His hands cupped her face and tilted it up to him. “And after the baby? Will the honeymoon be over?”
Her pulse skipped at the word honeymoon, but she still managed to tease, “Could be. You should probably take what you can now just to be on the safe side.”
His soft, husky chuckle tickled her stomach as he leaned in. “I’m all for some hot office sex, but I’m also still on probation. How about I meet you back here at four?”
“Hmm. So very tempting, but I was thinking after work we’d go to your studio so I could take those pictures.”
“Or…we could go now.” He pulled back slightly to brush his thumb over her bottom lip. “It is work related.”
“Look at you. Still on probation and corrupting your boss.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“That’s a let’s go.”
“Good. And then I’ll still meet you back here at four, too.” When she arched her eyebrows back at him, he grinned. “You’re not the only one who can’t get enough.”
Chapter 30
Merit paced from one side of the art gallery’s back storeroom to the other, fingers clasped behind his head as he tried to get a handle on his nerves. Five weeks ago, Mae had sold two of his paintings to her client, Brennan, and while he was on a high from the sale, she’d talked him into letting her arrange a show.
Now he stood here, wondering why the hell had he agreed to let people view his paintings? Let them stand there and judge his art. Judge him. They wouldn’t know it was him, but that did nothing to alleviate the knots that had been tumbling around in his stomach as the day drew closer. Today, he hadn’t been able to eat a damn thing without feeling like he’d puke.
He’d never expected Mae to plan the damn thing two days before Thanksgiving. He’d thought she’d wait until after the holidays, and then, with the baby due January twenty-third, he figured she’d be too busy to be bothered. Looking back, he should’ve known she’d run full speed ahead the moment he gave her the go ahead. The woman was a force to be reckoned with once she set her mind to something.
Frustrating and scary as it could be when he was on the receiving end, he absolutely loved her strength and independence. Everything about her and the life she’d built for her and Ian inspired him to not be a chicken shit and give it a shot. See what happened…until he had to work up the courage to walk out into the room where his creations hung for the all the world to see.
As the low buzz of voices filtered in from the main gallery, anxiety gnawed at his insides and doubt flooded in once more.
No one will know it’s you.
He raked a hand through his hair, and straightened his spine at the reminder of Mae’s promise. Complete anonymity. Without it, it didn’t matter how inspiring she was, he’d have said no. But she promised, and he had said yes, so it was time to face the music. Or the critics, as it may be.
Squaring his shoulders, he turned around and almost ran into Mae as she came through the door. Her face was pale, and she looked as nervous as he felt when her hesitant smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I was just coming to make sure you hadn’t snuck out the back door.”
“Would you think less of me if I told you the thought had crossed my mind?”
“It’s going to be fine.” Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. Then she hooked an arm through his to urge him out of the room and past a couple of offices toward the main gallery. “Everything’s going to work out tonight. It has to.”
The last words were muttered under her breath.
Merit shot her a frown, but she moved a step ahead of him and smiled at the waiter approaching with a tray of drinks. Mae took a water and handed him a glass of champagne. He hesitated at first, but the last time he’d had champagne was at Asher’s wedding, and that turned out pretty damn good, so what the hell.
He downed the contents in four long swallows, then switched the empty for a full as bubbly warmth spread through his belly.
“Take it easy,” Mae warned in a low whisper.
The alcohol eased the knots in his stomach, so he raised his glass for another drink, but kept it to a sip this time. As he swept his gaze from one side of the crowded room to the other, his stomach tightened all over again. “Shit. There’s a lot of people here.”
“Yes. Claudia is thrilled with the turnout. And everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”
He’d met the gallery owner earlier, who’d also assured him he’d remain a mystery.
Small groups gathered around the cocktail tables set up around the room. They seemed to ignore the art while they talked and laughed over the stubby centerpieces of red rose bouquets while enjoying drinks and small plates of appetizers from a side buffet table. Others milled from one display section to the next, actively studying and discussing each exhibit. There did seem to be a positive vibe in the room, yet he still couldn’t help wondering if they were admiring or criticizing.
He shifted his gaze back to Mae, finding it easier to focus on her now rosy cheeks and glossed lips than trying to read into the expressions of the people studying his art. He could do this with her at his side.
It was only one night, after all. Three hours. Piece of cake.
Merit set his glass down and moved closer to her side, lifting a hand to brush her blond hair back from her cheek before trailing down her arm to thread their fingers together. “No matter how this goes tonight, I’m grateful for all you’ve done, and for respecting how I feel about it, even if it may seem silly to you.”
The color drained from her cheeks, and her gaze darted away from his, toward the crowded gallery. “I don’t think it’s silly, I just…” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I wish you could believe in yourself and trust others to see the talent you have.”
Despite his best efforts, familiar defensive tension gripped his shoulders again. “It will happen when I’m ready, Mae. I promise I’ll let you know, but please don’t push this right now.”
Her distressed sigh was followed by a wince and sharp inhale. She pulled her hand from his to press against her stomach.
He frowned at the movement. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s nothing. Just a hard kick.”
This morning, he’d caught her leaning a hand against the bathroom sink as she took deep, measured breaths. She’d claimed it was Braxton Hicks, the false labor pains he’d read about in her pregnancy book. They started any time after the twentieth month, and she was in the middle of week thirty-three, but something about her tight expression and pale complexion made him doubt her brush-off.
“You don’t look so good.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He flattened his hand over hers. “You know what I mean.”
“Merit, the baby’s fine. Promise.”
Her smile was less than convincing, especially when she wouldn’t look him in the eye. A sensation of foreboding tingled along the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right, and if it wasn’t the baby…
“Mae, what’s going on?”
She glanced toward the doors, then turned toward him, her gaze fixed somewhere below his chin. “I, uh, might have done something I wasn’t supposed to.”
Concern shifted to heavy dread as the guilt dripping from her quiet words set off major warning bells in his head. “What?”
She flipped her hand under his, her grip tight and desperate. “Please don’t hate me.”
His tension ratcheted up as he growled, “What?”
“I, um…I may have invited—”
“Stop with the might and may. You either did or you didn’t.”
She looked up, a strange combination of remorse and defiance in her blue eyes. “I did.”
His pulse ticked faster as he shot an alarmed glance around the gallery. He froze when he saw his dad holding the front door open for his mom. Behind them were his brothers and sisters and spouses. Practically his whole damn family.
Merit jerked his ha
nd from Mae’s. “What the fuck?”
“I only invited them. I didn’t say anything yet.”
“Yet?” He glared at her, hands fisted at his sides, his heart thumping so hard the whole room probably heard it.
“Now that they’re here…” Her voice quivered. “It’s the perfect time to tell them. Just rip the Band-Aid off.”
“This isn’t exactly a Band-Aid ripping scenario.” He clenched his jaw when he heard his voice rising. He was so pissed off right now, he was ready to explode. Grasping her elbow, he pulled her toward the back. “Sonofabitch, Mae. I can’t believe you did this knowing how I felt about everything.”
“Merit, please, slow down.”
He stopped completely and whirled around, ignoring the looks they were drawing from nearby gallery guests. Betrayal burned deep as he glowered at her. “I trusted you.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“No,” he bit out in a low undertone. “You don’t get a but. You promised you wouldn’t say anything to anyone.”
“And technically, I still haven’t,” she argued, that familiar determined glint lighting up in her eyes. “But you can’t keep going on like this. It’s been months, Merit, and you refuse to fix this thing with your dad. Won’t even talk to anyone about it. Well, I want the baby to know its grandparents.”
“It’s not your decision to make!”
“I tried talking about it with you over and over.”
“And I told you to leave it alone.” He thrust his arm out toward the gallery in a wide gesture. “This was mine to tell. When I want, on my terms. It means more than anything to me, and you just went and did whatever the fuck you wanted.”
She drew back as if he’d struck her.
He sucked in a huge breath while running both hands through his hair. Stopping mid-rake, he fisted his fingers until pain bit at his scalp, then he dropped his arms. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you with anything after this?”
“Merit, please, you have to understand—”
“I have to understand? Really? I’ll tell you what I understand, Mae. You gave your word and then broke it. I don’t know how this can work if I can’t trust you to keep your word on something this important to me.”
Her eyes narrowed as she frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means…I don’t know exactly.” He was pissed and recognized that in this moment, he wanted to hurt her as much as she’d hurt him. But it was not the time. He’d only end up saying something he’d regret. He lifted his hands, palms out, shaking his head as he took a step back. “I can’t talk about this right now. I need to get out of here.”
“Of course. Run. That’s what you always do when you don’t want to face what’s in front of you.”
“I’m not running.”
“Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Merit.”
She brushed past him to the back, and he whirled around to watch her disappear, disbelief slackening his jaw. Where did she get off being mad at him? He grit his teeth as he took a step to go after her.
“Run. That’s what you always do…”
Stopping abruptly, he ground his molars together in frustration as the accusation repeated in his head. He fucking hated when people were right about stuff that made him feel like shit. Mae. His dad.
Closing his eyes, he let his head hang. Was he going to run, or stay? Man up, or be a chicken shit? The thought of his family behind him viewing his work made his pulse trip like crazy. Would he finally measure up to their high expectations, or would he end up the failure he’d always feared.
“If they don’t like them, so what? You’re not painting for them, are you?”
More of Mae’s words hounding his memory. His answer was the same now as it was when she’d first asked the question about Brennan and his interior designer. He didn’t paint for anyone but himself. And if all the people here tonight hated what was hanging on the walls, would he feel different about what he’d created? What he’d put a piece of his soul into?
No.
Would he pack away his brushes and never paint again?
Hell no.
He dropped his chin to his chest. Why the fuck did Mae’s words from a month ago suddenly make sense at the most inconvenient time?
Because you’re not running.
Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, he lifted his head and squared his shoulders while blowing it back out. When he turned back to the gallery, he found himself face to face with his three older siblings.
“Hey, Mer,” Loyal greeted.
“Dad and Mom are here,” Celia warned in a low voice.
“I saw.”
“Honor didn’t even know Mae was this into art, so do you know what’s up with the invite to all of us?” Asher asked.
“She dragged me here, too,” Merit replied evasively, unable to keep the resentment from his voice.
Coward.
He looked away from their scrutiny and spotted his mom approaching Claudia on the other side of the room. His father stood a little distance away, studying his rendition of the Washington Monument.
Rip off the fucking Band-Aid.
“I’ll be right back,” he told his siblings.
As he threaded through the crowd and around the cocktail tables, Honor met him at the halfway point. “I saw Mae when we first got here. Where’d she go?”
“In the back.”
Her eyes narrowed at his clipped response, but he didn’t wait for her to ask more questions before continuing on his way. He wasn’t ready to talk about Mae just yet. He wasn’t ready to do any of this yet, but she hadn’t given him a choice.
As he walked up behind his father, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Dad.”
The senator twisted slightly to meet his gaze, then faced forward once more. “Merit.”
When silence fell between them, he forced himself to ask, “What do you think?”
“Of the painting? Or the fact you’ve been avoiding me for the past four months.”
His dad’s voice matched Merit’s low tone. The senator wouldn’t want to cause a scene, after all. “Of the painting.”
“Perfect. We’ll just ignore what we really need to talk about.”
He grit his teeth against his impatience. “Do you like it or not, Dad?”
“What do you care about what I think of this painting?”
He gave a quick glance around to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard, then fucking ripped like hell. “I painted it.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw his dad’s head swivel in his direction, astonishment in his expression. Merit swallowed hard as he stared straight ahead. After a long, agonizing moment, his dad turned back to the canvas while lifting the glass in his hand for a drink.
“I think it’s going to look great in my office.”
Resentment surged forward. “I didn’t tell you that so you’d buy it. I don’t want your—”
“I bought it before I knew you’d painted it.” His dad extended his glass toward his mom and the gallery owner. “Your mother is arranging for it to be shipped to Washington as we speak.”
He didn’t quite know what to say to that. And then his dad walked past Merit, his gaze travelling along the walls of the gallery, from canvas to canvas. He followed until they reached a spot toward the back where the crowd had thinned to give a modicum of privacy.
“Are all of the pieces in this show yours?”
“Yes.”
The senator’s expression remained unreadable, and he took a breath to speak, then seemed to think better of it.
“Merit.”
He turned at his mom’s voice, and gave her a quick kiss and hug before she stepped back to stand next to his dad. She was elegant as ever with her rich, subtle scent of jasmine to compliment her black, tailored Dolce & Gabbana suit.
“Everything is all set,” she told his dad. “It’ll be sent Monday, after the holiday weekend.” She gestured toward the front of the gallery as she added, “Your dad bought the
Washington Monument up there near the front. We both loved it the moment we saw it.”
Hearing the praise when she didn’t know he was the artist made his chest tighten with emotion. He’d painted that the week after his father won his seat in the Senate last November. The hard knot of fear in his gut eased without him having swallowed a whole glass of champagne on an empty stomach.
His dad shot him a narrow-eyed glance before turning to his mom. “Did you know our youngest son is the artist of this show?”
“What?” Her wide gaze jerked to Merit’s. “Is that true?”
Pulse racing all over again, he lifted his eyebrows, shoulders, and palms in a what can I say gesture while her red lips formed an astonished O. Much like his dad, she ran her gaze around the room before facing him with her hands on her slim hips.
“Merit Matthew Diamond, how in the world did we not know about this?”
“No one knew. I haven’t told anyone.”
“Mae knew,” his dad stated, his gaze shifting past his shoulder and then back to his face. “That’s why she sent us the invite, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. The betrayal still stung despite his parents’ favorable reaction to his art. He would have rather she forced the conversation and they argued about it than her breaking her word and going behind his back.
“Why not you?” his dad demanded.
There was a note of challenge in his voice, but when Merit met his gaze, he was surprised by a fleeting glimpse of anguish. When his dad didn’t look away, he realized he’d only ripped the Band-Aid halfway.
Pride lifted his chin as he admitted, “It’s always been a little hard to measure up in this family.”
“Measure up to whom?” his mom asked with a frown.
“Everyone. Loyal, Celia, Asher, Shelby. Even Grayson. I was never as good at sports as them, I struggled to get my As, and I didn’t start a career straight out of college. Then when dad cut me off and I looked for a job, I couldn’t get someone to hire me if I’d paid them. That day at brunch in July, I lied about the engineering job, and ended up working construction cleanup before Mae expanded and hired a second crew.”
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