I didn’t.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Damn him.
Heat pooled low in my belly.I turned back to the paintings, steadying myself.Olivia’s knowing smirk made it worse.
“I’m going to talk to the gallery owner about...,” I said, brushing nonexistent lint from my gown.“...about the offer for Mommy’s painting.”
“You sure you’ll be able to stay focused?”Olivia teased.
“I can handle it.”
I crossed the floor to the elegant woman standing near an abstract painting.
“Excuse me,” I said smoothly.
She turned, her smile widening.“Ah.Ms.Peyton.I am Leandra.”
“Peyton Powell,” I said, shaking her hand.
Leandra was elegant and composed—gray hair swept into a soft twist, diamond earrings catching the light.
“Your mother is exceptionally talented,” she said warmly.“The depth of emotion in her pieces is breathtaking.”
“Thank you.”My gaze drifted back over toward the sad woman.My throat tightened.“Creed mentioned that someone was interested in buying this one?”
“Yes,” Leandra said.“A private collector.He’s made a very generous offer.”
She quoted an amount that made my chest tighten.I lifted my gaze toward the painting, studying the soft shadows in the woman’s face, the sadness etched into the delicate curve of her mouth.
“I won’t sell it,” I said softly.“That piece...it’s personal.”
“Okay.”Her tone was gentle.“I understand.There are others.”
I nodded.“Of course.”
Leandra looked pleased by my answer.“You must be very proud.”
I hesitated.“I am.”
“You can thank Mr.Kirkland.He’s been working with me for weeks.”
“Weeks?”I repeated.
“Oh yes.He insisted they be seen.”
Before the holidays.Before he disappeared.
I closed my eyes briefly.
Even after I’d pushed him away, he’d been working behind the scenes.For my mother.For me.
“He didn’t tell me,” I murmured.
“Yes.”Leandra’s smile was amused.“I believe he wanted it to be a surprise.”
Of course he did.
