Page 134 of For the Love of Art

“Isla.”

A hand grabbed my wrist, and I turned to Nathan.

“I’ve reached my humiliation quota for the night,” I said. “I just want to get through this and my two weeks, and then we never have to see each other again.”

“I don’t want that.” Nathan let go of my wrist and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want that at all.”

“Well, you certainly don’t want me.” Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, and I tried to blink them away.

“That’s not true, Isla. I don’t want to be a consolation prize because things with Don didn’t work out,” he said.

“I signed the divorce papers.”

Nathan wet his lips. “Because Don chose his new life?”

“No! For the love of art!” I buried my face in my hands.

Nathan stifled a laugh. “What did you just say?”

“It feels inappropriate to curse God in front of a bunch of rich people,” I whispered.

Now Nathan laughed. “So you can all another woman a whore, but you can’t take the Lord’s name in vain? Okay.”

I groaned.

“Isla, I don’t want you to quit. I’m not firing Dori. We can go back to how things were when you started,” he reasoned.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I love you.”

I said the words louder than I intended, and the talking around us quieted. All eyes were on Nathan and me. I prayed this didn’t end in embarrassment.

Nathan took a step closer, his eyes on mine. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard you.”

If I said the words again, everyone would hear them. There would be no denying the gossip magazines because they would get it right for once.

Squaring my shoulders and training my eyes on Nathan, I repeated, “I love you.”

Nathan stepped into my space, his cologne all around me like a familiar blanket. His hand cupped my jaw, and his eyes searched mine.

“I love you, too.”

He kissed every worry of what the public would think if they saw me with him. It seemed the public liked it because thunderous applause sounded through the room.

It died down, and chatter resumed as Nathan and I pulled apart.

“I’ve missed you,” Nathan whispered before kissing me on my forehead.

“I’ve missed you. Nathan, I need to tell you–”

“Nathan fucking Manning!” a man’s voice sounded through the crowd. Han appeared, a large grin on his face. “Quite a show and I’m not just talking about the kiss.”

Nathan and I chuckled.

“I want you to sell my art,” Han said.