Bee exited first, and I took her hand to help her out. She had a short cocktail dress on for the occasion, even though her entire night would be spent backstage. I liked that she’d committed to making it special.
Sybil came out next. I took her hand and pulled her into me, kissing her smiling lips. My tongue skated along hers, tasting champagne. All I wanted was to be with her. Bee cleared her throat behind us, and we broke the kiss.
Stepping back, my gaze scanned over Sybil’s body, seeing the Balmain hoodie was more than half unzipped. There was a scandalous expanse of black lace down her middle, to her bellybutton. I wanted nothing more than to snake my hands under her jacket and slide it off, kissing every inch of her collarbone.
Bee had made up her face again, and she looked radiant. Her hair fell in soft waves, looking freshly trimmed. I wondered if Bee had talked her into letting her show off her barber skills. She’d picked them up during the pandemic when I’d hired her to cut mine.
I took her hand, and turned us back toward Bee, following her as she headed to the still-open elevator. Bee punched in the code, and we made our way back up to the auction floor.
Once there, I led them to an area just offstage where chairs, a small table, and a dim cocktail light were set up. There was a TV hung here, a popular area for the offstage staff to standand watch from the wings while viewing the live feed out on the floor itself.
It was the perfect nook, offset enough to feel cozy, but open enough so she didn’t feel trapped. The bathrooms were just around the corner too, another escape for Sybil if she felt she needed it. I settled them in, pouring them each another glass of champagne.
Backing away, I gestured toward the auction items across the space. A few hired guards attended each piece for the event. I could see the moment Sybil’s eyes found her modest 12x12 painting in the center. It sat on a simple easel, lit by the backstage lights. It had an ornate wood frame around it that the current owner had placed it in, selling it along with the piece.
“We should go look at them,” Bee crooned with excitement. “Sybil, do you want to look?”
She looked at Bee, then me, then back to Bee.“Yes.”She appeared excited.
With my help, she stood, and we crossed the room hand in hand.
CHAPTER 35
Sybil
And there she was,Red.
She was just as I remembered, the first painting I ever sold. I could visualize Cat and me ruminating about what theme to invent for the shows, and we’d started with the rainbow. It was befitting my limitations and tackled my anxiety over color head-on.
All that remained of the place where my journey of recovery started wasRed. My studio where I created it was gone, even the anger and fear of never knowing the color, also gone. I’d healed from this; it was apparent in my reaction to seeing it in person once more. The anger in the brushstrokes felt like a long-ago echo, a version of me that no longer felt like who I’d become. It was a shadow of the journey I’d taken.
Nearing it, I feared my awe was too obvious,but I didn’t care—I’d be telling my truth to them tonight, anyway.God,I wished I could touch it, but I squeezed Nash’s hand, grounding myself to him instead.
Redwas my version of Dorothy’s ruby slippers, and seeing it felt like a sign that all had come full circle, and now I could find home. I tilted my head, adoring this feeling. I wasn’t scared or nervous, but open and soaring free.
I let my gaze linger on it for another moment, committing it to memory. We moved down the line, and I made a point of viewing each of the other pieces with similar awe and genuine amazement. There were jewels the size of quarters, and furniture made during World War II, smuggled here from Germany. Amazing pieces with stories far more deserving than mine.
I could hear a gavel echoing from the main room. Nash turned toward the sound, then back to me. “I think it’s almost time to start. I’ll take you ladies back to your spot before I duck out to join them on stage.”
I nodded in agreement, and Bee looped her arm through mine, guiding me and Nash back to our spots as more people arrived. None of them paid me any mind, and I wondered if that was on purpose. They would say hi to Bee and greet her, but didn’t seem to push to know who I was, and it felt nice.A few times, someone would approach and whisper something to Bee, and Bee would hold my hand and chat back before they left again.
I could hear the crowds of people gathering out front, and a man peered back from the stage and toward Bee and me. He was a stout man with polka-dot suspenders over a pressed shirt and matching polka-dot tie. I would describe his look aseccentric and bold. He seemed familiar to me in the face and jaw, smiling as he approached.
“You must be Sybil,” he said in a gentle voice, hands in pockets. “I’m Mr. Beaumont. Jeffrey, you can call me.” His eyes were soft and wrinkled with age, a full mustache and a beard on his face. It was so obvious now; he was their father.
Bee hopped up and gave him a hug.
“Looking lovely tonight, Betty,” he complimented.
He looked back at me, smile large. “And you also, my dear. I’ve heard so much about you from Nash. It makes me happy that you’re with us, and staying with these two ragtag kids of mine. I’m certain they’re taking great care of you, and I’m so sorry to hear about your home.”
I smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“Jeffrey,” he amended.
I nodded. “Thank you, Jeffrey.”
He didn’t push to shake my hand or make it awkward for a single moment. “You let Nash or Betty know when you’re ready, and I’d love to come for dinner one night to get to know you better, my dear. I’m just so glad to have you here. Anytime you want to come, we’ll make sure you’re more than comfortable. At the office as well, we can give you a private tour one weekend if you’re interested, just us.”
