Page 127 of The Other Side
“Unfortunately, that’s our time today, Violet.” Dr. Short smiled kindly, unfolding her legs.
“I won’t be here next week,” I reminded her. “I’ll be out of town for Chance’s photography show.”
“That’s right.” She smiled brightly as she walked me to the door. “Please pass along my congratulations.”
“I will.” I gave her a small wave. “Thank you.”
“Can you help me with the corset?” I glanced over my shoulder at Chance, whose gaze was dangerously dark.
Per his request, I was wearing the dress his sister had given me for New Year’s for his debut photography exhibition. Somehow brand-new and brand-name heels had miraculously arrived at our hotel room the day we checked in. Chance and his sister claimed to be innocent, but I knew better.
“I’ll help you out of it.” He smirked.
“I already gave in to you in the shower.”
“But it’s my big day.”
“You’ve been using that for the last week.” I laughed. “Please,” I pouted. “I can’t do the laces by myself.”
“Fine,” he huffed, getting up from the hotel bed. His hands went around my waist, and his chin rested on my shoulder. “We’ve got time,” he purred.
“No, we do not,” I replied sternly, but couldn’t help but lace my fingers through his, imperceptibly leaning back into him.
“You’re going to be the end of me, Violet.” He placed a soft kiss behind my ear before pulling away to start tying the strings.
“Are you nervous?” I asked, probably because I definitely was. Sure, he had taken all the photographs, but it was my face that was going to be plastered all over, just like in his stalker darkroom.
“No. You’ll be there. That’s all I need.”
I thought I might melt.
He tugged the strings. “Tell me when they’re tight enough.”
“One more time.”
Following my instructions, he pulled once more, then tied a bow at the base of my spine. “Give me a twirl,” he directed, taking my hand in his and lifting it above my head to keep me steady while I gave him a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the dress.
“Stunning, as usual.” He cupped my cheeks, tipping his face down to kiss me sweetly.
“Thank you, Chance.” I smiled up at him through my lashes, the words coming out heavy, more than just gratitude for tying the dress in them.
We’d been lucky that the gallery that had agreed to host Chance’s show had sent a car for us. I was sure that word had gotten out that Chance was related to the Roberts, likely due to his family being on the guest list, so they’d gone all-out to invite the who’s who of the tristate area.
Walking into the gallery was surreal. Seeing so many versions of my face staring back at me was indescribable, albeit slightly unnerving.
Applause broke out amongst the crowd when we made it into the main room. The gallery owner piped up, “Our artist, Chance Harper, and his muse, Violet Price.”
I felt my heart flutter in my chest, never having received such a reception before, and never having willingly been the center of attention at such a large gathering.
Chance tightened his grip around my waist, pulling me into his side. “They all recognize beauty when they see it,” he whispered into my ear.
I could only blush in response.
While we made the rounds, Chance was so naturally charismatic that he found connections with everyone he spoke to, always checking in to make sure I was comfortable.
About halfway through the exhibition, a slight hush fell over the crowd as the Roberts arrived. Amanda, once again, looked stunning, wearing a chic black jumpsuit that made her look a million miles tall. Cindy and Thomas, arm in arm, looked an elegant coupling as they strode through, in Amanda’s wake, while she winked and waved to acquaintances in the crowd.
“You did so good, big brother!” Amanda gave him a tight hug. “And Violet.” She stepped back to admire me. “What a museyou are.” She waved to someone over my shoulder. “I’ll be back. Careful with Mom and Dad.”
