“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I applied and didn’t really expect to get in. And then I started taking classes, just to see if I liked them. After that, it all sort of spiraled out of control.”
“You think?” He stared at me, but I didn’t feel judged, despite the raised eyebrow. “God, Kate. You know I would’ve helped you, right?”
I nodded, though I didn’t say more. I could tell Hunter was hurt I hadn’t told him.
“What’s up with the professor?” he asked.
I leaned against the wall, feeling the strength go out of me. “I love him.” I only realized how true the words were once I’d spoken them.
He ran a hand through his hair, spinning and taking a few steps before turning back to me. “You love him?”
“Yes. I love him, Hunter. And he loves me. Or—” Tears filled my eyes once again, spilling over my lashes. “Or at least, he did.”
Hunter wrapped his arms around me, and I buried my head in his chest. He stood there, just holding me like he always did. Anytime I was sad, he’d always been the one to comfort me.
“Katherine Grace,” Mom hissed. Hunter released me, only for her to grab my arm and pull me farther into the shadows. She dabbed at the corner of my eyes with a tissue, then smiled brightly. “There. No more tears. Not in public anyway,” she added under her breath.
“Mom,” Hunter growled, but she waved away his concern.
“Now, come.” She placed her hands on my shoulders, ushering me toward a door. “The limo is waiting. We will discuss your questionable life decisions when we get home.”
Of course. I’d caused enough embarrassment for one evening. Now, they wanted to keep me quiet, keep me hidden. Smother any hint of scandal.
I wanted to run, but I knew this was something that couldn’t be avoided. I’d put off this conversation long enough, and now it was time to face the consequences of my decisions.
The drive home started off in tense silence. Hunter was texting with someone, angling his screen away from me so I wouldn’t see. His date had left with someone else—judging from the fact that she wasn’t riding back with us—but he didn’t seem to care. Dad was immersed in his phone, and Mom was busy reapplying her lipstick.
Dread swirled in my gut, but I tried to steel myself. I tried to remind myself that I was brave, confident, smart, talented. I hadn’t made this decision on a whim. And even if I had, it was my decision to make.
I finally cracked. “Can we just get this over with?”
Dad stared at his phone a moment longer before switching it off and lifting his head. “I spoke with Larry, and he’s willing to attribute your absence to medical reasons. Now that you have recovered, you will rededicate yourself to your premed studies at UCLA.”
I stared at him. Hard. Had he not been listening to a word I’d said earlier? Had I been speaking a foreign language?
It was now or never. I hadn’t come this far to give up. It was time to be brave. To be bold. To embrace my decisions and my dreams. To be the woman Xander thought I was, the woman I wanted to be.
“No.” That one word echoed off the walls of the limo, ricocheting. I didn’t look away, didn’t flinch.
“What do you mean, no?” Dad asked at the same time Mom said, “Katherine Grace, what on earth has gotten into you?”
“I’m not going back, and I’m not dropping out of LA CAD.” I took a deep breath and straightened. I could do this. I would do this.
Dad’s face was turning a deep shade of red, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him this angry. “You will return to classes at UCLA on Monday, or you will be cut off.”
Hunter crossed his arms over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankle. “Seeing as she receives distributions from a trust fund, I don’t think you can make such claims.”
I wanted to hug him. Even though I knew he was hurt I hadn’t told him what was going on, he was still there for me, still defending me. He always had, and I knew he always would. Which made me feel even worse for not telling him.
“I can, and I will. Katherine has not fulfilled her end of the bargain—art is not an approved major under the terms of the trust.”
Unbelievable.
While that may be true, I knew it didn’t matter. My parents would never take me and my career choice seriously. It wasn’t a business degree like my brother’s, or the law like Lily’s. It was art. It was unworthy. I was unworthy.
Hunter leaned forward, getting in Dad’s face. I tugged on his arm, tired of the fight. I just wanted the evening to be over.
“Hunter, it’s fine.” I turned to my parents. “You’ve never been supportive of my art, so I don’t know why I expected this to be any different. And while I’m sorry for lying, sorry for not owning up to what I wanted earlier, I will never apologize for following my dreams.”
Dad lifted his chin and turned to glance out the window. “Stop being so emotional.”
“Emotional?” I leaned forward, unable to hold back anymore. “This is not emotional. This is me standing up for what I want, what I believe. If I were a man—if I were Hunter—you’d applaud me for being assertive. But since I’m a woman, you attack me for being ‘emotional.’ But yeah, maybe I’m emotional because this is my passion.”
My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t believe I’d actually said those words.
The limo pulled up to my parents’ house, and Dad pushed open the door before the vehicle came to a full stop. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him so mad. But I was just as angry, and I followed him out of the limo, fuming.
He couldn’t ignore me and hope this would go away. For once, I wasn’t just going to fall in line and do what he wanted.
“Dad, stop.” I grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at me, to acknowledge me and my words.
His eyes were hard when he stared down at where I was touching him. The anger was gone, replaced by cool indifference. “I think we should table this discussion until you’ve had time to calm down.”
I dropped my hand and took a step back, feeling as if I were seeing my dad for the first time. And I didn’t like the man before me. Even though Xander had been hurt by my actions, disappointed even, I knew he still supported me. Just like my brother. My dad, on the other hand… Hunter wrapped his arm around my shoulders, perhaps sensing the crushing weight of my disappointment.
“I’ll always be too young, too emotional, too…something, won’t I?”
I didn’t hear Dad’s answer, my skirt swishing behind me as I turned. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t care.
I climbed into Hunter’s car, more than ready to go home. I could hear their raised voices, see the angry gestures in the side mirror of his car. And then it was over. Hunter smoothed down his shirt and strode over to the car, my parents retreating inside the house.
“You okay?” Hunter asked as he drove me across town. He didn’t mention his conversation with our parents, nor did I ask. It was enough to know that he had my back.
“No,” I said quietly, wrapping my arms around myself.
Although I was upset after the fight with my parents, I was more devastated over what had happened with Xander. How could he act like he didn’t know who I was? Sure, I’d lied about something—something big. But I was still me. And I’d bared myself to him—body, heart, and soul. His comments had shredded me, and I felt raw.
Hunter gripped the wheel tighter. “Fuck ’em. It’s not like you need their money. In just a few years, you’ll have unrestricted access to your trust fund. And I’ll help you in the meantime.”
I loved my brother. He could be an overprotective, overbearing ass at times, but I knew without a doubt that he was there for me, that he loved me. Even if I bucked family convention by pursuing an art degree instead of something our parents deemed more “respectable.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want to stop and pick up something to eat?” he asked, knowing I’d spent a decent portion of the gala crying
in the bathroom. I hadn’t left, despite wanting to. But I hadn’t been the smiling, trophy daughter my parents wished for either.
I slumped in my seat, exhausted. Defeated. “I just want to go home.”
“Of course.” He flipped on his indicator, signaling a turn in the opposite direction of my apartment with Brie.
“About that…”
“I love you, and I support you. But if you tell me you’re living with that…with Professor X, I’m going to lose it.”
I laughed despite myself. “No. But after you bought your house, I moved in with Brie to save on rent.”
He shook his head. “Jesus, Kate. Any more secrets you need to share?”
I pursed my lips, knowing he was joking—mostly. “Um, I think that’s it.”
“No secret pregnancies or hidden husbands?”
I glanced at him, horrified. “Um, no.”
“Okay.” He changed direction, navigating to Brie’s since he already knew the way.
He didn’t say much the rest of the drive, and I was grateful. When he pulled up in front of our building, he put the car in park, the engine idling as we waited.
He turned and looked at me over the gearshift. “You’re going to be okay. You know that, right?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. I might survive this ordeal with my parents, but I wasn’t sure I could live without Xander.
“Do you want me to come in and, I don’t know, eat ice cream and watch chick flicks?” He tugged at the collar of his shirt, and I knew he’d follow through if I needed him to. But I wasn’t going to torture him like that. Besides, I just wanted to be alone.
“Rain check?”
He nodded, and I saw his shoulders relax. “Where’s my hug?”
I leaned over the console, squeezing him tight. “Love you, Hunt.”
“Love you too, Kitty Kate.”
He gave me another squeeze before releasing me.
As I walked up the path to my apartment, I felt relief mingled with a powerful sense of sadness. I was relieved to have finally told my parents the truth. Relieved that it was all out in the open. But it had come at a high price. I shouldn’t have kept secrets from Xander. I should’ve been as brave with him as I’d encouraged him to be with his art.
I was a coward and a fraud. A liar.
But as disappointed as I was in myself, I was also disappointed in him. Because at the first sign of trouble, he’d run. When it was no longer convenient, or easy, to be with me—he gave up. Just like he had with his art.
Chapter 13
Xander
* * *
“It’s going to be great,” Theo said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. We stared out over the crowded gallery, taking in the packed space. “The LA Times art critic sent me an advance copy of his article. He loves your new pieces.”
“Thanks,” I said. “And thanks for everything you’ve done to make this possible.”
“Of course,” Theo said, but his attention was elsewhere. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone I need to speak with.”
He patted me on the back before heading in the direction of a tall woman with dark red lips and glossy raven hair. I raised an eyebrow, wondering who the mystery woman was.
Ma came to stand next to me, handing me a flute of champagne. “I’m so proud of you.”
I took a large gulp, nearly draining half the glass. “Thanks.”
I could feel her eyes on me, watching, assessing. She’d always been a keen observer and not just because she was my mom. “Alexander, is everything okay?”
“It’s great. Why?”
“Because you’re stomping around like there’s a storm cloud over your head.”
I laughed. She didn’t.
“I’m serious.” Her expression was stern despite the air of celebration surrounding us. “What’s going on?”
“Did you ever wish I were different? Wish I’d done something different with my life?” I asked.
She placed her hand over mine, looking me in the eye. “No.”
“Do you think that’s because you’re also an artist?”
“Maybe. But I’d like to think it’s because I’m your mom, and I’ll love you no matter what.” She gave me a soft smile, squeezing my hand. “What’s this really about?”
“I—” I cleared my throat. “One of my students is struggling. Her parents don’t understand or support her career choice.”
She nodded, her silent encouragement bolstering me to continue. It had been a long week, and I couldn’t keep up the act anymore. Suddenly exhausted, I felt as if all my secrets were going to come pouring out.
“Do you ever feel like a fraud? An imposter?” I asked, glancing at the crowd that had gathered to see my art. It wasn’t my first exhibition by any means, but this time, it felt different.
Ma leaned in, bumping her shoulder against mine. “More often than you’d think.”
“Really?” I stared at her, eyes wide.
“Of course. Motherhood, raising two boys, being a photographer—it doesn’t matter what role you’re in, you’re always going to feel that way. But—” She lowered her voice. “That’s why you have to surround yourself with people who love you, who see you for how amazing you are.”
Like Kate, I thought. She had seen past my fears, my flaws, my insecurities. She had seen me. Not the famous artist, Alexander Kline, or even the professor. But me.
A man approached, extending his hand to shake. “Xander, I’m an art dealer, and I have a client who’s very interested in your new work.”
I smiled, knowing him by reputation. “Thank you.”
Ma excused herself, leaving us to talk. He asked me a few questions and I made conversation, but my heart wasn’t in it. I should’ve been excited or at least relieved, but all I felt was numb. At least until I saw a flash of long blond hair. That familiar zing shot through me, excitement pulsing in my veins.
“Excuse me,” I interrupted him, even knowing he had the kind of clientele to generate a lot of income for me.
I followed the golden mane, my heart pounding fast despite my slow progress through the crowd. I reached the woman and lifted my hand to tap on her shoulder. But when she turned, it wasn’t Kate.
My heart plummeted, and I frowned. “I’m sorry. I thought…” I backed away. “I thought you were someone else.”
She smiled but returned her attention to the art. One of my earlier pieces—one of the ones I’d created before the accident, before Kate. I lingered on the canvas, admiring my work but feeling as though it lacked something.
I glanced at the next piece, a newer one. One Kate and I had worked on. I hadn’t realized it before, but looking at them now, my older pieces felt kind of…flat. They lacked the movement and intensity of the newer ones.
And I thought about my life before Kate and my life since. There was no comparison. Life without her was worse than losing my ability to draw.
I let out a deep sigh, raking my hand through my hair. I’d fucked up. I’d wanted to reach out to her, to call her, but I’d been so busy preparing for the exhibit, I hadn’t had time.
No. That wasn’t entirely true. I’d been swamped, but I hadn’t made the time.
Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know how to do this or where we went from here. Because neither of us was without fault, but I still loved her.
And being here tonight, surrounded by all these people staring at and judging my art, I realized I simply didn’t care. Without Kate, this moment—what should have been a celebration of my triumphant return to the art world—felt hollow. Meaningless.
I felt as if someone were watching me, but I brushed the feeling aside. Of course people were watching me; I was the artist. The guest of honor. I glanced toward the large window at the front of the gallery. The sun had set, and lights flickered outside, casting shadows on the pavement.
And then I saw her—Kate.
She was standing on the sidewalk, looking in. She was even more beautiful than I
remembered, like some sort of goddess with the light shining on her golden strands. I felt that same spark as I had the first time I saw her, that same pull.
Our eyes locked, hers gray and stormy. Mine questioning.
Before I could so much as think about it, my feet moved of their own accord, drawing me to her. Pulling my body where my heart already wanted to go.
When she spun, I was captivated by the way her hair flowed around her like molten gold. But when she started to walk in the opposite direction, I ran.
“Kate,” I called, jogging behind her. “Kate.” I grabbed her wrist, unwilling to let her go. “Wait.”
She spun to face me, and there were tears in her eyes. This close, I could tell she’d been crying, her eyes rimmed with red, her skin pale. Even so, she was beautiful, her body encased in a floral dress that smoothed over her breasts and hips like a present I wanted to unwrap.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come,” she said.
I pulled her closer, gratified by her sharp intake of breath. Even so, I never lost my grip on her. “I’m glad you did.”
“You are?” She tilted her head to the side.
“Yes. I’m very glad you came. You deserve to see the turnout for our paintings.” I’d intended to tell her how much I’d missed her, but at the last second, I choked.
She shook her head. “Your paintings. Xander, you did this. You didn’t need me. You never did.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I stepped closer, swiping away a lone tear with my thumb. “I do need you. But more importantly, I want you. I want to paint together and laugh together and even cry together.”
She leaned into my touch. “I want that too. So much. And I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t completely honest. I’m still figuring out who I am—I think I always will be. But I know what I want, and that’s you.”
I leaned my forehead against hers, allowing our breath to mingle. A wave of relief washed over me. But I knew I owed her an apology as well. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I walked away when you really could’ve used my support.”
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