How Sweet It Is (26 page)

He tossed his mobile aside and began to pace.

He missed Viola.

She’d tried to sell him out.

Although she said that was a mistake.

But still.

And despite all that, she was the only thing on his mind. Every waking thought, every hazy dream, every hope and desire contained her in it.

He stopped, scowling at the floor. He even liked her odd child. Actually, he liked that kid a lot. It spoke volumes that Chloe had come to convince him to go back to her mother. What child would do that? When he was her age, he couldn’t have cared less what his parents were doing.

He didn’t have a parent as lovely as Viola.

Good Lord, he missed her. He dropped his head in his hands. He missed her smile, and the way she fit into his body, and her palm on his chest, as though she wanted to be close to his heart.

She
was
close to his heart.

Throwing his sketchpad down, he walked huddled against the rain to the café. Somehow, the patrons there knew to give him a wide berth. Even Anne-Marie just looked at him with wide eyes.

He took Marcel’s cappuccino and croissant up to the man, like he had so many times over the years. Was this what the rest of his life going to be like? He pictured himself older—even older than Marcel—alone and climbing these stairs.

The thought made him want to throw himself down them.

Marcel opened with his usual smile. “
Mon vieux! Quel surprise.”

“Is it?” he asked, entering the attic flat.

Marcel closed the door. “Finn, it is always a surprise to see your face. Do you know why?”

“Why?” he asked sourly, not up to the games.

“Because I tell myself one day this man will wake up and see there is a world that he belongs to away from here, that’s rich with all the things that nourish his soul, and that day he will leave, and I’ll be happy, because he’s my friend and I want what’s best for him.” Marcel lifted his nose and took a deep sip of his coffee.

Finn glared at the man. “Ask me.”

“What do you want me to ask? If you are an imbecile? Because we all know the answer is yes.”

“Ask me what you ask every morning.”

Marcel set his cup down with a clatter and then threw his hands in the air. “Fine. What are you doing today?”

He leaned into his friend’s face. “I’m going to Viola.”

Marcel gaped at him. As Finn strode out, he heard his friend’s cackle follow him, along with an exclaimed, “Finally an interesting answer,” punctuated by an excited trill of his horn.

Chapter Thirty

Vi stood at the back of her gallery, looking out onto the crush of people. Everyone looked so sparkly and happy. They chatted and laughed as they discussed the artwork.

An unknown artist she’d found via the gallery owner in Paris was one of the stars of the shows. He’d managed to come up for the weekend, and he stood shyly in the corner, smiling even though he couldn’t understand much of what was being said to him.

She supposed praise carried through despite the language barriers.

Sebastian continued to be a wonder. He acted as the
de facto
host, welcoming people and telling them what a visionary she was. Her sisters did the same as they circulated, except for Titania who scowled at the people who admired her portraits.

Vi was so grateful for Titania. The photos she’d given were perfect too—of their family over the last year, as they’d all been getting to know each other. To see them now, no one would have ever thought that a little over a year ago they hadn’t known each other. Vi had quickly rearranged one of the side rooms to feature Titania exclusively.

She glanced at the black wall. REBIRTH glowed in white, highlighted with a small spotlight. Under it was Finn’s painting of her.

She swallowed back a flood of emotions every time she looked at it, and this time was no different. It wasn’t just that it was a beautiful work, though it was—it showed her in a way she hadn’t seen herself until recently: vulnerable but strong, determined and intelligent, dreaming yet grounded.

How had he seen her so completely yet not understood her at all? That was what hurt most.

She ran a hand over her middle, soothing the baby who was making its presence known through a bout of queasiness. “Not now, little one,” she murmured, pasting a smile on her face and walking into the fray.

Bea was at her side instantly, concern in her eyes despite the blithe smile curving her lips. “Darling, there you are.”

Vi nodded and gave her sister’s arm a squeeze to let her know she was fine.

Bea smoothly turned to the man next to her. “Stuart Covington, this is my sister Viola. Vi, Stuart didn’t believe me that your show would be different, but now he’s come, tail between his legs, to give you your due.”

The man grinned, resettling his glasses on his thin nose. “Bea, I always wonder how it is you can refrain from gloating.”

“Utter restraint, darling,” she replied with a straight face.

The critic faced Vi, his face serious. “This is one of the best shows I’ve been to. Fresh. Stunning. Where did you find these artists? I’ve never seen some of them. Especially this one.” He pointed to Finn’s work. “Absolutely breathtaking. Phineas Buchanan, is he any relation to James Buchanan?”

“Of the Buchanan Art Collective?” Vi shrugged casually though her heart raced. “I’ve heard rumors but I don’t have concrete knowledge.”

“I suppose if he were related, I’d have heard of him. They’re the royal family of art.” He looked at Finn’s painting again. “There’s no price tag on it.”

“It’s not for sale,” she said for the hundredth time that evening. She’d told Finn she understood why he didn’t want to sell his work, and she’d meant it. She wouldn’t sell it for anything. He’d painted it for her, and she meant to keep it.

“Pity.” The critic smiled at her. “I predict good things for your gallery, Ms. Summerhill.”

Vi smiled brightly. That was as good as a fairy godmother granting you the wish of prosperity. “I do, too.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to talk to your other sister, Titania. I’ve never met her.” He glanced at Bea reproachfully.

Her older sister linked her arm through his. “I tried to protect you, darling. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“She looks delightful.”

They glanced at Titania, who looked like she was about to give two people discussing one of her pictures a piece of her mind.

Vi and Bea exchanged an amused look as she led the art critic over.

“Babe, great shindig.” Rowdy slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek.

She gaped at him. “What on earth are you wearing?”

“I clean up nice, don’t I?” He proudly ran a hand over his gray suit. It looked custom-tailored and fit him to perfection. He wore a dark shirt with cufflinks and had a matching dark pocket square. “My cufflinks are rugby balls.”

She looked as he raised his wrist. “Lovely.”

He glanced to the right. “Do you think she thinks so?”

Vi followed his gaze, seeing Jasmine in the corner. Jasmine was hard to miss—she wore a stunning red dress that hugged her body. She was getting a lot of attention, but hers seemed to be focused on one American rugby player. “I’m not certain she’s noticed you,” Vi teased.

He nudged her shoulder. Then he got serious. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” She smiled at him. “A little sad, oddly, but good.”

He hugged her. “I’ve got your back, babe. You aren’t in this alone.”

She kissed his cheek. “You’re sweeter than Ian gives you credit for.”

“Ian can kiss my ass.” Rowdy shot his best friend, Titania’s fiancé, a look before his face went blank.

She was about to question him, but then someone touched her arm. “Excuse me?”

She turned to see a very dapper older man in front of her. Despite the dandyish way he was dressed, he had a powerful build and cunning in his expression.

“Have we met?” she asked, trying to place him. He looked familiar.

“We haven’t.” He smiled smoothly and held his hand out. “James Buchanan.”

She covered her shocked reaction with a pleasant smile and forced herself to shake his hand. “I’m astonished that you’d come to my little gallery.”

“It’s rather charming.” He glanced over her shoulder, his gaze razor sharp. “I’m particularly interested in that piece.”

She didn’t have to look to know he meant Finn’s. She smiled politely and said, “That piece isn’t for sale.”

“Of course not.” He studied her intently. “He’s not going to be happy when he knows you’ve displayed it.”

“He gave it to me to display,” she said, still shocked by that. He was gone, and despite Chloe showing up on his doorstep—she wanted to strangle and kiss her daughter for that stunt—he could have just ignored her. But he sent her this.

She didn’t understand.

Rowdy held her closer, shooting Finn’s father a warning glance.

The older man smiled sardonically. He tipped an imaginary hat to her. “A pleasure, my dear. Tell the boy he’s surpassed his uncle.”

She was going to say no such thing. She watched him leave, rubbing her stomach and mentally reassuring her baby that at least Jacqueline would be an excellent grandmother.

“Is it me, or do you feel like you need a shower, too?” Rowdy murmured, watching the man saunter out of the gallery.

“That explains a lot.” She sighed in relief once the door closed behind him and smiled at Rowdy. “Now that the drama is over, the rest of the evening should be positively dull.”

“Viola,” a voice that sounded suspiciously like Charles’s said.

She turned around slowly, blinking when she saw her ex-husband standing in front of her. “What are you doing here? You weren’t invited.” A horrifying thought occurred to her, and she looked around. “You didn’t bring Louise, did you? Because if you did you’re more of a wanker than even I gave you credit for.”

“Louise and I broke up.”

“Uh-huh.” Rowdy crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Here it comes.”

“Here what comes?” Vi frowned at her friend.

“The part where he wants you back.” Rowdy grinned at her. “This is going to be
fun
.”

No, it wasn’t. She shot him a disapproving gaze and then faced her ex-husband, though she didn’t want to even think of him that way. He wasn’t anything to her anymore except Chloe’s father. “Charles, go home. Tonight isn’t the night.”

But instead of listening to her, he stepped up to her and pressed his mouth to hers.

She was so shocked she stood frozen, eyes wide. His lips felt wrong, mushy and cold, and he looked ridiculous.

Before she could shove him away he jerked back.

Looking up, she gasped. “Finn.”

He looked furious, and it was all directed at one person. “Is this Charles?” he all but growled, holding Charles by the scruff of his neck.

“Yes.” She nodded.

Charles cleared his throat. “Just a minute—”

Finn’s fist came out of nowhere, hitting her ex directly in the jaw. Charles dropped to an inelegant pile on the floor.

From somewhere in the sudden silence of the gallery, Vi heard Bea say, “Bravo.”

Finn faced Rowdy with the same glare.

Rowdy held his hands up. “Dude, I’m on your side.”

“No, you’re on my side,” Vi corrected.

“Which is the same as his.” Rowdy gave her a flat look. “Now isn’t the time to get stubborn, Viola.”

“I won’t let her,” Finn said, stepping over Charles’s inert body to her side.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think you don’t—”

He lifted her chin and kissed her.

She started to protest. If he’d have pushed her, she might have been able to resist, but instead he softened the kiss, making it an invitation instead of a demand. Its sweetness and longing was in every nibble and lick, and she was powerless to say no. She wound her arms around his neck and showed him yes.

His hand trailed down her hair, her back, clutching her to him, telling her wordlessly how much he’d missed her. She didn’t need words—she could hear him loud and clear. Her head began to swim, and she held onto his lapel to keep herself from melting into a pool of want.

Finally, he lifted his head.

She became aware of loud cheering. Blinking, she realized it was everyone in the gallery, clapping and whistling for them.

Finn looked over his shoulder at Rowdy. “That always works.”

“Ha!” Rowdy clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family, dude.”

“No.” Vi frowned at the two Neanderthals. “I’m an independent woman, and I won’t compromise my life to be available whenever you get the whim. I will not be that easy.”

“My love,” her mother said, carefully stepping around Charles in her high heels. “I think it’d behoove you to be a little easy at this point, especially given the overtures this man has made for you. You love him, don’t you?”

She turned her frown on her mother. “Of course I do.”

“I’m Jacqueline Summerhill,” her mother said with a smile to Finn. She held her hand out. “I’m assuming that you love my daughter, too?”

Finn took her hand in both of his, his gaze earnest. “She owns my heart.”

“Isn’t that lovely?” Jacqueline’s smile softened. Putting her hand on his shoulder, she stretched to kiss his cheek. “I’ll welcome you to the family, too.”

Chloe joined them, her expression worried. “Is Charles going to live?”

“Unfortunately,” Rowdy said. He pushed his sleeves up. “I’ll
adios
him.”

“I’ll help,” Sebastian said, bending to help pick him up.

They watched as Rowdy and Sebastian propped Charles’s limp form between them and carried him to the back.

Chloe touched Finn’s arm hesitantly. “Are you here for good?”

“Try and get rid of me.” He draped his arm over her shoulder.

Viola’s heart melted, seeing the affection between them. But there were her misgivings.

As if he heard her thoughts, Finn faced her. “This isn’t a whim, Viola, and I don’t want you to be any different or less independent. I just want you to share your life with me.”

“Say yes, Mum.” Her daughter gave her a prodding look. “You love him.”

She did, but she had to be sure. She gave him a direct look. “I own this art gallery, and that’s not going to change.”