Beautiful Lies (The Beautiful Series Book 2)

by Emery Rose

  “Why would you ever toss this in the trash?”

  He shook his head but didn’t answer. It must have been the night I was at the hospital after my mom had asked him to leave. Before he’d gone to The Candy Store. He must have thought it wasn’t good enough. How wrong he was. I’d have to thank Claudia for rescuing it.

  “Come on. There’s something I want you to see.” He led me around the corner and we stopped in front of a dividing wall with only one painting on it, bigger than the others.

  “Connor…it’s so beautiful.” And it was.

  “Remember when you said we’re all made of stardust?”

  I nodded. “I remember. I remember everything,” I said softly. It was the night sky filled with stars, shimmering above a moonlit ocean. Shades of deep blue and purple and stardust scattered across the sky. Without thinking, I reached for his hand and it clasped around mine. “Look at what you’ve done, Connor. You took blank canvases and you created beautiful works of art. I’m so in awe of your talent. I can’t even…you amaze me.”

  He squeezed my hand. “You like it then?”

  “I love it. And Connor, I know you said that you need time but—”

  “Excuse me, are you the artist?” a woman asked.

  Connor dragged his gaze away from me and focused on the woman. “Yes, I am.”

  “Hey. I’ll leave you to do your thing,” I said, giving him a little smile.

  He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again and nodded.

  “I love this piece,” the woman said. “It would be perfect…”

  I took a deep breath as I walked away. This art…it was far too personal to belong to anyone but us. Good thing it hadn’t been left up to me. I would have put round orange stickers on all of them to let everyone know they’d already been sold.

  “Hey, you made it,” Eden said, pulling me into a hug then holding me at arm’s length. “You look amazing. If that dress doesn’t get Connor crawling back to you, then he’s an idiot.”

  “Connor’s not an idiot.”

  Eden’s smile grew wide. “Ha! You’re defending him.”

  I shrugged one shoulder and steered the conversation to her art. “Talk me through them,” I said, and listened to her description of each piece. We stopped in front of the final one. Two kids with dark hair and blue eyes, one a toddler, the other a few years older with his arm slung around the younger one’s shoulder. It was their smiles that captured me. They looked happy, their faces lit up with joy in a way I’d rarely seen from either of them. So young and innocent with no idea what their futures held in store.

  Killian wrapped his arms around Eden from behind and studied the painting as if he’d never seen it before, although surely he must have. “I found the photos in a shoebox in Seamus’ closet when I cleaned out his house last year,” he said, by way of explanation.

  “Do you think your mom took them?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was surprised he’d kept them.”

  “You were adorable.” He was. They both were. Unlike Connor, Killian had a matching set of dimples and Eden had captured them perfectly.

  He snorted, but Eden agreed with me. “It’s a great painting,” I told her. “I love it.” I noticed the round orange sticker that indicated it had been sold. Disappointment punched me in the gut. I was the worst. The whole point of an exhibit was to sell the pieces, yet I didn’t want anyone to buy them. “Who bought it?”

  “Keira.”

  I was relieved that this painting would stay in the family. It seemed fitting that Keira bought it, a little piece of her brothers from a childhood she’d missed sharing with them. After listening to Connor’s story, I’d decided that I hated their mother. She was no better than their father. In some ways, what she’d done was even worse. But I kept it to myself out of respect for Keira.

  “Your paintings look amazing in a gallery,” I said.

  “Connor’s don’t look too shabby either,” Eden said.

  “He did good,” Killian said, and I got the feeling he was talking about something more than the art.

  “Ava.” I turned at the sound of my mother’s voice.

  “Mom?” I looked past her to my dad, confused. I hadn’t spoken to her in three weeks, and I’d never told her about the exhibit. “What are you guys doing here? How did you even…”

  She pressed her lips together. “Connor invited us.”

  My brows shot up. “Connor invited you? You talked to Connor?”

  “Hello Killian,” she said, and my jaw dropped to the floor. What was going on here? I stood back as Killian greeted my parents and introduced them to Eden just as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Like they were old friends, catching up on each other’s lives. After the introductions and some small talk between my mom and Eden, Killian guided Eden away, leaving me alone with my parents.

  “You look beautiful,” she said, taking in the dress and heels, not even commenting on the tattoo peeking out of the sleeve of my dress. She swept my hair over my shoulder. “Did you use the curling tongs I gave you?”

  I nodded dumbly. I’d done my hair in soft waves just like she’d showed me. “You look like you belong on the red carpet.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, giving her a little smile. “You look beautiful, too.”

  “Oh well, I thought I should make an effort.” She smoothed a hand over her updo. It went with the black dress and pearls, a lot classier than my outfit. “It’s not every day my daughter is featured in an art exhibit. Although Bedford-Stuyvesant is not exactly…”

  “Marie,” my dad warned.

  She held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I come in peace. Cut me a break, would ya?”

  I laughed. Sometimes my mom could be funny. “So how did this happen?”

  “Connor paid us a visit and we talked.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised. “You talked? Why would he visit you?”

  “Because he loves you,” she said simply. “I’m willing to meet you halfway, but I’d like an apology.” My mom lifted her chin and gave me that stubborn look I knew so well.

  My dad’s eyes pleaded with me to comply with my mother’s wishes, so I wracked my brain for an apology that would sound sincere. “I’m sorry I ruined Thanksgiving dinner.” That part, at least, was true.

  “There,” she said. “Now was that so hard?”

  I laughed a little. “Now it’s your turn.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do I have to be sorry about?”

  “Marie,” my dad warned. I gave him a grateful smile. After all these years, he was starting to stand up to my mom. It gave me hope. Maybe people really could change.

  “Fine.” My mom sighed with resignation, but I suspected it was out of habit, more for show than anything. “I’m sorry I didn’t welcome Connor into our home on Thanksgiving.”

  “Thank you, Mom. That means a lot to me.”

  She sniffed and averted her gaze and I wondered what Connor could have possibly said to cause this transformation after all these years? I wished I’d been a fly on the wall for that conversation. My heart swelled with pride and gratitude. He’d gone over there for me.

  I turned to see Connor walking toward us, his eyes flitting over my face before his gaze swung to my parents. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head when my dad stepped forward and shook Connor’s hand. When my mom pulled him into a hug, my jaw dropped to the floor. Had I stepped into an alternate universe?

  I was still staring, dumbfounded, when my mom released Connor with a pat on his shoulder and wiped a tear out of her eye. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to look at this art.”

  As Connor led them away, he glanced over his shoulder and winked at me. Pretty proud of yourself. And rightly so.

  “Ava is my muse,” Connor was telling my parents when I joined them. “Not that any painting could do her justice.”

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s an amazing artist,” I said. This was his
night and I wanted him to be in the spotlight, to see him get the praise he deserved. I cast a glance at my mom, not sure what she thought of his paintings. She hadn’t said a word which usually meant she disapproved.

  We continued in silence until we reached the final painting. I wanted her to say something but only if what she had to say was good. I was torn between wanting her to keep her mouth shut and voicing her opinion.

  My dad spoke first. “This is damn fine work,” he said, looking to my mom as if to prompt her.

  “Well, I’m not a big fan of graffiti…” She lifted her chin and I gritted my teeth. Don’t do it, Mom. Do not shoot him down. For the love of God, please say something nice. “But I love it.”

  I exhaled a breath of relief, so grateful to her that I nearly wept with joy.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said. “Real works of art.”

  “Thank you,” Connor said, his face neutral but I knew his feelings were anything but neutral. He’d needed to hear words of praise and acceptance from my mom for years, but it had always been denied him. I didn’t know what he had said or done to change her mind about him but whatever it had been, it had worked.

  Not even Zeke’s appearance dimmed my joy. He’d brought a date, a leggy blonde who looked like she belonged in his world. And true to form, my mom couldn’t resist making a snide comment. “You run circles around that girl.”

  “Mom, she’s beautiful.”

  “Her face is a bit too horsey for my liking.”

  I sighed and shook my head, jabbing an elbow in Connor’s ribs when his body shook with silent laughter. “Watch yourself, Rocket Man.”

  “Are you jealous?” he asked quietly.

  I looked over at Zeke looking handsome and preppy in his navy pea coat, his skin perpetually golden tan even in the winter and his blond hair reaching the collar of his coat, his arm wrapped around the blonde girl, and I didn’t even feel a pang of jealousy. Over the two years I’d known Zeke, I’d seen him with plenty of girls. It had never affected me then and it didn’t affect me now. He had been what I needed at the time, maybe, a distraction as he’d pointed out. It had been fun and easy, stress and drama-free, with no emotions at play.

  “Not even a little bit.” But if I’d come in here tonight and had seen Connor with another girl it would have ripped me to shreds.

  My parents stayed a little while longer then left, claiming that snow was forecasted and my mom didn’t want my father to drive in it.

  “I certainly hope you didn’t drive that motorcycle,” my mom told Connor as we saw my parents out of the gallery, the first flurries starting to fall.

  “I got a ride in my friend’s truck. It’s hard to transport art on a motorcycle.”

  “Well, at least you were being sensible for a change,” my mom said.

  He chuckled, not bothered by her little dig and I bit my tongue to stop the words from coming out. No sense in arguing with her when she was trying so hard. Wow. Look how mature I’d gotten. I laughed under my breath, hugged my parents and went back inside with Connor.

  “I should probably call an Uber…”

  “Or…you could stay and get a ride home with Killian. Save you some money.”

  I let out a frustrated breath. I wanted him to tell me that he wanted me to stay with him. He was just trying to save me money. Dammit. Why did everything have to be so difficult for us?

  “I’m tired of waiting.” I wasn’t talking about waiting for a ride, but he didn’t try to stop me when I typed the information into my phone and ordered an Uber. “Five minutes,” I said, glancing at the people milling around the gallery. A couple approached him, recognizing him as the artist from the photo I’d uploaded onto social media that he’d known nothing about. He’d probably never checked the FB page for this gallery exhibit. It could have been the photo that had helped Keira find him. How long would he have kept that a secret if she hadn’t shown up?

  “Hey, I need to go. It was great seeing you. Really. And your art…” I swallowed before the tears fell. “It’s amazing.”

  “Thank you for coming. Let me walk you out—”

  “No. Stay. Do your thing.”

  “Ava—”

  I retrieved my coat and walked out of the gallery into the cold and the snow flurries. A gray Prius pulled up to the curb and I checked that the plates matched the number on my phone before climbing into the backseat and closing the door behind me. I watched through the window as we pulled away from the gallery, half-expecting Connor to chase after me. He didn’t.

  My buzzer roused me from a half-sleep and I tripped over my discarded shoes in my haste to answer. “Hey,” I said into the intercom, without bothering to ask who it was because I knew. I knew it was him.

  “Hey, babe.”

  Babe. I buzzed him in and opened my apartment door. Downstairs, I heard the door slam followed by a thud and a few choice curse words from Connor. “Watch it, Tate. This isn’t one of your junkers. Handle with care.”

  Tate grumbled something, but I didn’t catch the words.

  I leaned over the banister and looked down. “Do you guys need help?” I called down the stairwell, unable to wipe the smile off my face.

  “We’ve got it. Tate’s not used to handling delicate objects.”

  “Fuck you,” Tate growled. Connor laughed, and those butterflies were back now, invading my stomach and putting me into a tailspin. I knew what that delicate object was, and I was so happy my body could barely contain all this joy. When I’d come home earlier, I’d collapsed on the sofa, dejected. I’d been sad that he just let me go without a fight. No grand gesture. No chasing after my car in the snow. No proclamation about how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I’d felt deflated and even though he’d asked me to wait for him, I had still expected him to realize that we could do this together.

  He appeared on the landing, a tentative smile on his face and I held the door open wide to let them inside. The painting was wrapped in bubble-wrap, but I could see the shades of the blue and purple and I knew it was the stardust painting.

  “Where do you want this?” Tate asked.

  “The bedroom,” Connor and I said in unison. I’d already decided it belonged on the wall across from my bed and obviously, Connor had come to the same conclusion.

  “Thanks, Tate,” I said when they returned to the living room.

  “No problem,” Tate said on his way out the door. A part of me was still scared that Connor would follow him. That he’d just come to drop off the painting. But he closed the door and turned to face me.

  “I thought you sold that painting.”

  “I couldn’t. It belongs to you.” He took a few steps closer. “You’re still wearing the dress.”

  “Maybe I was hoping you’d stop by. Or maybe I fell asleep on the sofa.”

  He smiled then crossed the room to my Christmas tree in front of the window. It wasn’t as grand as Eden’s, but I loved the sparkly lights and kitschy decorations I’d collected over the years from flea markets and antique shops. “I remember these,” he said, holding a crystal teardrop in his palm and running his thumb over it. We’d seen them in an antique shop the summer we were eighteen. We were told they’d come from a chandelier and Connor had gone back and bought them without my knowing it. One day, I came back to my dorm room and found them strung on fishing wire across my windows which he’d decorated with hundreds of fairy lights, turning my crappy dorm room into an enchanted place. I joined him by the tree. He hadn’t taken off his jacket yet.

  “You said you’re tired of waiting. In the gallery,” he clarified. “It’s only been three weeks.”

  “It feels like a lifetime.”

  “I started seeing Killian’s shrink. I’ve still got a lot of shit to work out.”

  I braced myself, waiting for him to tell me he was leaving again, that he needed more time. “If you’re not staying, walk yourself right out that door. I can’t keep doing this with you. I can’t keep losing you, Connor.”
r />   “If you’ll take me as I am, a work in progress…I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his hand sliding up my neck and tangling in my hair as he pulled me closer. My arms wrapped around his neck and he lowered his head, his mouth covering mine. We kissed each other with everything we had and everything we were. Every teardrop and memory, secret and lie, every heartbreak and promise. We poured everything into this kiss. When our lips separated, our breathing was ragged.

  “I love you,” he said. “So fucking much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Connor had heard me say those words hundreds of times, but tonight it looked like he believed the words.

  Epilogue

  Connor

  Our life doesn’t fit in a box and we can’t wrap it up in a neat little bow. All we can do is embrace each day as it comes. Recognize it as a gift and be grateful for each new sunrise and sunset. As we put the miles behind us, we keep our gazes fixed forward, not in the rear-view mirror. Our past doesn’t define us, but it helped shape us into who we are today—better, stronger versions of ourselves. It was never about the destination. It’s the journey that matters. And I want to take every step, every leap of faith with this girl who stole my heart so many years ago and never gave it back. I pull over onto the shoulder of the road and cut the engine, patting the dash of the ’69 Mustang Shelby I bought from Tate a few months ago. Turns out he’d been saving it for me. I handed Ava the keys for her twenty-fifth birthday and she immediately started planning our road trip to California. I’d deleted her spreadsheet and told her we were just going where the road took us. No itinerary, no agenda, just us and the open road. We both needed the vacation. Life has been hectic. Busy, but good. Ava started her new job in January. She threw herself into it a hundred percent, like I knew she would, and she says she’s glad we gave her a push. The new job is more difficult and the hours are longer, but she says it’s more fulfilling.