“Yeah,” I said, laughing. “I was just telling my friends they need to talk to you about buying some of the sketches.”
Malcom gave a theatrical half-bow. “Ladies, I’d be honored to assist you in just a few moments—and I’ll be sure to put some red dots on your choices. But first…” His eyes found mine, warm and steady. “We need our star artist to give her speech and officially open the exhibit.”
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. Myhope 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.”
