“Didn’t see the point.”He stepped closer.The space between us contracted.My body responded before I could stop it.I forced my gaze back to Olivia, who was watching us with amusement.
“I’d like to speak with you before you leave.”
“Thank you,” I said, accepting a lemon-lime soda for Olivia, “What about?”
His mouth curved slightly.“Us.”
“There is no us.”I took the drinks from the bartender and walked away before Creed could respond.
“Oh my God,” Olivia whispered as I approached her.“He looks furious.”
I handed Olivia the glass.“He’ll survive.”
We drifted through the gallery, stopping to admire pieces, greeting familiar faces.I caught glimpses of Creed only in fragments: the line of his shoulders, the glint of a cufflink.He didn’t approach again, but I knew he was watching.
At the far end of the gallery, the crowd thinned and the lighting softened.That’s when I saw them.The three paintings, mounted beneath a single spotlight.My heart stuttered.
“Olivia,” I whispered.
She stepped beside me and went still.“Peyton...oh my God.”
The first was a garden at dusk, roses tangled in shadow and light.The second captured a storm-tossed sea pierced by a single blade of sunlight.And the third—
A woman seated by a window, head bowed, sorrow etched into every line of her body.The pain in it was so intimate it tightened my throat.
My mother’s work.
“Oh my God,” Olivia whispered.“Peyton...what is this?”
My hand brushed my throat.“I don’t know,” I murmured.“I didn’t...I didn’t know these were here.”
“Who would’ve—” Olivia’s gaze sharpened.“Wait.”
I turned.
Creed stood just beyond the light, watching me.His composure was intact, but his eyes burned with intent.I had no idea the paintings had been removed from the closet in my office.
I crossed the distance between us.“What did you do?”
“Are you ready to talk now?”he asked.
“Creed.”My voice sharpened.“Why are my mother’s paintings hanging in this gallery?”
His gaze drifted toward the paintings.“Do you remember when I offered to have a business partner look at her work?”
Months ago.He’d mentioned a professional connection.I’d agreed, then forgotten about it entirely.
“I figured they would give you feedback.”
“Leandra did more than look,” he said quietly.“She arranged a private viewing.”His mouth curved.“It seems your mother’s work has garnered some attention.”
My breath caught.
“Leandra is the older woman in the corner.”
A beautiful woman in an elegant navy gown stood nearby, talking quietly with one of her guests.
“She wants to feature your mother this fall.”His gaze sharpened.“There is also an art investor interested in buying that one.”
