Page 21 of Always Mine (The Barrington Billionaires 1)
“Asher, where the hell have you been? I was worried until Ian called me yesterday. Neither of you could pick up a phone before then just to tell us you weren’t dead?”
Asher sat on the arm of his couch. “We were busy. I had an emergency at work. Ian flew out to help me with it.”
“Whatever. I don’t care as long as you’re here next week.”
“I will be. I know how important it is.”
Grant sighed. “Good. Hey, in other news, everyone loves your girlfriend.”
“My girlfriend?”
“Emily.”
“What are you talking about?”
With a chuckle, Grant said, “I didn’t know senility set in so young, but have you already forgotten about the woman you sent to stay with Mom and Dad?”
“Emily is staying with Mom and Dad?”
“This work you did with Ian, it didn’t involve any brain-altering chemicals, did it?”
“How long has she been there?” Asher demanded.
“About two weeks.”
What are you doing, Emily? I thought I’d made it clear I wanted you to stay away from my family. “Do me a favor, Grant, and don’t tell anyone you spoke to me. I’ll fly in tomorrow, but I’d prefer if no one knew I was coming. I want to surprise everyone.”
He hung up the phone and paced his apartment. He was angry, frustrated, and . . . disappointed. It was difficult to admit the last bit to himself, but there was no denying how he felt. He’d expected her to be there.
He’d never done as much to please anyone as he had to please her. How hadn’t that been enough? He’d told her he would be back. Why would she leave?
Then he noticed her sketchpad resting against one side of the couch. He picked it up with the intention of flipping through it quickly, but the sketches in it were so emotionally packed that he sat down and turned the papers slowly. There were sketches of him, of her, of them together. Each one brought back memories of their time together with a punch.
Her feelings for him were laid bare in the sketches of herself, along with her anger with him. He wanted to shake her and explain to her that she had no reason to doubt him.
The sketches of the two of them entwined passionately brought his need for her to a painful level. She belonged with him. He had questioned many things lately, but that truth had remained constant.
Emily Harris was his, and he’d prove it to her back in Boston.
Chapter Eleven
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The next day Emily walked Celeste through a huge empty salon. When Sophie had originally told Emily about the auction, she hadn’t mentioned it would happen in the Dorvosta building, a well-known location for high-end galas. Sophie and Dale lived a simple life, but they didn’t lack for money. That much was clear. “Sophie says this room will be full of chairs all facing a podium that will be over there.” She pointed to one end of the room. She said auctions are high-tech now. Some people will be here physically, some will be absentee bidders, and there will even be many people bidding online. I can’t wait to see it all in action.”
Celeste looked around at the room and whistled. “No one I know could afford to host an event in this room, never mind tie up the rooms that flank it. Your exhibit is happening here, too?”
Emily led the way across the large empty room and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. “Yes, and it spans two rooms. Sophie had everything shipped over two days ago. When I was here yesterday I reminded the workers that the idea is for people to touch the pieces. I hope they understood what I meant. I heard they worked through the night to get it ready for today. Sophie is opening the exhibit for two weeks before the auction. She said that will allow me time to reel in some patrons.” Emily stopped at a closed door.
“How much is this costing you?” Celeste asked.
“Nothing. I donated one of my sculptures to the auction and Sophie offered to do the rest. She hosts this event every year. She added my exhibit onto her annual auction.” Emily punched in a code to unlock the door then hesitated. “I’m so glad you’re here, Celeste. I’m excited and more than a little nervous. This is Boston. Do you know how many museums are just a short walk away from here?”
Celeste’s eyes met hers. “You really are nervous. Honey, you’ve done art exhibits before.”
Emily clasped her hands together and admitted, “That was different. Those were usually in my grandfather’s old house, and I was telling a story my artwork was a part of. Here I feel . . .”
“What?”
Emily searched for the words to best express how she felt. “Alone. Exposed. My sculptures are good, but they aren’t masterpieces. My mother was the true artistic genius in our family. All I did was try to bring paintings to life for her. What if no one gets that? What if my mother’s dream ends here—because of me?”
After a brief hug, Celeste pushed the door open, walked in, and gasped. “Oh my God.”
Emily rushed after her, looked around, and grateful tears instantly filled her eyes. The finished product was a perfect recreation of how she’d displayed the pieces in her museum. “Ho
w did they do this in one day?” She approached one of the displays and touched the Braille and English sign beneath the painting.
Celeste wandered to the next piece. “Sophie is the fairy godmother of auctions, I guess.”
The comparison made Emily smile even as she wiped away a tear that had spilled over. She walked from display to display and was speechless in the face of how much care had gone into matching the way she had explained each of her pieces. She stopped in front of a print of Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks.” It was a painting depicting three customers lost in their own thoughts at a brightly lit diner. Next to the print was Emily’s clay three-dimensional representation of the painting, along with a description of how light and darkness were used to illuminate what many considered an expression of loneliness in a city. Beside Emily’s piece was her mother’s mono-colored painting that could only be truly experienced through touch. “How am I ever going to be able to thank her enough? This is amazing.”
“You may have to marry one of her sons and give the woman the grandchildren she’s waiting for. At least they’re all good-looking,” Celeste said dryly.
Emily’s stomach churned as she thought about Asher, but she quickly beat that memory away. “I’m pretty sure it’s you she wants to marry into the family. She invites you over every time one of her sons says he’ll be there.”
“Like I have time to marry. No way.” Celeste shook her head at Emily’s comment and glanced down at her phone to check the time. “Crap. I have to run. Are you okay?”
Emily looked around the exhibit again in bemusement. “How could I not be? It’s perfect.”
Celeste gave her a quick hug. “It is perfect, Em. This is the embodiment of what you wanted—to present your mother’s talent and vision. Call me tomorrow. I have a client who is going to keep me busy for the next couple of days, but call me. Leave a message if I don’t pick up.” She waved a hand at the room around her. “Two weeks until the auction?”
