Faking It With a Billionaire || MaAn

Chapter 56 | Anupama

I'm reeling from excitement when I walk back into the penthouse. I was seconds away from spilling the good news to Hugo in the car when I thought better of it.

No matter how upset or disappointed I was with Anuj, he was still the first person I wanted to call when Camden Hunter agreed to display one of my pieces.

My work is going into Camden's gallery. I'm still too stunned to believe it. There's a red mark on my arm from where I pinched myself the entire car ride home to make sure I wasn't in some elaborate dream.

It's a miracle he even got to see my work after I'd fumbled for so long as I tried to get the paper to lay flat. He eventually put me out of my misery and put paperweights on the corners so he could see the piece.

When he'd asked for details on the piece, I'd stuttered and jumbled my words, but my point got across.

He'd shockingly been really impressed with the concept.

I'd shown him one I'd created almost a year ago when I'd been visiting New York with Devika and Stella. We'd been walking and gossiping about one of the girls who lived in our dorm who was about to be on some reality TV show. I'd been listening to Devika rattle on about how she may give a reality dating show a go when I'd noticed this man reading a newspaper on a bench.

He was elderly, his hands wrinkly and almost purple. He'd worn a newspaper hat and a coat with coattails. He even had a pipe slid in his mouth. Next to him sat a fresh bouquet of flowers neatly wrapped in tan butcher paper. I'd wondered why he was alone and I couldn't stop thinking about him. I'd obsessed over him so much that I eventually returned to the bench, wondering if I'd find him there again. I wanted to ask him everything about his life, to figure out why he was sitting there alone with the flowers.

When I returned, I was disappointed he wasn't there. I felt sad and defeated. I wanted to know everything about him. Why was he always alone? Who were the flowers for? I became obsessed with creating a new life for him in my head. One where he didn't sit alone. One where he had a partner sitting next to him holding the flowers.

In my rush of sadness, I almost missed the plaque that was on the back of the bench. I'd leaned in and read the name and dedication over and over. It was for someone who had passed away—a memory bench. I'd read everything on the internet there was to know about the woman whose name was forever etched in stone.

Come to find out, the man sitting there was her husband. They'd been married fifteen years before the woman passed away in a car accident. He'd later found out she was pregnant with their first child together after they'd tried for countless years to have a child. He'd been a billionaire, heir to one of the top communication companies in the world and had sold some of his share in the company to his brother after the accident. He still partially owned it, but he didn't want the control he had before. The man never remarried.

Apparently, every Saturday he'd sit on the bench and buy her flowers, claiming Saturday was always her favorite day of the week, and she wouldn't go a week without getting fresh flowers throughout their house.

I mourned the loss of his wife with him, even though we were complete strangers.

I hadn't talked to Devika or Stella for a week when I'd drawn the piece.

On one side, there's the man on the bench with his flowers sketched in pencil. The other side I completed by painting it, bringing it to life with the colors.