by Gun Brooke
“Soup. Bread. Mineral water.”
“Sounds good to me. They have minestrone, lobster bisque, and vegetable soup.”
“Lobster bisque.”
“All right.” I placed the order and then walked into the bathroom to wash my hands. As I turned to dry them, Hayden was politely waiting her turn, standing just outside the door opening. “Hey, if the door’s open, you can come in without asking. Okay?”
“Okay.” Hayden stepped inside and washed her hands. “When are we going to the gallery?”
“At five. I suggest you bring a sketch pad or something in case you get bored while I make sure everything’s going as planned.”
“Okay.”
Returning to the main room, Hayden curled up on the bed to watch TV while we waited for our lunch. I sat down at the desk again, this time pulling out my laptop. Then I fired off a text message on my phone to India and one to Isabella, telling them we’d arrived safely and all was well.
After our lunch, Hayden helped me push the cart out into the corridor and I called the desk, asking for a wake-up call at 3:45. That would give us plenty of time to get ready and walk over to the gallery.
Hayden was watching TV again with the sound almost off. I took a blanket from the closet and curled up on the other bed, suddenly so tired I could barely see. Of course, I’d stressed about the trip as much as Hayden had, in my own way. I was so relieved she’d done so well while facing her demons, I was exhausted.
I didn’t know how long I’d slept when something woke me. At first I thought perhaps it was the wake-up call, but then I heard a muted whimper from my right. Turning, I glanced over at Hayden, who was asleep, hugging a pillow in her arms. I thought she must be dreaming, and only when I saw her face contort did I realize it wasn’t a good dream. She didn’t talk in her sleep, but she kept holding on to the pillow and whimpering. Her right hand gripped for what I imagined were the paintbrushes that had fallen onto the floor. After a few moments, I couldn’t bear the anguish emanating from her any longer. I slipped out of my bed and crossed over to hers.
“Hayden? You’re dreaming, darling.” I cautiously stroked her hair, not knowing if she’d swing at me. She didn’t, but I felt dampness at the temples. Her cheeks were also damp and hot to the touch. This wouldn’t do. “Hey, wake up. You’re safe. You did so well today, and you’re safe.”
Her eyes shot open, red-rimmed and huge in her flustered face. “I’ll be good,” she said, forcing the words out as if her vocal chords hurt. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
Good? What did that mean? Why would she say something like that? What the hell had happened in her past that she’d need to say such a thing? I ached for her and wanted to hit someone at the same time. She couldn’t be quite awake yet, I thought, caressing her cheek. Sitting down on the side of the bed, so as not to hover above her, I held her shoulders and squeezed gently. “Are you awake? It’s Greer. We’re in Chicago, having a nap before we’re off to the gallery. Hayden?” I picked up the brushes off the floor and pressed them into her hand.
“Yes. Okay. I’m awake.” Her body was slowly relaxing, but she was still shaking.
“Good. That was some nightmare. You all right?” I pushed the damp hair from her face.
“Almost.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I meant like a hug or something, but Hayden scooted back and held out her arms after tossing the pillow to the foot of the bed. This could backfire, but how could I deny her? What’s more—how could I ever resist her? I lay down next to her and took her in my arms, brushes and all. “There. Much better.”
“Yes.”
“It’s only two thirty. We can sleep some more.” I cupped the back of her neck and massaged her scalp with gentle fingertips. “I have you.”
“Yes.”
“Are you comfortable like this?” I certainly was. I couldn’t remember ever being this at ease and enjoying someone else’s presence this much.
“Yes.” Hayden shifted slightly and moved her right arm. Her hand ended up nestled between my breasts, which threw the concept of well-being out the window. Now my heart started pounding and it was my turn to tremble.
Hayden might have thought I needed some form of comfort, because she started moving her hand up and down where it lay, caressing along my sternum. I wore only a tank top under my shirt, which made the touch feel even more intimate.
“You’re shaking.” Hayden pushed up on her elbow and looked down at me. “Why?”
“Hmm. You’re touching me and it feels…very good.” Far too good. I wanted to take her hand and have it cup my breast, but of course I didn’t.
“This?” Hayden didn’t stop but expanded the caress. She let her hand go down to my stomach, touched me from side to side, and then moved up to my chest again. “Does this feel good too?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice little more than a croak. “Oh, God. Hayden, you’re…”
And then she kissed me. Soft and gentle at first, but by no means innocently, she parted my lips and I was completely lost in her. Her mouth was warm, sweet, and so intoxicating; I knew in my heart I would never get enough of her. Hayden’s hair fell forward around us, just long enough to create even more intimacy.
My hands had been inactive until now, but it was impossible not to reciprocate the touches. As I held her waist, I found her shirt had ridden up and uncovered naked, warm skin. It was satin smooth under my hand, and I ran it up and down as far as the bunched-up fabric would allow me.
Hayden let go of my lips, and I was about to moan my objection to being deserted when her lips began a new journey. She kissed my jawline, down my neck, and on down to the indentation just below. I heard her inhale and murmur something about how good I smelled. Her own scent engulfed me and drew me farther in. I found the top button of her shirt, popped it open, and then found another one, unfastening that one as well. Now I had access to her entire front, but somehow, knowing that I did stopped me from taking it further.
I pulled my hand out from under her shirt and used it to gently tug her closer so she could kiss me again. As we explored each other’s mouths, I found I had never loved kissing anyone as I did Hayden. To me, kissing was more intimate than any sexual act. So, engaging in this prolonged caressing of the lips, the tongue, tasting her…it shattered what little protection I had left. After all these years of safeguarding my heart, of loving only my business and caring for my friends, the armor I’d constructed was disintegrating.
No matter what the future held, I confessed something to myself on that luxurious queen-size bed in Chicago, with my lips pressed hotly against hers—I was falling in love with Hayden.
Chapter Nineteen
The gallery quickly filled with art lovers, critics, and the curious public. Their buzzing voices created a cacophony of sound that was quickly giving me a headache. I stayed away from the champagne and stuck to mineral water, just like Hayden. As I’d promised, I didn’t leave her side but stood on the mezzanine with her, a pathway on the second floor stretching the entire length of the gallery, overlooking the people below.
They strolled by Andreas Holmer’s paintings, stopping every now and then to peruse them, pointing, discussing, and those who saw him in the midst of them seemed to let him know what they thought. Judging from Andreas’s expression, the comments were beneficial.
I found myself holding my breath as the first group wandered into the last of the large rooms, which in turn led back to where they’d started in the main hall. I’d arranged Hayden’s paintings so they would be the last thing the viewers saw, with plenty of space for the visitors to stand and gaze at them.
I also had the gallery staff corral her paintings by roping them off with a tulle fabric pulled through the posts. A photo of Hayden I’d borrowed from her house hung to the left of her painting of a girl and a white picket fence. Looking at the photo next to the name of the painting reminded me of the interesting discussion we’d had while on the way over to the gallery, once I’d realized neit
her of her pieces had a name.
“Come up with something,” I said as we walked to the gallery. “A girl. A white picket fence. Her wondering what’s out there. The ragdoll. Does she fear the unknown?”
“Both. She wants to know what’s beyond her walls, but she’s told it’d be dangerous.” Hayden grew quiet and I let her think. “All right. Perilous Wonder.”
I blinked. That was quick. “All right. Sounds good to me. And the sunflower painting?”
“Do what you did before.”
“What do you mean?” I glanced over at her, trying to figure out what she was asking.
“Tell me the details like you did with the first painting. That’s when the name appeared in my head.” Hayden took my hand and squeezed it gently.
“Ah. Okay. A woman. Reaching for the sky. Field of sunflowers. Small furry creatures observing her. Sunlight.”
Hayden nodded slowly and was silent again. I enjoyed walking down the street with her, still holding hands, not caring one bit if anyone noticed. I’d hold her hand as long as she’d let me.
“Sun Spirit.”
“I can tell you’re going to be brilliant at this.” I grinned. “That’s a great name for that painting. I’ll have the staff make the signs for it as soon as we’re there.
Hayden returned my smile, and right then she looked so joyful and free, I wished I could freeze the moment and have her always feel like that.
Now I saw the first visitors leave Andreas’s last painting, smiling favorably, and head into the last part. They stopped, their expressions changing from interested to mesmerized as they looked back at Andreas’s paintings still in view and back again at Perilous Wonder. A woman leaned forward to study Hayden’s photo and read out loud the short biography printed beneath it. Her voice carried above the buzz.
“Who’s this? Have you ever heard of her, Scott?”
The man also peered closely at Hayden’s photo and shook his head. “No. Did it say anything about her in the program?”
It did. I had added a small section with information about Hayden, clearly stating she was making her pre-debut as a painter courtesy of Andreas Holmer.
More visitors showed up, all of them stopping, staring, browsing through the program, and looking around as if to spot the artist.
“Time to go downstairs, darling,” I said quietly. “Remember, we’re staying behind the roped-off area, and if you feel overwhelmed by too much attention, just take a break and we’ll walk back up here. All right?”
“Okay.” Hayden stuck her hands into the deep pockets of her flowing white dress. She looked spectacular in the white ankle boots that matched the thigh-length dress perfectly. I’d put her hair up in a loose twist, letting soft locks frame her face. When I’d asked her about using makeup, she’d looked suspiciously at my makeup kit.
“I’ve never used it.”
“But you’re a painter—this isn’t much different. You won’t need any foundation, just a little bit of eye shadow and mascara. If you don’t like it, you can wash it right off.”
“Okay.” Hayden trustingly lifted her face to me where she sat on the stool in the bathroom. I applied some light-brown eye shadow to accentuate her deeply set eyes. Two layers of mascara made her impossibly dense lashes look like she could catch butterflies with them. A pink lip gloss made her full lips glow, and watching her did strange things to my entire system. She suddenly appeared worldly, unless you took the time to read her eyes. When I did, my Hayden, the woman I felt I knew better than I’d known anyone, was still very much there.
“What do you think?” I turned her toward the mirror. It was fun to see her mouth go a little slack at the surprise.
“I look different. Still me, but different.”
“Want to keep it?”
“Yes.”
“All right. My turn.” I put more makeup on myself. I was paler than she was and needed bronzer and blush to not fade out among all the lights that would be illuminating the art pieces at the gallery. When I finished, I turned to Hayden for inspection. “Good enough?”
“Also different. Very beautiful, but when I kiss you again later, we should wash up first.”
I laughed breathlessly as we left the bathroom to get dressed. Later. Oh, bliss.
Now I walked down the staircase cleverly leading the way to the roped-in area where Hayden’s paintings were displayed.
“Ms. Landon! Is this the young artist? Is this Hayden Rowe?” Several people pounced on us, and I felt more than saw Hayden come to a full stop.
“Yes, it is. Careful now, one at a time. Don’t scare her.” I blinked as I said it, as I hoped they’d think I meant Hayden was simply a shy girl, new to the scene.
“Ms. Rowe, where have you been hiding?” asked a woman in a red suit. Her name eluded me, but I recognized her as a renowned Chicago art critic.
“In a gym hall in Boston,” Hayden replied, her voice steady, but her back pressed to the wall next to Sun Spirit.
“Really?” Looking taken aback, the woman smiled uncertainly. “And is that where you created these masterpieces?”
I nearly swallowed my tongue. To hear Red Suit—who rarely even bothered with new artists, let alone giving them any praise whatsoever—call Hayden’s art masterpieces floored me.
“Only Perilous Wonder,” Hayden said. “I painted Sun Spirit in my new studio.”
“Now, now, Elsa. Don’t monopolize the poor girl,” a short, stocky man said. “I’m Dennis Lombard. Here’s my card. I don’t know who your current agent is, but I’m sure they can’t be doing as good a job for you as I can.” He winked at Hayden in a paternal way.
Hayden accepted the card and read it thoroughly. Looking up, she shook her head and handed it back. “I don’t need it. I don’t have an agent and I don’t want one.” She paused. “But it was polite of you to offer.”
Elsa Red Suit snorted. “She showed you, Dennis.” She turned to me. “When’s Ms. Rowe having her exclusive exhibition? Will that be here or in Boston?”
“We haven’t come up with a date yet, or which venue. If I’m to make a guess, I’d say this fall.”
“These are both oils,” a young man said. “Is that your favorite medium, Ms. Rowe?”
“No.”
He waited for Hayden to continue, and when she didn’t elaborate, he tried again. “Which other mediums do you work with?”
“Acrylics, watercolor, charcoal, pencil, crayons, and pastels.”
“Wow, that’s impressive. I’m Jason Rhys.” He extended his hand to Hayden, who now took a step sideways to put more distance between them.
“I’m Hayden Rowe,” she said and gave her polite crocodile grin.
Slowly he lowered his hand, frowning. “How come this is the first we’ve heard of you?” His voice had changed, now sounding sharper, and I wasn’t so sure he was such an admirer after all.
“I’ve been busy painting.” Hayden glanced at me, clearly needing reassurance.
“Hayden is a very hard-working artist, and I was lucky to stumble across her art only weeks ago. I don’t think she realized how good she is—it’s as simple as that.” Out of the corner of my eyes I saw her squeeze her brushes in the deep pockets of her dress.
More people entered the room, making it impossible for Jason, Elsa Red Suit, and Dennis Lombard to remain by the roped-off area. The following people were kind and appreciative, pouring accolades over Hayden, who eventually started to look exhausted. I decided she’d had enough for now, and frankly so had I. She would have one more opportunity tomorrow to meet her adoring new fans.
“Thank you, everybody, but we have to leave,” I said, trying my best to sound sorry. “I’m sure my staff and Andreas Holmer are ready to answer any questions you may have. Please feel free to have some more champagne.” I took Hayden by the hand and ushered her up the stairs. We didn’t linger on the mezzanine but walked into the small lounge area leading into my office.
“You did great, Hayden,” I said, and hugged her. “I’m
so proud of you, since I know this was hard on you.”
“I liked part of it. I didn’t like Jason Rhys.”
“I could tell.”
“How?” Hayden sat down on the couch and reached for another bottle of water.
“Well, first of all, I didn’t care for his attitude either, even if I couldn’t put my finger on what bothered me about him exactly.”
“I can rarely put my finger on anything that bothers me. Nor do I want to. I usually stay away from things, or people, that bother me. When it’s possible. When it’s not my mother.”
“You know,” I said, and sat down next to her, “I think putting some distance between you and your mother might be a good thing in the long run. Once she comes to terms with the fact that you’re not living at the school anymore, that you’ve started your career, she might come around and see that you’re a grown woman. An adult in charge of her own life.”
Hayden tilted her head and considered my words. “I don’t think so. My mother has never accepted any skills in any way. She thinks I’m naïve and incapable of making my own decisions.” She looked sorrowfully at me. “I used to try to convince her, despite Nana’s objections, but Mother…never listens. Not to anyone, and never, ever to me.”
I wanted to reach all the way back to Boston and throttle the woman who’d hurt Hayden so badly over the years. Instead I channeled my emotions into my love for her. Hugging her close, I felt Hayden’s heart hammer against my chest. I pressed my lips against hers and she opened her mouth immediately, kissing me back.
Eventually letting go of her, I cupped her cheeks. “I will always do my best to listen to you, Hayden. I know you’re fully capable of making your own decisions and living your life the way you see fit.”
“I see you in my life.” Hayden turned her head and kissed the palm of my right hand. “I see how you fit into my life.”
“Oh, God, Hayden. You drive me up the wall…” I nuzzled her neck, inhaling the scent of her. Clean, fresh, and faintly citrusy.
