Beau pulls out his phone, and the girls and I gather together for a photo.
“Hold on,” he says after he snaps the first one. “Lemme give you options.”
“I’m sure the first one was fine,” Brinley says.
“Don’t rush my process,” he replies, holding the phone up higher to take another.
“Beau’s a bit of a photo perfectionist,” Luke says. “You can stop posing whenever you want, or he’ll go on forever.”
“You never regret commemorating a great night with a great photo,” Beau insists. “We’d forget half the best times we’ve everhad if I didn’t commemorate them. And I’m done. Now was that so painful?”
“My cheeks hurt a little from smiling,” Cat says.
Nate leans over to me and asks, “I assume you’d like me to take these balloons out to my car?”
“Thanks, that’d be great.” As supported as the balloons made me feel, they also serve to block the view a bit.
It takes Nate, Ryan, and Luke working as a team to get the balloons back out the door. Beau and Brinley go to get wine while Pippa and Cat snap photos of my paintings. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I check my texts. I’ve gotten a few congratulatory messages, but nothing from James. I wonder what happened to him. Maybe something came up at work that he couldn’t get out of.
He’s the CEO. There’s nothing he couldn’t get out of if he wanted to.
“Maura, can I borrow you?” Sydney says, interrupting my thoughts. “I’d like to introduce you to Edmund Wu.”
She gestures toward an older man in glasses and a nice suit and mouths, “Buyer.”
I shove any thoughts of James to the back of my head and focus on charming Edmund Wu. I need to befriend every buyer I can tonight. Not because I care so much about them owning my paintings, but because I needsomeoneto bid at the auction tonight. I'm not sure my ego would survive having nobody make an offer.
The next hour goes by in a blur. Sydney whisks me from patron to patron, introducing me and talking up my work and my process. Some, like Edmund Wu, ask me about my material choices and artistic influences. Others not-so-subtly probe me about my previous sales, clearly trying to decide whether my paintings are good investments or not.
Finally, Sydney lets me know she’s ready to start the auction. I slink to the back of the room while she moves to the front, where a podium has been set up right in front ofWarm Front.She clears her throat and taps on the microphone.
“Good evening,” she says, and the chatter around her fades to quiet. “Thank you for joining up for Maura Keller’s gallery debut,Self-Erosion.” A scattering of applause sounds, including a wolf-whistle from Beau. “It’s been a long time since I met an artist as young as Maura with such a well-developed vision, and I’m grateful that she let the Whitmer host her work.”
More applause, with some loud whoops from Ryan and Pippa. A few people near me turn around to look at me, and heat rises to my face. I wish I could turn invisible until this whole thing is over.
“All the pieces on display are for sale, and you can speak to me later if you’re interested,” Sydney says. “For now, we’ll be auctioning off the five paintings listed in your programs, beginning withThe Thunderstorm.”
Silence falls over the crowd, and my heart pounds so loud, I’m sure people can hear it. I press my hand to my chest, as if that could slow it down.
A quiet voice speaks behind me.
“Apologies for being late, wife.”
I whirl to see James standing behind me in a dark suit, his eyes fixed on mine.
He's beautiful. The thought hits me before I can stop it. Not just handsome—beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
The sharp lines of his face, softened by the gallery's warm lighting. The way his dark hair falls slightly across his forehead, like he rushed to get here. The intensity in his blue eyes when he looks at me, like I'm the only person in the room.
For a moment, I forget about the auction. I forget about the crowd and the paintings and whether anyone will bid on my work. All I can see is my husband.
“You came,” I breathe.
“I wouldn't have missed it.” He says it simply, like it's obvious. Like there was never any question.
I want to kiss him. Not for the contract, not for the baby, not for optics. Just because he's here, and he came for me, and something about the way he's looking at me makes me feel like I might actually be extraordinary.
But there are like fifty people watching us so I just reach out and squeeze his hand.
