The problem here is the person she needs comfort from is me.
“What happens if I can’t forgive you?” she whispers, her attention returning to the drawing.
Her question feels like a stab to the heart. A slow stab with a twist of a knife to really secure the hurt. I don’t even want to go down that road. It’s something I’ve tried not to think about since the moment she learned of the things I’d done to make her mine.
I come to a stop next to her, the both of us staring at the picture in front of us. “Then I will never step foot in this room again. Fuck, if you leave me Margo, I think I’d have to sell this place and find a new city to live in. I can’t look at New York without thinking of you. My heart can’t live here if it’s not living here with you.”
“You were here first,” she states.
I shake my head in denial. “It doesn’t matter. It’s you that loves this city. I just love you. I can’t stay here if you’re not here. It’d never be the same. I’d never be the same.”
She turns to face me. When her hand reaches to hold mine, my heart lets out the smallest glimmer of hope.
“Do you want to see what I’ve been working on?”
“Yes. Forever.”
Margo pulls me toward the desk in the corner of the room. Abruptly, she spins to face me, placing her small hands against my chest. “Wait.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes.”
I look at her confused, trying to keep a reign on the mix of feelings coursing through my veins. I’m so fucking nervous—but I’m also hopeful. Maybe I haven’t lost her yet. Maybe I’ll find a way to keep my girl and the city she loves forever. I push a strand of hair from her face, relishing in how it feels to touch her again, even if it’s only the smallest caress. “Why do I have to close my eyes?”
Her bottom juts out slightly. “Please. Just do it. I need to do something first. I don’t want you to see.”
I sigh, doing what she’s asked. My eyes seal shut even though all I want to do is watch her every move. I’d open them if I wasn’t terrified of her changing her mind if she caught me peeking. When I hear her small footsteps get further from me, I almost risk peeking, just to see what she’s doing.
“Don’t look until I tell you!” she yells from further away, almost like she was reading my mind.
I groan. “I don’t see the point in this.”
“Just trust me, okay?”
I’ll always trust her. Blindly and without any reason. I just need to get us to a point where she’ll trust me.
There’s a loud rustling sound, and a few other noises I can’t pinpoint until I feel her stop in front of me. Her hands find mine. Her cold fingers squeezing mine as she speaks. “Okay, open your eyes.”
I open them right away, taking a relieved breath when I find her smiling at me. Surely if she’s about to obliterate my heart, she wouldn’t be smiling at me. That’d be a little cruel. Right?
“I’ve been working on this piece from the moment I found this room.” Her cheeks are slightly pinker than they were before she made me close my eyes. The skin around the corners of her eyes slightly crinkles as she stares up at me with excitement—and maybe even some nerves. “I’ve been making it for you.”
When her teeth dig into her lip anxiously, I wonder if I’d ever survive a life without her. If this goes south, if she ends up telling me she can’t love me anymore, I don’t think even leaving this city she loves will be enough to cure my broken heart.
“For me?” I ask hoarsely.
Margo reaches up to cup my cheek. I lean into it immediately, reveling in having her touch me. My heart constricts at the tender look in her eyes. “Yes,” she says. “For you.”
She tugs on my hands, walking backwards toward the desk. She’d lowered it so it now sits flat. A large canvas, one larger than the tabletop sits on top of it. I can’t see what she’s worked on at first, only seeing white canvas hanging off the side.
My steps come to a halt when what she’s drawn comes into view. It’s the most beautiful piece of work I’ve ever seen. My hand comes to my chest, my breath taken away from the sheer talent of the piece of art in front of me.
Her answer to if she’ll ever forgive me—if she loves me—is written all over it.
One side of the picture is a perfectly sketched out photo of her and I back in LA in that terrible, dingy conference room. It’s almost come to perfect life, me sitting on the edge of the table as I spoke to her. I even hold the ugly as fuck balls pen in my hand. Her attention to detail is stunning. I knew she was talented, but this is unfuckingreal.
As breathtaking as that side of the photo is, it’s what’s on the other side that has pulled the air from my lungs. In the picture Margo has drawn herself in a white dress—a wedding dress. It looks like I’m pulling her from a chair onto the dance-floor. There’s a wedding band on my hand that’s outstretched toward her. The picture is drawn in such detail, the colors distinct, that it seems real. I could imagine the exact scenario happening.
It looks more like a photograph than a sketch.
I tear my gaze from the picture to look at her.
She smiles. “I may have lied just a little. I drew the picture for you, but I hope you don’t mind if it goes on display somewhere.”
“What?”
“It’s going to be the focal point of the exhibition show I’m having—at Camden’s gallery.”
“You—”
She nods up and down, tears misting her eyes. “I spoke to him. I hope you aren’t mad at me, but I needed to talk to him and know that he wasn’t speaking to me because I’m your fiancée. I put on a dumb disguise and showed him my work. He’d loved it and was shocked when I came clean on who I was. Actually, I think he was upset at first that I didn’t tell him who I was. But it doesn’t matter. I got in, Beck! We’re going to start with one photo. But once I get enough for an entire showcase, he said he’d fit me in for one. And I want this to be the focal point of the entire thing.”
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I answer. Reaching across, I grab the collar of the shirt on her body and bring her into me. “I knew you’d get it, Margo. You’re so god damn talented. I knew he’d see it.”
“I still can’t believe it,” she whispers between us.
“What you drew…the wedding…does this mean?”
She nods confidently at me, tears coming down her cheeks. “I love you, Beck. Nothing is going to stop me from it. I can’t believe you’ve gone all this time hiding how you felt. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. That you weren’t the one I spoke to at that bar, but I want to spend forever making it up to you. It should’ve only ever been you, Beckham Sinclair.”
I waste no time pulling her mouth to mine. When our lips collide, I don’t know if the salt I taste is from her tears or mine. All I know is I’m never risking losing her again.
“I’ve been waiting so god damn long for you to say that.” Beck pulls away only far enough to get the words out. They’re said against my lips as his deep indigo eyes stare at me with so much love, I have no idea how I never noticed it before. It’s something I’ll never miss, or take advantage of, ever again.