I don’t know, but for some reason a wild hope gallops through me as I turn off the water and dry my hands. “Stay here. I’ll go answer it.”
I haven’t stopped thinking about my conversation with Eve this afternoon. Jared’s gallery showing should be in full swing by now. His paintings will have been unveiled. He’s no doubt basking in the adoration of the city and the press.
So why I’m walking to the door with my heart in my throat, I have no idea.
Katie calms her furry best friend, but the protective dog remains at attention as I reach the door and peek out through the small windows. The fluttering in my breast dies out in an instant when I see it’s only a delivery person standing on the stoop.
The man is wearing a private courier’s uniform. “Package for Ms. Melanie Laurent?”
“That’s me.”
“Great. Sign here, please.” He thrusts an electronic pen and sleeved tablet at me. “I’ll go get your package.”
I add my signature to the line he indicated, then watch as he gingerly retrieves a large rectangular object out of the back of his van. It’s wrapped in thick brown paper and twine, not the kind of packaging I’d expect if the item had been shipped from somewhere far away.
No, this package hasn’t traveled far at all.
And as he cautiously carries it to me where I wait inside the door, I don’t have to guess what’s beneath the unmarked paper.
“Here you go,” he says. “It’s fragile, so take care with it.”
I nod and trade him the pen and tablet for the large, framed painting. Feeling it in my hands, my heart starts pounding again, though not with the same anticipation as before. I’m all but certain I don’t want to see what’s inside. And most certainly not with my mother and young niece underfoot.
“Oh!” he adds. “Almost forgot. There’s a note with it.”
He pulls a black square envelope out of the sleeve holding the tablet. The envelope is familiar to me, and so is the antique gold wax seal on the back of it, stamped with the initialsJandR.
“Have a good night,” he says, jogging back to his vehicle.
I set the envelope down on the console table and carefully lean the painting against the wall while I close and lock the door.
Katie bounds over to inspect the mysterious delivery. “It’s big. What is it, Aunt Mellie?”
Mom’s gaze meets mine from where she stands in the kitchen doorway. “It looks like a painting to me, honey.”
I’ve told her about Jared—including the details of how I arrived at posing for him. She knows how foolishly I fell for him, and that I’m still miserably, hopelessly, in love with him.
Katie glances up at me in excited curiosity. “Aren’t ya gonna open it?”
“Not right now,” I tell her, steering her away from the artwork she’s at least ten years too young to see.
Make that twenty years, I mentally amend, flooded with memories of the day I posed for Jared in his studio . . . in between marathon sessions of incredible, bone-melting sex.
I’m not even sure I’m ready to see that painting again.
Especially not now, when every reminder of my time with Jared carves away another piece of my heart.
I need to get back to normal again, back to my real life. Jared has his own life, one that’s going to be filled with even more wealth and fame and beautiful women than before. He’ll move out to his beach house in the Hamptons and I’ll go to work at the accounting firm in the city.
He’ll forget me before long, I’m sure.
And me? I’ll survive. I’ll survive for Mom and for Katie, because that’s what I’ve always done.
Somehow, it will have to be enough.
Pasting a smile on my face, I crouch down in front of Katie. “Who’s up for some ice cream?”
“Me!” With a happy squeal, she skips off to the kitchen with Sadie trotting along behind her.
