What A Secret Looks Like | ✓

epilogue

Grayson wasn't kidding when he said he'd be there. It took me three days to be able to stomach being touched, and it took another month before we were able to be intimate again.

He was patient through all of it and I couldn't be more grateful.

One of the few good things that came out of seeing him again was that it was enough to get Aaron the leverage he needed to convince Aristocracy to let me out of my contract. They didn't want to admit that they were liable to Kyle raping me. I found out his name after the fact when Aaron dropped off the termination of my contract. It would only come into effect if I agreed to sign a non-compete, which I did happily. I didn't ever want to walk another runway or see my face in an ad campaign for the rest of my life. I was done with that world.

It's been five months since everything happened, and I was in a good place. Grayson and I were in a good place, even after we moved in together considering I spent all my time as his place anyway. It made sense.

I feel freer because I didn't have any secrets to keep. Secrets can eat you from the inside out and I would know that better than anyone.

"You know we're hiring right?" A woman dressed in a suit asks me as I admire a painting from the Renaissance.

"I didn't but I appreciate you telling me," I smile easily at her as my hair brushes just below my shoulders against my sweater. The weather outside was finally starting to match the weather on the inside of the Met.

She smiles up at the painting, "It's from-"

"The middle 1500's; I'd have to guess oil painting on wood just from the way it's starting to flake around the corners, but is soaked into the pores closer to the middle." I interrupt her with the details I'd noticed the last fifteen minutes I observed.

Her face shifts into one of shock, "I'm impressed. Lately you've been in the van Gogh exhibit, I was surprised to find you here instead. Where did you study?"

"Columbia, I've spent time in museums around Italy, France, and practically every other country in Europe and Asia you can think of that would have art."

"You sound like you'd be perfect for the curator job. It hasn't been posted yet, but if you have an application sent by the end of the week, and of course a formal interview, I could see you getting the job. You spend enough time here as it is, you might as well get paid for it," She jokes and I chuckle lightly.

"I really appreciate that, I'll have it in by then for sure." I promise, looking down at my phone to set a reminder, but then I notice what time it is. I have two missed calls from Grayson. "I'm so sorry, but I have to go, I'll pick up the application tomorrow!"

"What name should I leave it for at the front desk?"

"Tessa Kaplan, thank you so much again," I call out over my shoulder as I walk quickly out of the room.

The Met is close enough to Gray's apartment that it only takes me ten minutes to walk, but I'm moving at the speed of a jog, meaning I make it in less than seven.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, I lost track of time," I apologize to Grayson giving him a quick peck on the cheek on my way to the bathroom to shower.

Grayson laughs, "Bella you're fine, we don't have to leave for another hour and a half."

I gasp loud enough that he can hear me, "I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that."

I'm halfway through shampooing my hair when Grayson knocks lightly on the door before stepping in, "How was the museum?"

My cheeks flush on their own accord because of the way he's looking at me. "It was good! I finally made my way out of the Monet section and into the Renaissance exhibit they have. You wouldn't believe what happened."