Océane gives me the finger and smirks. “I really can’t picture you in that job. Literally can’t. Who could have predicted you’d end up doing something so … hoity toity?” Rachel snorts, almost spilling her coffee over.
“It’s not hoity toity!”
“It kind of is,” Rachel argues. Her gaze softens. “But it suits you.”
“What does that even mean?”
“No, I mean, you’re good at it!” Rachel rolls her eyes. “You found your calling. And it’s telling other people how to sort their shit out.” Then, she smirks again, sharing a look with Océane. “Weird how you couldn’t sort your own shit out for so long, though.”
“The cobbler’s son has no shoes,” Océane explains in a lighthearted tone.
A few minutes later, Océane explains that she joined an art therapy group at the suggestion of her psychiatrist. From her phone, she shows me photo after photo of some of her pieces, which consist mostly of bright watercolour depictions of various moments in time. Each one is like a jab under my ribs.
The strokes are powerful. Raw. Imbued with hurt, but also hope.
“I can’t always make it there, especially on days where my flare-ups are bad,” she explains. “But this is basically what I do most days.”
I’m struck by her raw talent, at how she’s able to convey such strong emotions with a paintbrush. “These are stunning.” I breathe out, feeling Rachel’s watchful gaze on me.
“Aren’t they?” Rachel replies with adoration in her eyes.
Océane’s cheeks flush with red. She looks downward in embarrassment. “Thanks. I really love it. It doesn’t fix everything in my life, but it helps that I get to do this.”
“I could help you turn this into a business if you want.” The possibilities stoke a fire in me. “I’m serious. There’s so much you could do. You could—” I stop myself when I notice a cloud has covered Océane’s expression.
“We already had this discussion,” Rachel explains. “With everything she’s dealing with, this would add too much pressure.”
“I just want my art to exist for its own sake,” Océane adds. Her eyes are once again lit up, the cloud gone. “Free of capitalistic expectations. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” I pat her shoulder lovingly. “I’ll support you no matter what.”
The smile I get back from her is priceless.
Even though my heart is still heavy at the thought of Sophie, I can’t help but let it swell from this moment. I want to cherish it forever—and all the moments like this that are to come.
CHAPTER 35
SOPHIE
“Miss Côté, did you hear what I said?”
“Huh?” I shake my head, snapping back to attention. My eyes refocus on the glowing laptop screen in front of me. “I’m sorry, Brianna, I think the screen glitched.” That’s a bold-faced lie. “Could you repeat what you just said?”
“I said, the Horton Group wants to renew the contract for their next event.” She’s got a smile plastered on her face. “I’ve already gone ahead and prepared the proposal; all you need to do is look it over and give your approval, and I can send it over to their legal team for signing.”
I blink a few times, trying to process what she’s telling me. Horton Group is the first client for whom Brianna has handled event planning for me since I hired her with Will. Hearing such great feedback means things are going well.
I should be happy. Elated, in fact. Everything is running so smoothly for Party Côté. Trent is struggling a tad, but Brianna keeps him in check, and I’m there to give him pep talks and a bit of direction when he veers off in the wrong direction. And I’m even thinking of hiring a sales representative to handle allthe incoming sales calls I’m getting from my latest marketing campaign.
But it all feels so … aimless. Sure, this will mean good money for my family. And the more comfortable Brianna and Trent feel to handle client projects, the more hands-off I can become, which means I get to spend more time with Julian.
But that’s just it. It all feels too easy. Unearned. The fulfillment that came from throwing together an absolutely groundbreaking event and seeing the satisfaction come alive on a client’s face …
That’s all gone.
Or is it simply because I don’t get to work side by side with Will anymore?
It’s been a whole week since that night. The night Will bared his heart to me. He shared so much of his pain, told me about his sister, trusted me with a deep, dark secret and the shame he held onto for so long, and what did I do?
