She cocks her head to the side as if I hadn’t just bathed her in praise. “So from now on, we are a team? Making all the decisions together?”
I cringe and bare my teeth. “Shit,” I whisper. “There’s just one more thing.”
Epilogue
Ari
Standing in front of the mirror, I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I’ve never been more nervous in my life. The fear behind my eyes gives me away and I don’t try to hide it. “What’s wrong with me? It’s not as though we haven’t met before.”
Strong arms come around me and Mason rests his chin on top of my head. “Oh, so this is about seeing Vicente again? Nothing to do with the fact that one of your paintings will be on display at his show tonight.”
I slap at his arm draped across my chest. “Thanks for reminding me.”
When Mason told me he’d tracked down my paternal grandfather—Vicente Miguel Reyes, or VM Reyes as he is known in the art world (yes, he’s a painter), I wasn’t angry; I was grateful and excited but nervous to finally meet him. Turns out I had several months to calm down as he was in Mexico for a month-long gallery showing. He lives in Northern California so when he returned, we flew up to meet him a few months later.
Vicente, or Tito as he asked me to call him, is a sweet and sassy—go figure—man in his late sixties. We took him to his favorite restaurant, The Spinnaker in Sausalito, and as we sat overlooking the water, he told us stories of his life, about some of my relatives, and a bit about my father. I loved how he could tell I didn’t want our time spent discussing a man who hadn’t cared to be in my life. And I don’t hold any ill will toward my grandfather. He too had been on the receiving end of David’s selfish ways, and the two have only spoken a few times since before I was born. One of those being when Tito tracked him down to tell him his mother, my grandmother, had died. My father didn’t attend the funeral.
Tito told me the only reason they reconnected at one point was because he’d found out about me and had to see me in person. I told him I remembered him that day as a child when he brought me the paints, and the gleam in his eye was priceless. I don’t blame him for not trying to find us after we moved. I can only guess my mother didn’t want to be tied to that family.
I take one last look at our reflection, the two of us, formal and mostly in black, and it feels surreal thinking of the night ahead. Kiki came down and helped me find the absolute perfect outfit—an off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved black blouse with sleek, wine-colored pants. Mason, so handsome in his black suit and simple white shirt, left the top button free of a tie. It makes me smile. I draw in a deep, plentiful breath. “We look good together.” My statement is filled with the confidence I’ve gained over the last year and a half. Being with Mason, going to school, spending time with his family. It sounds like a simple life and yet it’s a life I never dreamed of. The last year has been absolutely perfect since I moved back in with Mason. When I first came back, I got a little studio apartment, deciding I needed to feel some independence to make sure our relationship wasn’t based on anything but us.
The drive over to the studio is a blur, and all I can remember is twisting my fingers and staring out the window until we pull up to the venue, a well-known gallery in the art district of downtown Los Angeles.
Our entry is uneventful and I don’t know if I’m more relieved or disappointed. I take the former and use the time to get my bearings. Before I know it, I’m pulled into the atmosphere, tuned into the chatterings of those gazing at my grandfather’s art. But more than that, I’m mesmerized by his talent. His work is inspired by the Mexican Muralist Movement of the 1920s and includes politically driven pieces as well as haunting depictions of the plight of Hispanics in other countries as well as the United States.
As we turn a corner, my attention is drawn to a small gathering in the corner, and I gasp when I see they are standing in front of my painting. My grandfather, coming in at six-four, towers over his audience of mostly women over forty. If the setting were different, one would guess he’s a famous actor, wooing his adoring fans. For a man his age, he’s quite handsome. With his slicked-back black hair and matching mustache—both peppered with gray—he reminds me of Carlos Santana.
Our eyes catch each other and he waves us over. I take Mason’s hand in a death grip and lead us that way. His mouth lands near my ear. “Hey, there’s nothing to be nervous about.” I don’t say anything in response. Just turn my face to his and smile. “That painting is a reflection of you, gorgeous.” Now, that can’t go unrewarded so I quickly give him a peck on the lips just before we reach the band of admirers.
“Here she is,” My grandfather says, waving his hand in my direction.
Smiling faces turn my way as some of the small party dissipates to other displays. Those left, two women and a man, sling compliments my way, before turning to talk amongst themselves. I didn’t even have an opening to thank them. I guess that’s art people.
My grandfather’s arm comes around my shoulder, mine finding his waist.
“Thanks for coming, nieta.” He reaches across me to Mason and the two shake hands.
“Good to see you, Vicente.” Mason gestures around the space we’re in. “And congratulations.”
“Tito, this is amazing,” I say, breathless not just from my brief encounter a moment ago but from his overwhelming talent.
“A bit more…me than what you saw before, verdad?”
“Yes, and I love it.”
Our backs are to my painting but in an instant, Tito turns us to face it. “But this seems to be the highlight of the night. I might be jealous if I wasn’t so damn proud of you.”
I beam from the inside out, and I don’t hold back the full toothy smile banging to get out. The three of us stand in front of the painting I re-created from the image Mason had on his phone. I was grateful he captured that since the contractors painted over it not long after I left.
I gaze at Mamá’s beautiful face, remembering her eyes, her smile, like I’d just seen her yesterday. She would be so happy and though it breaks my heart she’s not here to share this with me, just knowing that brings me comfort. I swipe the tear from the corner of my eye when I feel my grandfather’s arm slip away and someone comes to stand in between us. The man he was speaking to when I walked up.
“I don’t know who’s more talented, Vicente, you or your granddaughter.”
“Clearly it’s her,” Tito replies.
“Ari, Mason, this is a long-time friend of mine, Caesar. He has quite the eye for art.”
After handshakes and greetings all around, Caesar turns his focus directly to me. “Ari, I’m a man with vision and I see you becoming very successful in the near future.”
I smile and instinctively glance to my grandfather. How wonderful it would be to have him in my life, someone I share news with, life, and plans for the future. It took some time to finally connect with him, and I hope he wants more moving forward. “I appreciate that, Caesar.”
“The compliment is genuine but I have a motive as well.” He glances up to my painting and back to me. “I’d like to buy this. Be the first to own your work.”
My brows raise and my heart kicks into high gear. It was exciting and flattering but somehow scary and…the thought of this painting being in someone else’s possession doesn’t sit well with me. Yet, if I want to be an artist, I have to learn to part with my work. My thoughts are interrupted by my grandfather’s voice.
“Llegas muy tarde, Caesar,” he says, telling Caesar he is too late. “This painting is already spoken for.”
All eyes turn to Vicente.
“Tito, I’m not sure I’m ready to—”
His hand lands on my shoulder and he bends his tall frame over me, looking me in the eye. “Nieta, I like to think I’m somewhat responsible for you becoming a painter. And now that we’ve found each other, I plan to stick around, be a part of your life…if you’ll have me.”
“Of course, Tito. I want that too.”
; “Then I hope you’ll do me the honor of selling me this beautiful work of art.”
Moving behind him, Caesar pats him on the shoulder. “Well I can’t compete with that so I’ll be on my way.”
“Tito,” I say, my voice pitched high. “I don’t think I can part with this yet. I hope you understand. I would love to paint something especially for you, though.”
He smiles and nods. “I couldn’t ask for anything more. It’s a deal.”
We shake as if we are sealing an actual business deal.
“Good, now can we stop making your night about me?” I was starting to feel uneasy, and a little selfish, with the spotlight on me. This is Tito’s night.
“Fine with me,” he says with a crooked grin. Then he passes a narrowed gaze over to Mason. “Shall we go and see the featured display of the night?”
Mason nods to Vicente but doesn’t look at me as he takes my hand and starts walking. I still feel damp under my arms after what happened with my painting so they’d better not have anything else of mine on display here.
We round another corner and come to one of the paintings grandfather showed me when we met him up north. I slow to look at it, but they’re determined to keep moving forward. “Wait, I wanted to look at this one again.” Mason’s got a tight grip on my hand, so I glance over my shoulder at the image of a young boy working in the fields with his father. I almost slam into Mason’s back when he comes to a stop. I move around and come to his side, Vicente greeting a woman who is standing next to a covered display. It’s too small to be a full-size painting. “Thanks, Jules,” he says to her. She nods and walks away.
“Ooh, an unveiling.” My grandfather gives me a single nod. “So, we are the first to see it?”
“In a manner of speaking.” he replies with a smirk.
Mason steps forward and faces me.
“But how did you know about it?” I ask him.
He ignores my question and plants a silly grin on his face. I furrow my brows at him. I suppose I shouldn’t be hurt that my grandfather told Mason about this. Maybe it was his way of thanking Mason for tracking him down. Whatever it is, has my pulse racing and I’m practically shaking with anticipation.
Mason touches the red cloth draped over whatever is hiding underneath. “Before we get to this, I just want to tell you how proud I am of you.”
More compliments? “Thank you, but—”
“Please, let me continue.”
I nod and keep myself in check but all this attention is making me want to run for the door.
Mason holds out his hand and I step forward to take it. “Ari…” He shakes his head and I see a slight sheen form over his eyes. Oh, God. “It’s funny…” His voice is a bit shaky but he continues after a pause. “I can’t even remember who I was or what my life was like before I met you.” I smile even though a burning sensation spreads behind my eyes. “You’ve not only made my life complete, but you’ve made me complete. All the good parts about me, came from being with you.”
I squeeze his hand and he brings mine to his lips. “Mason, I could say all those same words back to you. You’ve made my whole world complete.”
He chuckles. “I know…but this is my moment.” He twists back to the display and with his free hand grabs the edge of the cloth. “And I suppose the moment has come.” He pulls the cloth to reveal an open ring box sitting inside a cubed display, the sparkles of a solitary diamond winking above.
I release my hand from his and clamp both over my mouth, stunned. Tears fill my eyes as my heart skitters in my chest. “Oh, Mason.”
He picks up the box and turns to kneel in front of me. “Ariana Mendez, te casarías conmigo?”
I gasp and my heart putters. I can’t believe he did this. I finally glance around the room to find a crowd has gathered. I feel dizzy and jittery, overwhelmed by the surprise and rise of emotions I’m feeling. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind I want this, but I’m so elated I can barely speak. I take a deep breath and return my attention to Mason. The ring is already in his hand and I realize he’s waiting for me to give him my hand—and of course, an answer.
“Si. There’s nothing that would make me happier.”
He slips the platinum circle on my finger, solidifying the fairy tale ending I never imagined I’d have. Mason rises, taking me by the waist as he does, then presses his lips to mine. “God, I…I’m stunned. You really surprised me, Mason.”
“You’re always surprising me.” He laughs. “One of the many reasons I love you, Ari.”
“I love you too, Mason.”
He kisses me once more, a kiss full of love, full of promise, like a single brush creating the first colorful stroke of a beautiful painting.
~ ~ ~
Thank you for reading Broken Bridges, the second book in the Bridges Brothers series. I hope you enjoyed it and will help spread the word to new readers, or consider posting a review.
The Bridges Brothers series follows four brothers as they attempt to navigate life and love after a tragic family loss. Each book can be read as a standalone but is more enjoyable read in order. Please watch for the next book in the series. You can be alerted by following me on Amazon
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lia Fairchild writes romance and women's fiction. Fans of her books praise her endearing, real characters that come to life in stories that will touch your heart.
Fairchild is addicted to the warmth of Southern California and holds a bachelor's degree in journalism and a multiple-subject teaching credential. She is a wife and mother of two.
Broken Bridges (Bridges Brothers Book 2) Page 20