Reluctantly, I pulled away, heels clattering across the bathroom tiles as I tried to gather myself.
Behind me, Sebastian chuckled. “I’ll just run upstairs to take my treasure home.”
I spun, horrified. “Wait! You look like The Joker.”
His face was smeared with crimson. I grabbed tissues and scrubbed at him, laughing and cursing, before turning to fix my own wrecked lipstick.
Ten minutes later, we were in my truck. I asked Sebastian to drive to the Narcissus Gallery, and I ran through my speech one last time. He’d been amazing, helping me polish my notes, nudging me when I rambled, reminding me to speak from the heart. Thanks to him, I felt almost confident. These weren’t hollow lines I’d memorized; they were truths I knew—things my dad had once told me about Greek mythology, art history, museums, and all the random anecdotes that had shaped me. With Sebastian’s help, I’d managed to string them together into something that actually sounded like a proper introduction to my collections.
But all my fragile confidence shattered the moment we arrived.
I froze as I spotted the entrance. A massive banner with my name in bold letters draped across the gallery’s facade. My jaw dropped. I had no idea Malcom had taken the promotion this far.
And then I saw them—people with cameras. Microphones. Reporters.
My heart lurched to my throat as the first flash went off. The next thing I knew, a small crowd surged toward us, shoving microphones into my face, firing questions faster than I could even register.
I’d convinced myself I’d only face a handful of people today—friends, maybe a local journalist or two. That was manageable. This? This was a firing squad.
My tongue glued itself to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
“You’re a star. Act like a star and stay calm,” Sebastian whispered against my ear before stepping aside and leaving me alone with the firing squad.
“Ms. Nielsen, are you excited about today’s event?” one reporter shouted.
“Is this your first exhibit? How do you feel about it?” another cut in before I could answer.
“What kind of art have you prepared for us today?” A woman practically stabbed me with her microphone.
My throat locked. I threw a desperate glance toward Sebastian. He stood a few feet away, impossibly composed, radiating confidence. One small nod from him, steady and sure, and something inside me steadied, too. I wanted to make him proud. I wanted to make my dad proud. And for the first time in forever, I wanted to make myself proud.
So I drew in a breath, straightened my spine, and smiled. My voice came out clear and warm as I answered their questions—friendly, professional, even throwing in a joke or two. When they asked me to pose by the banner, I did it without flinching, shoulders back, chin high, as though I belonged there.
By the time the press was satisfied, my heartbeat had slowed to something almost normal. I invited them all inside for drinks and a first look at the art. That’s when I spotted the girls—my girls—waiting with balloons and flowers.
My chest squeezed. My throat tightened. In an instant, I was wrapped up in hugs, lipstick smudges, and perfume. Sue, Lily, Ange, and Nikki—all dressed sharp, sexy, confident, as though they’d stepped straight out of myWomen of New Yorksketches.
“You look amazing!” Sue squealed, clutching my hand.
“Not as good as you, Mrs. Jones,” I teased, using Cam’s last name. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since before your honeymoon.”
“It’s best that you haven’t,” Ange cut in, rolling her eyes with a grin. “Her conversations lately could’ve doubled as softcore porn. It’s all ‘Cam this, Cam that, Cam in bed—’”
“It’s normal,” Lily interrupted, slipping an arm around Susanne. “She’s been through hell and back. If she wants to gush about her husband, let her. And you—” She turned her sharp gaze on me, taking my other hand. “You look radiant, Jess. Glowing. And I don’t say that just because I haven’t seen you lately.”
“How is that possible when you’re neighbors?” Nikki frowned, adjusting her glasses.
Ange smirked. “Easy. Jesse has a boyfriend now.” She tipped her chin toward Sebastian, who was by the door talking to Malcom. “And may I just say, we approve. He’s gorgeous.”
“And brilliant,” Nikki added primly. “Far more attractive than gorgeous, if you ask me.”
“Why choose?” Sue winked. “She caught the bouquet at my wedding. Bachelorette party, here we come.”
