Always Mine

by Ruth Cardello

  “Call me every day, and let’s get together for dinner this week. Text me, and I’ll clear my schedule that night.”

  Coming back to the present, Emily looked around the storage room again. It was packed to near capacity except for a corner where a sofa and a couple of chairs had been put to one side. Even though the men who had delivered the crates had an impeccable reputation, Emily had opened each box and checked the contents upon arrival. Sophie had handled the move professionally and had had her lawyer draw up paperwork that listed each item on loan to her exhibit.

  Emily visited the storage room each day and checked on a few of the items. Like they’re family, because they’re all I have left of mine.

  Most of her mother’s work was there, along with many of the figurines Emily had made for her mother. Emily took out the beach scene she’d shown Asher, sat down on the sofa with the painting on her lap, and ran her hand lovingly over it. I miss you, Mom. I miss you so much.

  A light knock on the door announced Sophie’s arrival. She took a seat in a chair across from Emily. “I knew I’d find you here. Kenzi called and said she’s coming to dinner tonight. Grant is too. Would you like to call Celeste? She’s welcome to join us again if she’s free.”

  Emily replaced the painting in its crate. “I may go out instead. You and your family would probably enjoy a dinner with only each other for once.”

  Sophie put her hand on one of Emily’s. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to have you here. Kenzi really enjoyed talking to you the other night. She said she’d love to see you again. I told Grant about our goals for your museum, and he offered to help you with the financial planning if you’re interested. Every mother thinks her children are amazing, but Grant is truly gifted when it comes to knowing where and how to invest money. I wish he didn’t work so much, though. I’ll never get grandchildren at this rate.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Your friend, Celeste, is single, isn’t she? I liked her. Definitely ask her to come to dinner tonight. She might hit it off with Grant. It’s a shame there was no chemistry between her and Lance. He needs to find a nice girl.”

  Emily smiled. “Celeste says she’s too busy with her company to think of getting married.”

  “That’s what everyone says before they fall in love,” Sophie said with confidence. Her expression turned suddenly sympathetic. “Has Asher called you?”

  Emily shook her head. With anyone else the conversation would have been embarrassing, but Sophie was asking because she cared. It was easy to forget she was Asher’s mother. Emily straightened her shoulders. “No.”

  Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know what he thinks is more important than calling either of us back, but when he does, he’ll get an earful from me. Ian will, too. He hasn’t been answering my calls either.”

  It was hard to imagine Asher getting a lecture from anyone. “Please don’t say anything to Asher about me. It’ll be awkward enough when he finds out I’m here.”

  Sophie studied Emily’s face for a moment then said, “Awkward for him, but hopefully not for you. He needs a woman who will put him in his place from time to time. Don’t go easy on him when he finally does call you.”

  Sophie was serious, and that realization made Emily smile. “Aren’t you supposed to take his side?”

  “He’s my son and I love him, but I’m not blind to his faults. I don’t care how old your children get, when you see them acting like spoiled brats you do your best to rein them in. Asher is successful, and he’s good-looking. Women have always flocked to him. Frankly, it’s given him a big head. He doesn’t value anything that comes to him that easily.”

  Emily blushed a deep red. She’d followed in the footsteps of those foolish ladies. I gave him what he wanted too easily. Is that why he hasn’t called? Is he done but can’t be bothered to tell me in person? He’d told me to wait on the bed with my legs spread. Doesn’t that exemplify how little he really feels about me? He doesn’t call because he doesn’t care.

  Loss was something Emily understood far too well. She took her sorrow over Asher and stuffed it deep down into her gut along with her sadness over her mother and grandfather.

  Sophie saw Emily’s expression and looked instantly contrite. “I wasn’t referring to you, Emily. You’re different.”

  Emily looked away. “Not as different as you’d think.”

  Sophie smiled gently. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re beautiful, you have a good heart, and you are an amazingly talented artist. That you’re humble is a testament to your mother.”

  Emily’s eyes were drawn back to the crate that held her mother’s beach painting. “I still miss her so much it hurts.”

  “I understand,” Sophie said. “I lost my parents, my sister . . . my—” She stopped abruptly and stood. “Anyway, Asher is a fool if he doesn’t see how good you would be for him. Come on, let’s get dressed for dinner.”

  Emily stood and followed her to the door. She wanted to ask what other loss Sophie had started to mention then decided against it. She paused before turning off the light.

  Behind her, Sophie said, “Why do I feel that when the crates move over to the exhibit hall you’ll be sleeping there?”

  Emily turned off the light and closed the door to the room. “I might.”

  Sophie put a supportive hand on her shoulder. “I’ve done plenty of exhibits and even more auctions. We’ve never lost an item. You can trust me with your treasures, Emily.”

  Two weeks of hell passed before Asher was able to fly back to Paris. During the ride from the airport to his apartment, he checked his messages and reflected on how Ian had impressed him. He’d proven that diplomacy had its merits.

  A few days earlier, Ian had walked into Asher’s office in Trundaie, loosened his tie, and plopped down onto the couch. “I did it. I convinced the prime minister that if he doesn’t protect your facility, five years from now he wouldn’t have the money for those mega yachts he collects. I also spoke to his advisors about sitting down with the leader of the rebels and resolving the land disputes that started the uprising. Your intel about the rebels was key. Negotiations go much easier when you know what each side wants. They wanted the farmland they’d owned before the prime minister claimed it for another summer home. He’s a greedy bastard and had positioned himself as a dictator, but I outlined the cost effectiveness of avoiding a civil war. Once I started talking in terms of who the rebels would come for next, his advisors started listening.”

  Asher had poured two cups of coffee, handed one to Ian, then sat across from him. He’d barely slept for over a week. With the lives of his people—and his brother—on his shoulders, Asher hadn’t relaxed for a moment until he was certain he could maintain their safety. He’d secured the facility while his brother negotiated with the prime minister. He and Bennett had increased his network of informants as well as paid off several people who swore to stall any act of aggression.

  Ian had resolved the situation in a way Asher could live with. Brice had been right: changing one component changed everything. If trouble did come, Bennett was now ready.

  He’d thanked Ian, but he doubted his brother knew how much his support meant to him. Trundaie had been the first time he’d found himself in over his head. He’d always known that his siblings would pull together in time of crisis, but watching Ian risk his life to save B&H had reminded Asher of the strength of family.

  With the worst two weeks of his life behind him, he could focus on Emily again. At first he hadn’t called her because there hadn’t been time, but later he’d held off because he didn’t want to cloud his judgment with the distraction of his desire for her. He had put everything into saving his company and the facility, and it had paid off.

  Asher leaned forward and asked the driver to stop at a florist shop on the way to his apartment. Two weeks without hearing from him couldn’t have been easy for Emily. She hadn’t answered his phone call or text. He could understand how she might be upset wi
th him, but she wouldn’t be for long. He had three days to make it up to her before he flew back to Boston as he’d promised his family he would. Andrew would be home that week and for once Asher wasn’t dreading gathering with his family for their annual “pretend Mom isn’t too sad to be left alone” week.

  After that one week away from her, she could meet back up with him in Boston, or he could return to Paris. He’d let her choose. Now that he was allowing himself to think about her, he couldn’t wait to see her again. His mind was pleasantly full of images of the two of them making up for all the time they’d lost over the last two weeks.

  He bought three-dozen red roses and spontaneously asked the driver to stop at a high-end lingerie shop. He fantasized not only about what Emily wore, but what he wanted her to wear, and bought enough of both that the sales clerks were smiling and waving at him when he left, which was not a common sight in Paris.

  Arriving at the apartment, he carried the roses and one of the boxes. The driver carried the rest. Asher let himself in, placed the flowers on the table, tipped the driver, and frowned. In his last text, he’d told her when he’d be back. Was being out when he returned her way of making him pay for not calling sooner?

  He looked around and noticed that her usual coffee cup was not rinsed and by the sink. He walked through to the bedroom and opened the closet. Her clothing was gone.

  Emily had left Paris. Irritated and surprised, he walked from room to room and confirmed she had indeed taken everything with her. He called her and was once again put through to her voice mail.

  He paced the length of his living room like a tiger confined in a small cage. He’d wanted Emily before, but arriving and not finding her provoked the hunter in him. Where would you go, Emily?

  He considered using his investigator to track her down, but that would have taken the fun out of the chase. No, he wanted to solve this one on his own. He knew exactly who to call first. “Celeste Smithfield?”

  “Yes?” a woman answered warily.

  “Asher Barrington. I need to speak to Emily. Is she with you?”

  “No.”

  Asher didn’t like the amusement he heard in the woman’s voice. “Do you know where she is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  To his surprise, Celeste’s tone turned cutting. “You’ll have to figure out where she is on your own, because if it were up to me, you wouldn’t find her. You don’t deserve her. Don’t call me again.” With that, Celeste hung up on him.

  What the fuck? Asher glared at the phone. He wasn’t used to anyone speaking to him that way, and the more he thought about it the less he liked the fact that Emily hadn’t waited for him in Paris. He’d told her he’d be back. He scrolled through his messages and saw an old text from his brother Grant that he’d meant to respond to but he’d put off. He checked his watch, estimating the time difference, then called his brother.

  “Asher, where the hell have you been? I was worried until Ian called me yesterday. Neither of you could pick up a phone before then just to tell us you weren’t dead?”

  Asher sat on the arm of his couch. “We were busy. I had an emergency at work. Ian flew out to help me with it.”

  “Whatever. I don’t care as long as you’re here next week.”

  “I will be. I know how important it is.”

  Grant sighed. “Good. Hey, in other news, everyone loves your girlfriend.”

  “My girlfriend?”

  “Emily.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  With a chuckle, Grant said, “I didn’t know senility set in so young, but have you already forgotten about the woman you sent to stay with Mom and Dad?”

  “Emily is staying with Mom and Dad?”

  “This work you did with Ian, it didn’t involve any brain-altering chemicals, did it?”

  “How long has she been there?” Asher demanded.

  “About two weeks.”

  What are you doing, Emily? I thought I’d made it clear I wanted you to stay away from my family. “Do me a favor, Grant, and don’t tell anyone you spoke to me. I’ll fly in tomorrow, but I’d prefer if no one knew I was coming. I want to surprise everyone.”

  He hung up the phone and paced his apartment. He was angry, frustrated, and . . . disappointed. It was difficult to admit the last bit to himself, but there was no denying how he felt. He’d expected her to be there.

  He’d never done as much to please anyone as he had to please her. How hadn’t that been enough? He’d told her he would be back. Why would she leave?

  Then he noticed her sketchpad resting against one side of the couch. He picked it up with the intention of flipping through it quickly, but the sketches in it were so emotionally packed that he sat down and turned the papers slowly. There were sketches of him, of her, of them together. Each one brought back memories of their time together with a punch.

  Her feelings for him were laid bare in the sketches of herself, along with her anger with him. He wanted to shake her and explain to her that she had no reason to doubt him.

  The sketches of the two of them entwined passionately brought his need for her to a painful level. She belonged with him. He had questioned many things lately, but that truth had remained constant.

  Emily Harris was his, and he’d prove it to her back in Boston.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‡

  The next day Emily walked Celeste through a huge empty salon. When Sophie had originally told Emily about the auction, she hadn’t mentioned it would happen in the Dorvosta building, a well-known location for high-end galas. Sophie and Dale lived a simple life, but they didn’t lack for money. That much was clear. “Sophie says this room will be full of chairs all facing a podium that will be over there.” She pointed to one end of the room. She said auctions are high-tech now. Some people will be here physically, some will be absentee bidders, and there will even be many people bidding online. I can’t wait to see it all in action.”

  Celeste looked around at the room and whistled. “No one I know could afford to host an event in this room, never mind tie up the rooms that flank it. Your exhibit is happening here, too?”

  Emily led the way across the large empty room and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. “Yes, and it spans two rooms. Sophie had everything shipped over two days ago. When I was here yesterday I reminded the workers that the idea is for people to touch the pieces. I hope they understood what I meant. I heard they worked through the night to get it ready for today. Sophie is opening the exhibit for two weeks before the auction. She said that will allow me time to reel in some patrons.” Emily stopped at a closed door.

  “How much is this costing you?” Celeste asked.

  “Nothing. I donated one of my sculptures to the auction and Sophie offered to do the rest. She hosts this event every year. She added my exhibit onto her annual auction.” Emily punched in a code to unlock the door then hesitated. “I’m so glad you’re here, Celeste. I’m excited and more than a little nervous. This is Boston. Do you know how many museums are just a short walk away from here?”

  Celeste’s eyes met hers. “You really are nervous. Honey, you’ve done art exhibits before.”

  Emily clasped her hands together and admitted, “That was different. Those were usually in my grandfather’s old house, and I was telling a story my artwork was a part of. Here I feel . . .”

  “What?”

  Emily searched for the words to best express how she felt. “Alone. Exposed. My sculptures are good, but they aren’t masterpieces. My mother was the true artistic genius in our family. All I did was try to bring paintings to life for her. What if no one gets that? What if my mother’s dream ends here—because of me?”

  After a brief hug, Celeste pushed the door open, walked in, and gasped. “Oh my God.”

  Emily rushed after her, looked around, and grateful tears instantly filled her eyes. The finished product was a perfect recreation of how she’d displayed the pieces in her museum. “Ho
w did they do this in one day?” She approached one of the displays and touched the Braille and English sign beneath the painting.

  Celeste wandered to the next piece. “Sophie is the fairy godmother of auctions, I guess.”

  The comparison made Emily smile even as she wiped away a tear that had spilled over. She walked from display to display and was speechless in the face of how much care had gone into matching the way she had explained each of her pieces. She stopped in front of a print of Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks.” It was a painting depicting three customers lost in their own thoughts at a brightly lit diner. Next to the print was Emily’s clay three-dimensional representation of the painting, along with a description of how light and darkness were used to illuminate what many considered an expression of loneliness in a city. Beside Emily’s piece was her mother’s mono-colored painting that could only be truly experienced through touch. “How am I ever going to be able to thank her enough? This is amazing.”

  “You may have to marry one of her sons and give the woman the grandchildren she’s waiting for. At least they’re all good-looking,” Celeste said dryly.

  Emily’s stomach churned as she thought about Asher, but she quickly beat that memory away. “I’m pretty sure it’s you she wants to marry into the family. She invites you over every time one of her sons says he’ll be there.”

  “Like I have time to marry. No way.” Celeste shook her head at Emily’s comment and glanced down at her phone to check the time. “Crap. I have to run. Are you okay?”

  Emily looked around the exhibit again in bemusement. “How could I not be? It’s perfect.”

  Celeste gave her a quick hug. “It is perfect, Em. This is the embodiment of what you wanted—to present your mother’s talent and vision. Call me tomorrow. I have a client who is going to keep me busy for the next couple of days, but call me. Leave a message if I don’t pick up.” She waved a hand at the room around her. “Two weeks until the auction?”