Page 120 of Out of Control

“Even footing, huh?”

I bark out laughing but when I lift my chin to the waiting car, he doesn’t hesitate.

Just like I never should have in the first place.

He holds my hand all the way back to the gallery. I’m not oblivious to the fact that his palm is clammy or that he’s obviously nervous about this.

I don’t blame him. Moreover, I totally respect him as a man and as my boyfriend for walking into a room when he knows he’s the villain.

Then again, he’s used to it.

“And here we are,” I say nervously as the car pulls up to the front of the gallery. This big reveal—or rather thumbing of my nose at el patriarca—can go a few ways. I just hope however it unfolds, it doesn’t affect the gallery’s opening.

“Here we are,” he repeats as he opens the door and helps me out of the car.

“You good with awkward, Ollie, because I have a feeling we’re about to make this evening exactly that.”

“Bellissima, don’t you know trouble is my middle name.” He smirks and pulls me against him so he can brush his lips tenderly to mine.

I’m well aware of the crowd inside my gallery looking out the window at us.

For the first time in my life, I don’t fucking care.

It’s a glorious feeling.

We walk in the gallery, hand in hand, amid the murmurs our kiss had already started.

There’s still a buzz here. Still a crowd waiting patiently to sate their curiosity over seeing the new gallery in town, over laying eyes on Midnight Madness, and of hobnobbing with some of the F1 drivers.

But it’s the pair of eyes on the far side of the gallery from the man sitting in the wheelchair who owns my attention. I can feel his eyes on me and can sense his disapproval.

And while I care in some respects, I truly don’t when it comes to the ones that matter.

“Excuse me. Everyone, may I have your attention?” I say loudly as my assistant hurries across the space with a microphone for me. Rossi’s hand is on my back in quiet encouragement. “I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for taking time out of your Monaco adventures to help me celebrate the grand opening of the gallery. This has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember. To own one. To run one. To get to talk art with people all day. It just seemed that I lacked courage to actually do it. So in addition to all of you for coming out, I’d like to thank Lilith for always pushing me.”

“Love you,” she says and blows a kiss to me across the space.

“To my brother for understanding me better than anyone.”

Cruz lifts his glass up in the air.

“To my grandfather for understanding that when you love something, you fight for it, even if it’s against what everyone else wants.”

When I meet el patriarca’s eyes across the space, I can see the fire in them, can sense his disapproval, but my comment says it all.

“And most of all, to Oliver Rossi. It was a lot of his hard work and dedication that brought this place to life. Not just with the physical labor but with pushing me to be uncomfortable so that I grew as a person and as a woman.”

“Even footing,” he murmurs beside me and I smile.

“So thank you all for being here, for making the gallery’s first night be beyond my wildest dreams, and for all of your future support.”

A round of applause goes up as everyone lifts their glasses in a mock toast.

“You did it,” Rossi murmurs in my ear. “Soak it in because this is all you, baby.”

I rest my head against his for a moment and hate that while I’m definitely appreciating the moment, I’m also looking around to see if my grandfather is still there.

“He’s gone,” Cruz says when he realizes what I’m doing. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”