by Jinsey Reese
“You look gorgeous,” Dalia said when they reached me. “That dress is amazing.”
“Thanks,” I said, actually blushing. Good god, who was I? “You both look fantastic.”
Dalia beamed at me while Dax didn’t even bother being coy about checking me out. I was just about to call him on it when the gallery door opened behind me.
“Eyes up, Dax,” Dare said as he slid his arms around me from behind. I leaned into him as he breathed me in. “You smell so good,” he said softly in my ear. “I could devour you right here. Right now.”
I turned my head so my lips were right next to his ear. “I dare you,” I whispered.
His hands fisted in my dress and his chest vibrated with deep laughter, this incredibly happy, entirely free sound I hadn’t heard in years. It melted my insides as I turned in his arms to look at him.
He reached up and touched my lips.
“You’re smiling,” he said. “I love it.”
Me too. I never wanted to stop.
When I finally walked into the gallery, the surroundings took my breath away. There were beautiful nudes everywhere, years of paintings Dare had done as well as the new ones he’d just finished. I could see a progression of my facial expressions he’d captured over the past weeks—from bittersweet to yearning to lustful to content. He’d portrayed the beginning of our re-relationship on canvas.
But the biggest surprise was the nudes of me from three years ago—paintings he must have done from his sketches. I was everywhere, nearly filling the entire room. Other models were scattered in between like passing moments in Dare’s life, but the installation was mostly focused on me.
I walked around the gallery, taking in one after another, my heart beating louder and faster with each painting. I hadn’t realized it when I’d first come across the ones on display at Montmartre, but those were me too. I could see it now. Every one had been painted from memory, most of the early ones hiding my face in one way or another. Almost like Dare hadn’t been able to look at me, even though he couldn’t help but paint me.
In the middle of it all, her bright smile shining, was Real Ree. The very first painting Dare had ever done of me. The one that had not been at the show at La Période Bleue three years ago. Back then, I’d thought that Dare hadn’t put it in the show because he hated me and had decided to destroy it, but it turned out he’d taken it with him when he left.
Oh, my god.
He’d taken ME with him.
I tore my gaze from his work and searched the room for Dare. He was all the way on the other side, standing with Dax and Dalia and one of the gallery owners, but his eyes were intent on me, watching me. I had a feeling he’d been watching me since I first walked in, wanting to gauge my reaction at this revelation. The evidence was up on the walls. He’d never stopped loving me. And it was love, I could see that so clearly, could feel it in my heart even though we’d never actually put that label on our feelings.
It felt real.
It made me feel real.
I loved him.
My god. I loved him so fucking much. And I couldn’t wait to tell him.
Tonight. After his show.
An incredible, albeit unfamiliar feeling bloomed within my chest, filling me with so much light I was sure my feet would lift off the ground at any moment.
I stared at Dare, tears in my eyes, and held up two fingers. Two parts.
He held up one finger. One whole.
This was it.
This was the life I wanted.
This was where I belonged. With Dare. The man who had taught me to love.
A burst of strength flowed through my veins. I would fight for him no matter what happened. Because we needed to be together.
My life was my own. Dare was my future—not Harvard, not my parents, not my father’s political career. Dare.
My phone rang, and I reached into my clutch to pull it out.
Mother.
Perfect fucking timing. She always knew how to shit on my parade. My heart pounded like I’d been caught in the act, which was stupid because she didn’t have a clue as to what was coming, in how many ways my life was going to veer off from her manicured path.
It was my path now.
Mine and Dare’s.
twenty
I ignored her call and a minute later she called again.
And again.
And again.
And it was starting to really piss me off. So the next time she called, I answered. Just to tell her to—
“Reagan!” Shit. She sounded too happy again. Something was going on, and I had no clue what, which made me feel helpless. She was the master at that.
Why the fuck had I answered the phone?
“What is it, Mother?” I snapped, turning to face the wall.
“Your father just finished a press conference.”
“THAT’s what you’re calling me about? Seriously?” She was un-fucking-believable. “Did he finally tell everyone he’s running for governor?”
“No, your father demurred again, and the people there were practically begging him to run. It is all going exactly as we planned.” What a crock of shit. I was so glad to be out of it. “We just wished you and Archer could have been here to enjoy it with us. You should see the way the press is running after Quincy and Pierce. You would think we were celebrities! Some reporters are actually on their way to your hotel right now to get your reaction.”
“What? My reaction? To what—the fact that he keeps saying he’s not going to run? That’s ridiculous. I’m not talking to the press.” I walked toward a quiet corner, turning my back on everyone in the gallery. I couldn’t believe they were sicking the press on me. A part of me felt like just outing my father, telling them he’d always planned to run and was just playing a game to garner more interest from the public. “What hotel did you send them to?”
“The George V, of course. Where Archer is right now. Are the two of you not there together?”
“Mother, I’m living in Paris. I’m not staying in a hotel.” I was trying to stop my eyes from rolling back in my head until I realized I didn’t have to—she couldn’t see me anyway.
“Reagan Allison McKinley, you are the daughter of the mayor of New York City, soon to be the daughter of the governor. You will conduct yourself as such. And by that I mean you will gather up your things and move into a suite at the George V. I will call to have it arranged for you. In the meantime, make yourself presentable. I hope you are not wearing that god-awful vintage clothing you love so much, and have done something with that flat hair of yours. We cannot have the press talking about how awful you look on your special day.”
Now THAT was what my mother usually sounded like. It was almost a relief to hear it. Almost.
“My special day?” Did she know about Dare’s show? Anything was possible with my parents. I shook my head. “I can’t talk to the press. I already told you I’m not at the hotel.” Even if I was, I wouldn’t bother with them. That wasn’t my life anymore. I was no longer my parents’ lackey.
There was a long silence on the other end, before my mother spoke again. “Well, where in the world are you if not with Archer? He flew all the way to France for you. To—”
“I’m at an art gallery. If Archer’s at the hotel, they can talk to him all they want. He gives better press.” A freaking dog would give a better, more enthusiastic performance in front of the paparazzi than I ever could.
“Fine. Archer will just have to bring them to you,” she said.
She wasn’t getting it. So I tried to be clear. “Mother, I’m not talking to the press. I don’t want to. I have nothing to say about the campaign. And I—”
“Alright, Reagan. Congratulations and remember to smile.”
“Congratu—what? Mother? Mother?” But she’d hung up.
I stared at my phone. What the fuck was she congratulating me on? The woman was out of her mind. On-her-tenth-martini out of her mind.
I was about to call Archer to
warn him, but when I looked up from my phone, he was getting out of a car in front of the gallery, surrounded by reporters and photographers.
What the—
My first instinct was to rush outside and keep the circus away from Dare and his debut into the art world. But then I realized that this kind of publicity might actually be a fantastic opportunity for him. If they came inside to talk to me, I could answer their questions and direct the attention onto Dare and his work, giving him greater exposure.
Perhaps this wasn’t an entirely bad thing after all.
Dare was staring out the window at Archer, his brows drawn together, his jaw firmly set. I began walking over toward him to explain what was happening as Archer opened the door and let the storm of reporters in. When they spotted me, they rushed over, blocking my path to Dare. I gave him a little helpless shrug and hoped my smile conveyed that I was going to handle this.
They made space for Archer to come stand by me as I waved Dare over, eager to introduce him and his work. Of course my parents were going to see this, but at this point I no longer cared. Maybe I would even give Dare a deliberate on-air kiss just to fuck with them. THAT would really make this all worthwhile.
But before Dare could move, a reporter called out, “Congratulations on your engagement, Miss McKinley! Have you and Mr. Chase set a date?”
As Archer smiled and put his arm around me, my eyes went straight to Dare’s.
His gaze was black with anger, and the color had drained from his face as he glared at me, looking like I’d just betrayed him. Ripped his fucking heart from his chest and then stomped all over it. His eyes stayed locked on mine, and I started shaking my head, just slightly. This couldn’t be happening.
“No,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “No, no…” Dare thought it was true. Why would he think it was true?
Several reporters turned their heads to see who I was staring at so intensely.
“Do you know this man, Miss McKinley?”
“No, she doesn’t,” Dare said before I could answer, his expression carved from stone, his eyes blazing into mine. He shook his head. “Clearly, this will always be your world, Reagan. You will never be completely out of it…and I want no part of it.”
Then he turned and stalked toward the door, Dax and Dalia hurrying behind him.
“No! Dare, wait!” I yelled, shrugging off Archer’s arm, but Dare just kept going, didn’t slow down, didn’t even turn to look at me. Dalia glanced back once, her face filled with hurt, and then they were out the door.
The reporters were shouting out questions but I couldn’t hear them. I was pushing to get through, but there were so many of them and they weren’t getting out of my way. Microphones pushed into my face, flashes spotted my vision.
Someone grabbed my arm and I whipped around to find Archer holding onto me.
“Archer. Let. Go.” My words came out in a snarl as I yanked on my arm, trying to free myself from his steely grip.
He plastered a plastic grin on for the press as he leaned down to me. “Just smile and nod, Reagan,” he said through his too-white teeth. “Think about what it’s going to look like if you go running after him. Appearance is everything.”
Maybe to him and my parents, but not to me. Not anymore. Fuck appearance.
So I turned right to the closest camera, hoping they would be watching my every move.
“It’s a LIE!” I said, my words laced with venom. “We are not engaged and we never will be. I love the man who just walked out of here, and I’m going after him.” I narrowed my eyes as I peered straight into the camera. “And this is for my parents—stop fucking with my life. It’s MY life now. Not yours. Never again yours.”
Then I was pushing my way through the group of reporters. More questions were flung my way, but I kept running until I was at the door and bursting out onto the street.
But Dare was gone. There was no sign of him anywhere. Nor of Dax or Dalia.
My eyes searched the streets—there were no cabs. Fuck, they were still on strike. And walking was going to take far too long.
I glanced down the block at the metro stop.
It was that or lose him.
And I couldn’t lose him. Not again. Not now, after everything we’d been through.
Swallowing my fear, I ran toward the entrance and descended into the darkness. Dare was worth every obstacle. I had to get to him and explain.
I only hoped I’d get there in time.
twenty-one
GONE.
He was gone.
I waited for hours outside his apartment, banged on his door, sat with my back against the wall, staring out into the empty hallway all night long.
Déjà fucking vu.
There was no doubt about it; I was paying for the betrayal I’d committed three years ago. And my punishment was losing Dare over and over again.
My heart couldn’t take it.
“I fought this time! Fought for you! Fought for us!” I screamed into the empty hallway.
“I TOOK THE FUCKING METRO.” And the memory of being down there, even though it had been well-lit, made me shudder. I’d kept my eyes closed the entire ride, I’d been shaking and dizzy…but I’d done it. “Because…you’re worth it, Dare. Because I love you.”
But he didn’t hear me.
No one heard me.
Somewhere around dawn, the door downstairs opened and I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I scrambled to my feet. My heart stilled, then hammered against my ribcage.
Dare hadn’t given up on me, on us. I knew he wouldn’t. I knew he couldn’t! I was so relieved that tears of joy sprang to my eyes.
And then Archer stepped into view and my entire world crashed around me.
My knees gave out, and I collapsed on the landing, sobs wracking me. Dare was gone. He was really gone. He didn’t want me. He wouldn’t even talk to me, let me explain.
Pain fractured my heart, spreading through my chest in jagged shards, making every breath a torturous agony. Archer’s arms wrapped around me, but I shrugged him off.
I didn’t want comfort. I wanted Dare.
But I’d lost him again.
No, my father had forced him away. He’d made me a pawn in his political game, announcing my supposed engagement rather than his bid for governor. It all suddenly made sense—Archer showing up here unannounced, my mother’s phone calls—they’d planned this. My father had carefully calculated it, as he’d done with every single political or business move he ever made. This was my parents’ way of showing me I could run, but I could never get away.
Oh, god. At this moment, I was pretty sure I could have strangled them both with my bare hands. Especially my father.
“How could he do this?” My words came out in a growl.
“I don’t know, baby girl. But I think it says something that he keeps leaving you.”
I looked up Archer, anger running through me. “No, not Dare,” I said. “My father. How could he make an announcement like this? How can he use my life like it’s just some fucking toy?”
“Oh.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s just the way he is, the way our world works. You know that. He’s just doing what he thinks is best for you.”
I closed my eyes and banged my head against the wall. Literally AND figuratively. “Are you seriously defending him? This doesn’t piss you off? Because he used you, too, you know. Why the hell did you agree to play his little game, Arch?” My head throbbed, and I rubbed my temples with my fingers.
Archer lowered himself down next to me. “What do you want me to say? Maybe I don’t see it as such a bad idea, Reagan.”
I didn’t even know how to reply to that. Archer had always been such a team player, going along with what his family—or mine—wanted. I guess I hadn’t ever thought about how very invested he was into the whole lifestyle. Or maybe…me.
I opened my eyes and he was on one knee.
“No.” I pressed my fingers harder against my head as I started sh
aking it.
He reached into his pocket, pulled something out.
“Archer, NO. I’m not kidding. Put that away.”
He couldn’t be serious. We’d never….We were friends. Good friends. Sure, in moments of weakness we’d been known to default to fuck-buddies much like we relied on pills and booze for the mind-numbing bliss they provided, but that was all.
Archer was the only real friend I had in our completely fucked-up world. My rock. I cared deeply about him, but I didn’t love him.
And fuck it all, he had to know that.
This couldn’t be happening.
But he was kneeling in front of me opening a little velvet box, his ice blue eyes shining.
No, no…HELL, NO.
“Reagan Allison McKinley, will you marry me?”
“Archer Huntington Chase, are you fucking insane?” I said. “That’s NOT my life. I don’t want it. I don’t love you, Arch.” He winced, and I reached out toward him, guilt filtering in. “Not like that. I’m not in love with you—I never have been. And you know that. I love Dare.”
Archer didn’t get up. “Reagan, think about it. We’re good together, you and me. We always have been.” He took my hands and squeezed. “Besides, what can he give you? Nothing. He’s got nothing but paint and brushes to offer you. His family legacy is a prison record. I can give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and more. In bed and out.” He grinned wickedly for a moment, then gazed at me in earnest. “You and I come from the same world. We belong together, baby girl. I think you know that. Your parents are right about this. Say you’ll marry me.”
And that’s when I saw Dare.
Over Archer’s shoulder.
He was frozen on the stairs, his eyes piercing my soul, his look of betrayal shattering my heart.
And in an instant he was gone.
Again.
Reagan and Dare’s story continues in...
Amsterdam. Dare’s out. The McKinleys play dirty—it’s not worth the fight.
But Ree is. She always has been.
There’s no escape for this artist.
(As a special treat, episode 3 will be told from both Reagan and Dare’s points of view!)