Delphine squeezes my thigh when she hears that because we both know it’s Addison.
“This is special,” my father continues, almost to himself. “Exactly how I see my son.”
That almost makes me crack, but I stay strong. “Thank you, Father.”
The remaining entries blur past with a seascape and a portrait of my mother that makes her look severe. Nothing comes close to what Addison created, and when the deliberation begins, it takes less than ten minutes.
My father studies the chess painting for a long moment with his head tilted to one side. “I’d like to personally meet this artist. I’d like to have tea with them next week.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” I offer.
“Maybe you could join?” my father asks me.
“Whatever you’d like,” I say.
He doesn’t realize I know who painted these portraits, and this suggestion is a welcome surprise. When he looked at her paintings, my father saw someone worth knowing, and that made me happy. Maybeshe can reach him. Maybe she can say something that gets through his thick skull because my mother and I haven’t been successful.
We cast our votes, writing our choices on an official card and sliding it into a golden box. Once all entries have been placed, an official takes them. Ten minutes later, he returns.
“Your Majesty, entry number seven is your winner,” he announces. “Unanimous decision.”
He signals to an attendant, who disappears to retrieve the winner.
Voices fill the room as we wait. My mother sets down her pen, and I can feel everyone preparing themselves as the door opens at the far end of the room.
A second later, Addison slips inside. The gallery falls silent because for the past three hundred years, the winner has always been a man.
She’s wearing a navy dress that makes her eyes pop, and half of her hair is pulled back out of her face. She keeps her hands clasped in front of her, but holds her head high, like she belongs here. Like she belongs to me.
I want to cross the room, pull her into my arms, and announce to everyone that we’re together, but it would cause drama. Once she’s close, she curtsies deeply to the royal family.
Then Delphine stands from her chair and starts clapping.
One of the judges joins in, then another, and suddenly the whole room is on its feet, giving her a standing ovation. Addison’s cheeks heat, and she smiles wide, glancing around. A few seconds later, tears drip from her eyes, and Delphine hands her tissues to wipe them away.
“Thank you,” Addison says.
I catch Delphine’s eye, and she gives me the smallest nod.
“Miss Cross,” my father says warmly as he rises to take her hand. “You are the first woman to ever win this position. It comes with the highest honors in the art world. These paintings you’ve created of His Highness are extraordinary. I haven’t been this moved by a painting since Henri Beaumont’s early portraits.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Her voice is confident but kind. “That means more than I can express.”
My mother stands as well. “The perspectives were creative. What inspired them?”
“I adore the first-person point of view. Portraits that allow theviewer to become part of a moment instead of being forced to observe it from the outside,” Addison says carefully.
“You succeeded.” My mother tilts her head. “I can’t wait to see the painting you’re finishing of me.”
“It’s going to be beautiful, Your Majesty.”
My mother tilts her head. “I do have one question, however. You stated before that you like for your subject to sit for your paintings. Did?—”
My father claps his hands together. “I’d like to schedule some time with you next week, Miss Cross. Tea perhaps? I want to discuss an upcoming project I’d like painted while getting to know the artist behind the art.”
I want to know what my mother was going to ask … if Addison and I have been secretly seeing one another? Addison’s eyes flick to me for a second before returning to my father.
“I would be honored,” Addison says.
