by Bella Andre
As he spoke, Jocelyn searched his eyes, but he wasn’t worried about what she’d see. The love he had in his heart for Reese would overshadow all else.
Jocelyn finally smiled at him, as if he’d just passed a test. A really big one. “She’s at home, in her studio.”
“Thank you. Not just for telling me where she is, but for always being there for her. Especially when I wasn’t.”
Chapter Seventeen
MUSIC PLAYED SOFTLY in Reese’s backyard studio. It was a small studio, no bigger than a shed, but it was the perfect size to paint in, with plenty of windows to let in as much natural light as possible. The combination of the studio and the close proximity to her parents’ house were the two things that had sold her on the cozy cottage, and since moving in a few years earlier, she’d planted lovely gardens and decorated both the cottage and the studio in her own unique and colorful style.
She wore a pair of her painting overalls and was already covered with streaks of paint from pouring all of her emotions into the old canvas she’d pulled out of the back of the closet in her studio. She’d started the painting when she and Trent had first started dating, and then she’d gotten so caught up in their relationship that she’d set it aside. She’d tried to find her muse after moving back to the island, but while it came easily for other paintings, this one hadn’t spoken to her. It had remained unfinished for all this time, a raw mess of emotions shoved into the back of her closet.
But when she’d come into her studio this afternoon, she’d been immediately drawn to the painting. And now it was finally coming together, bursting with passion and color.
Reese rarely picked favorites among her work because each piece was so different that it was nearly impossible to choose. But the painting she was currently working on spoke to her far louder than all the rest. She felt as if it were rooted so deeply in her heart that she could finish it with her eyes closed.
She held the paintbrush in one hand and took a step back to study it. Lipstick red rounded out two chins, contoured with wide strokes of black, which faded into pink and fluorescent-green bows of two mouths. Aqua blue, pink, and more black streaked over contours of misshapen cheeks and over the ridge of two equally misshapen noses. Four eyes gazed out at her, a mix of blues and greens and peppered with amber. Two bodies twisted like tornado funnels, swirling together, drawing strength and sharing heartache as they created energy that soared up toward the sky in bright starbursts and jagged lines.
To a stranger it might look like two faces had been put into a bottle, shaken up, and splattered onto a canvas, with two bodies that had also been stretched and twisted and bound together, then coiled beneath the whirlwind of emotions on the faces. But to Reese the images weren’t tangled at all. They were as real and as raw as the explosive emotions inside of her. And just as Jocelyn had said, the more she painted, the better she felt.
“Reese?”
She spun around, shocked to find Trent standing just inside the door to her studio. All of her emotions had risen to the surface over the course of the afternoon, and now she felt as if her skin were on fire as he stepped forward, giving her an easy yet sensual smile that made her insides melt.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but you were lost in your work.” His eyes slid over her like a caress before he asked, “Can I see what you’re working on?”
“It’s not finished,” she said, but she stepped aside to let him look at the canvas.
He stared at the painting for a long time without saying a word, and her heart leaped to her throat, knowing that he’d see her emotions all over the painting. By the way he was assessing it, and glancing back at her with darkening eyes, she knew she was right.
She stepped in front of the painting, feeling raw and exposed as she said, “There’s a lot I still need to do to it.”
“I think it’s perfect.” His voice was deep and soothing, as if he understood just how vulnerable she was feeling. “I missed watching you paint, Reese. I always thought it was so incredible to watch you get completely swept up in your work.”
Just the way she was getting swept up in him right now. Twice today he’d surprised her with unexpected visits. This morning she’d kissed him. And now? Well, she wasn’t good enough at lying to herself to think they were going to get by with just a kiss this afternoon.
“Tell me about this one.”
He was pointing at a painting that reminded her of a storm coming in through the clouds. Carefully stepping over her tarp, which was splattered with paint, she moved around open paint cans and set her paintbrush with the other drenched brushes, before she replied.
“It’s called Struggle.”
It was such an angst-filled word, but she could find no better way to describe the deep purple, yellow, orange, greens, and every shade of blue she could create that streaked violently across the canvas. There was no landscape, no houses in the distance, just the raging, disjointed storm, coming together from all angles. Only when the driving clouds collided did the colors soften, finally giving way to graceful flourishes as they edged off the canvas.
“I should have guessed,” he said softly as he turned to face her. He used to be able to guess the names for her paintings, as if he could see right into her heart just by looking at them. “You were incredibly talented when we first met, Reese, and you’re even more so now. I was so pleased when I started finding your artwork in New York galleries.”
“You saw my work in New York?” It truly hadn’t occurred to her that he might have seen her paintings during his years living in the city. He’d worked so many hours when they were together that she couldn’t imagine him taking off time to visit a gallery.
“I had a business meeting with the owner of one of the galleries, and once I saw your work there, I went looking for more.”
“Why?”
He reached for her hand. “Because your art is a piece of you, Reese. I bought every piece I could get my hands on, until I had no place else to keep them.”
“You bought them?”
“I told you that I never stopped loving you, and I meant it. After you left, your paintings were the only way I could be close to you.”
He gathered her into his arms, but even though that was exactly where she wanted to be, she pulled back, saying, “I’m covered in paint.”
But he pulled her in close again. “It’s your paint, Reese. And I love knowing something of yours is now a part of something that’s mine.”
That was something the old Trent would have said, but New York Trent would have been worried about his clothing and one of his colleagues seeing a stain on his fancy suit. She took pleasure in the marked difference.
“I’m so happy you made it, Reese. Despite what happened between us, your dreams of showing your work in galleries came true.”
“It almost didn’t happen,” she admitted.
He slid his warm hands up her arms and asked, “Why not?”
“Oh, Trent.” She tried to take a step away, but he held her gently. “It’s so hard to talk about that time of our lives.”
“Reese, we made mistakes, but I know we can learn from them so that we don’t make the same ones a second time. Please talk to me.”
Could they really learn from their mistakes? Because she sure felt like she was falling right back into his arms just as quickly as before, and she was just as powerless to resist.
“I went by your gallery again,” he said softly when she didn’t respond. “You named it after us, didn’t you?”
“It’s been called Dandelion since I opened the doors. You just now noticed?”
“Even thinking about you hurt, so I did everything I could to bury my head in the sand. We spent a lot of time avoiding each other, remember?”
“All too well,” she admitted.
Because she’d done exactly the same thing—buried her head deep in the sand so that she wouldn’t have to look around and see signs of Trent everywhere on the island. The first place they’d kiss
ed. The first place they’d made love. The first place they’d said I love you. But now, as she gazed into his loving eyes, she was struck by the sincerity in them. Struck, too, by the realization that it was time to finally lift her head all the way out of the sand and face the man standing before her.
“You’re right. We’ve gone way too long without talking about what happened.”
All of the chairs in her studio were covered with supplies, so they sat on the floor among the paint fumes and wet brushes. Trent immediately tugged her in close, pulling her legs over his lap, the way he always used to. Despite the difficult conversation they were about to have—or maybe because of it—she needed the closeness. And she could tell that he did, too.
But even as she wiggled in closer while her heart went crazy—and the look in his eyes told her that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him just then—she knew they really did need to talk. Because sex without love had never been her thing. Not ten years ago. And not now.
“Trent...” There was so much she needed to say to him that all the words got tangled up inside her head. “I don’t know where to start,” she admitted in a soft voice.
“I think maybe I do,” he said, his words gentle, soothing her the same way his hand stroking over her back worked to calm her jumping nerves. “Yesterday you asked me why I waited ten years to come back for you. Today I think I may have finally figured out the reason. At least part of it.”
“Tell me, Trent. I need so badly to understand.”
“I never really loved New York City. Not the way everyone thought I did.” She was stunned by his confession, but she made herself stay quiet to let him continue speaking. “As the eldest Rockwell, I felt so much pressure to succeed, and I was afraid to let my family, and myself, down by coming back to the island. I knew my father didn’t want me to end up working under Chandler’s thumb the way he had his whole life. So even though New York never really fit—especially not without you—I stayed because I felt like I had something to prove to everyone.” He shook his head. “And now I wish I had come back years ago. Come back to you and the life we should have had here together.”
Reese was struck dumb as she tried to fit what he’d said into the reality she’d believed for ten years. She’d thought he craved the busy, corporate environment and the challenge of getting to the top of the industry ladder. But could she have been as blind to his true emotions as he’d been to hers back then?
“But after I left you that note,” she said slowly, “when you did come back to talk with me that final time, you told me you had to work those crazy round-the-clock hours to gain footing. And I knew there was no point in trying to argue with you, not when you had such laser focus on success.”
“I was twenty-six, Reese. Full of invincibility and driven to succeed, and too blinded by the belief that I needed to make sure the Rockwell name meant as much in New York as it did here on the island that I refused to consider any other options.” He ran a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “Ten years later I now know that while other lawyers were living and breathing the business, I wasn’t working round-the-clock because I loved the law above all else. I was simply trying to prove to everyone that I was worthy of the Rockwell name. Worthy of my position in our family. I was trying to show Chandler that I didn’t need his name to succeed. And I wanted my father to feel that guiding us to leave the island and get out from under his father’s thumb was a good thing.”
“It was a good thing. You are so well respected in your field, Trent. Regardless of your reasons for working so hard, I won’t let you try to tell me otherwise. And I definitely don’t want to take that away from you.”
“You’re beautiful when you’re adamant.”
“Stop… Your touch is kryptonite to my mental abilities. It’s so easy for me to forget everything we went through and end up in your arms again, but...” She stopped and looked into his eyes. “I want to make sure being together is more than just physical. That it’s emotional, too. And honest. As honest as we can possibly be with each other.”
Which was why she suddenly knew she needed to be completely honest, and finally admit the truth to him about why she’d fallen apart in New York. “Ten years ago, New York City terrified me. Right from the start, I was all but paralyzed by the noise and the chaos and the traffic.”
“Sweetheart.” He brushed a lock of hair back from her face, his touch as tender and loving as it had ever been. “Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling?”
“You were so busy at work, and you were so supportive of my painting. I didn’t want you to know how weak I was. Didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle our new life.” She nibbled on her lower lip, feeling terribly vulnerable again.
“You were nineteen, and you’d lived on the island your whole life, where practically everyone knows one another. Being overwhelmed doesn’t make you weak. Hell, I was overwhelmed by New York and all the pressure that came along with the competitive law firms.”
“You were?” She wondered if he was saying that to lessen her own insecurities. “You never told me.”
“What kind of a husband would I have been if I’d laid my worries on you? At least that’s what I thought back then, when I was young and stupid. So damn stupid not to have seen what you were going through, too.”
“If I hadn’t hidden my true feelings from you...” She inhaled a shaky breath, wondering if they would have been able to save their marriage if they had been honest and open with each other back then.
“You’re not hiding them now,” he said. “And neither am I. I’d say that’s a good first step for a future together, wouldn’t you?”
“It is,” she agreed, but she knew they weren’t quite done revisiting the past yet. “The day before I left New York, I got sick of feeling so overwhelmed, not just by the city, but by the thought of talking with gallery owners, too. So I bit the bullet and went to an important gallery I’d just read about, intent on seeking out the owner.”
“You obviously made a great impression on him or her.”
“I wish I could say that I did. But it was all accidental. When I got there, there were so many ritzy, important-looking people, that I chickened out. I didn’t talk to anyone, barely had the guts to leave my card at the front desk. By the time I ran out of there, I knew I didn’t belong in New York. I got lucky that the receptionist was trying to make a name for herself in the art world and liked the painting I put on my card enough to reach out.”
“You keep telling me how scared you were, but you made it happen anyway, Reese. And I’m proud of you. So damn proud.”
His continued—and boundless—faith in her touched her so deeply that her next words spilled from her lips, coming straight from her heart. “I’m sorry I left the very next day. I’m sorry I left you with nothing but that note when I should have been brave enough to say goodbye face-to-face. It must have been horrible to come home and find my letter.”
Trent pulled her in closer and slid his hand to the nape of her neck before saying, “Do you know that feeling when you’re watching a horror movie and your skin feels like it’s on fire, and you’re holding your breath, waiting for the ax to fall?”
She nodded.
“I felt like the person that ax falls onto.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so tremendously sorry. All these years, I had somehow convinced myself that you came home and found the note, then sort of shrugged it off and buried yourself in more work.”
“Shrugged it off? Did I make you feel like you meant that little to me?” Hearing that made him feel like his heart was being hollowed out.
“I don’t know that I thought that, but I always wondered what you felt when you found the note. Thank you for being so honest with me.”
“I will always be honest with you. Even if the truth is hard for both of us to hear. Which is why I need to know, what did it feel like to write the note?”
“It felt like I was holding the ax and I was beneat
h it at the same time. I remember shaking like a leaf. I think I wrote it five times before finally deciding I was really leaving.”
He tugged her in close again. “I’m sorry I put you—us—in that situation, Reese. I adore you, and I’ll never do it again.”
“And I’m so sorry that I couldn’t figure out how to make our marriage work,” she said softly.
He didn’t argue with her, but simply said, “I forgive you, Reese.” He took her hand in his before asking, “Do you think you can forgive me?”
“Yes.”
And with that one word, it was as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She gazed into his eyes, feeling infinitely better than she had in years. “Do you know how many times I imagined having this talk with you?”
“I know I’ve imagined it at least a million times.” He turned her palm over in his hand and stroked over it with his fingertips, making thrill bumps rise all across her skin. “Maybe we needed that time apart to grow and mature and to really figure out what we wanted in a relationship and in our careers and our lives.”
She nodded, thinking that maybe he was right about that. “Lately I’ve been wondering if I put too much pressure on us to fit into the perfect marriage mold—home by six, dinner on the table. I realize now that’s not how things work for everyone.”
“Sort of like the way you keep trying to get us to slow down now?”
“Slow has never been our forte, has it?” she admitted, before adding, “Unfortunately, I’m not sure we’re very good at marriage either.”
“Maybe we weren’t very good at marriage because we weren’t ready for it.” She appreciated that he hadn’t pulled away at her painful statement, but gathered her closer, instead. “People grow, and they change. I’ve changed, Reese, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I know how to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
