Lara

Chapter 19

Standing at the entrance to the art gallery, I steel my nerves as I gaze at the large crowd.

People of all ages chatting, drinking champagne, dressed up, red lipstick, dinner jackets, Coeur De Pirate playing in the background.

Here for me.

All these people are here for me.

For my paintings. Not in a million years did I think I'd be dealing with this type of attention.

Tucking my short-bobbed hair behind my ear, I smooth out my dress and enter the room. Juliette and Philippe appear at my side, instinctively knowing their presence lends the support I need?

The minute I decided to move back to France, I told Juliette I was ready to take her up on her offer concerning her friend who owns the art gallery in Paris. And that's how I found myself immersed in painting for three months, finishing the ones I had already started and creating new pieces I could show. It was therapeutic and gave me something to work toward when I was initially freaking out about the decision I made.

I owed Juliette a lot. She and Philippe both have been such good friends and so supportive. And Juliette is doing a better job of talking up my paintings than I am.

"I'm sorry Madame, but this is already sold."

The woman nods as Juliette guides her effortlessly to another painting. "Ah but this one - C'est fantastique!"

With sadness, I gaze at the sold painting. Out of all my pieces, I was hoping this one would last the evening and I could take it home. I'm angry at myself for even letting it be displayed tonight. A lump forms in my throat as I look at the painting. Why did I agree to show this one with the others?

Suddenly I hear a familiar voice over my shoulder.

"You finished it perfectly."

My mind drifts to the memory of Jake looking at my unfinished work in my makeshift studio at the cottage, the smell of coffee in the air and soap on his skin as I lean against his bare chest, his arms wrapped around me. A familiar warmth spreads over me as I turn to face him and hope the blush doesn't show.

"Jake."

"Hi, Sloan."

My heart picks up an unsteady hammering as I gaze at his face.

"It's your grandmother and Adelaide?" he asks, pointing to the painting.

I nod as I look at it lovingly. The view from the cottage with two hazy figures in the distance, arms entwined, bodies moving elegantly, overlapping as if they were one.

"I painted them as I dreamt them one night. Happy and together. I set the price so high I didn't think it would sell, to be honest."

"It's beautiful. It's vibrant but haunting and dreamlike. Your best piece here I think."

I steal a glance at him. My heart thumps against my chest at the look he's giving me. All the same adoration, loyalty, and dare I say....No, I don't want to assume. I did reject him for someone else for all he knows. There's a chance I won't ever hear those words from him again. And I have no one to blame but myself.

"So, I know you have a lot of schmoozing to do, but do you think-" Jake begins.

"Yes," I say eagerly, "Let's get out of here."

Smiling, he grabs a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and motions with his head to a nearby exit.

A few minutes later we're on the roof of the building, the lights of the city twinkling around us in a breathtaking panorama, the honking, and bustling of the streets echoing from below. I know New York is known as the city that never sleeps, but from my experience, the same is true of Paris.