Page 106 of The Auction
After dessert, the low hum of music drifts through the rooftop speakers. I know the playlist by heart—I made it. Which is why I’m already grinning before she even tilts her head and says, “Is this… theGleesoundtrack?”
I shrug. “Might be.”
She laughs, shaking her head, but thenMarry Youstarts, and I can’t resist. I catch her wrist and pull her to her feet before she can protest.
“I don’t dance,” she says, already trying to dig her heels in.
“Good thing I do.” I spin her once, then pull her close, while I sing along. She’s stiff at first, hesitant, but a few steps later she’s laughing, letting me twirl her again.
When the song slows toward the end, I pull her back in, lowering my voice.
“’Cause it’s a beautiful night. We’re looking for something dumb to do. Hey baby…”
She’s smiling at me, waiting for me to say the line.
I think I wanna marry you.
But I don’t. I lean in and kiss her instead.
The city stretches out below us, lights glittering like spilled diamonds. She leans on the railing, catching her breath as the wind teases her hair, and I can’t stop watching her.
When the last sip of wine is gone and the night air has cooled just enough to make her shiver, I take her hand and lead her toward the exit.
Her heels click against the stone until we reach the street. My driver waits beside the limo.
I open the door, but instead of letting her in, I spin her around and pin her gently against the sleek black frame. Her breath catches, eyes wide, right before I kiss her—slow and deep, tasting wine and something far sweeter.
When I pull back, my voice is rough. “Let’s get going, beautiful.”
She turns to climb in, but I can’t resist. My hand slides over the curve of her ass, giving it a deliberate squeeze. She squeals, swatting at me as she ducks into the car.
I follow, grinning like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
God, I hope I don’t fuck this up.
The limo slows, pulling up in front of an old brick building wedged between a taller one that’s just as aged and a sleek glass-front structure on the other side. No signage. No flashing lights. Just brick, shadows, and curiosity tightening her features.
I step out first, offering my hand to help her down. “It’s an art gallery,” I tell her. “There’s a special artist being featured tonight.”
Her brows lift slightly, and I guide her toward the door where Clara waits, sharp as ever in a fitted black dress. Clara’s work fills the front of the exhibit—bold, unapologetic pieces that demand attention.
Clara’s a former Ledger Companion, retired and on fire in the art world now, with Lucian as one of her biggest contributors.
“Cassidy, meet Clara,” I say, watching their hands clasp.
“It’s a pleasure,” Clara says warmly. “Enjoy the featured works in the back. They’re… worth it.”
Cassidy drifts inside like the space belongs to her, eyes catching on every canvas. She walks slow, studying each piece, taking in the brushstrokes, the layers, the texture. I can see the gears turning—how she’d paint it, how she’d mix the colors.
I’ve been waiting all night for what’s coming.
We round the corner into the back gallery, and she’s talking to me about the last painting’s technique, her hands gesturing as she explains.
Then she sees them.
Herpaintings.
Her mouth parts, eyes wide, her gaze locking on the display like she’s seeing ghosts.
