An hour and a half seemed like mere minutes as he offered up a clear-cut pathway to opportunity and success. But Sebastian went a step further--he made it personal too, by telling everyone more about his parents, his struggles, about never feeling he was good enough. Then he told them how he'd had people who believed in him, like his adopted mom and dad, Susan and Bob, and his friends. He explained that they'd helped him learn how to believe in himself.
"You don't have to do this all alone. But you can make changes." His voice rang out. "You can do anything. Absolutely anything." He stepped back, drank from his water glass, and for a long moment, he held the big tumbler in front of him, staring, until he turned back to his audience, his fans, his devotees. "We're almost done, but before I leave, I want to tell you about a lovely lady I met a few weeks ago."
Charlie's heart did a somersault as his eyes found and held hers for a split second.
"Francine is the sweetest thing. Tiny." He held out his palm to demonstrate her height against his chest. "She's friendly, upbeat, always with a smile or a laugh even though she has severe arthritis and uses a walker to get around. Most people would be in a wheelchair or bedridden. All her finger joints have been replaced." He held up the tumbler. "Imagine not being able to hold this glass in one hand. Imagine that even two-handed, this glass would slip out of your fingers." He let it slide until it almost fell, catching it at the last second. "Imagine you couldn't jog down the stairs, that your ankle bones had disintegrated and the only thing holding each foot together was a steel bolt and some staples. Imagine your vertebrae had to be fused just so you could hold your head up. Imagine the shocking pain. And yet--" He held up the glass again, pausing. There was complete silence, unbroken by even the whisper of fifty thousand breaths. "And yet, every single day you get up and you walk a mile. No matter what." As Sebastian set down the glass, he said, "Do you know how much farther a mile is for her than for you and me?"
Charlie knew. Sebastian obviously did as well. Though he was a good thirty feet away on the stage, she could feel his anguish at not being able to help as if it were her own. Which it always had been. Until he walked into their lives and tried to help in any way he could.
"Francine tells me that if she didn't walk, she'd be in a wheelchair or a bed. Use it or lose it." He made air quotes to show that they were Francine's words. "There are days she doesn't want to. Days when she can barely move because the pain is too great." His voice dropped almost to a whisper that echoed in the auditorium. "But then she gets up, aims her walker, and starts that mile."
Emotion squeezed Charlie's chest as he said, "So I ask you, can you walk a mile? Every day, rain or shine, pain or gain, because you know you have to just to stay alive, just to breathe. Can you walk that mile?"
And Charlie began to cry.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Charlie couldn't hear Sebastian's closing words as everyone in the auditorium rose to their feet with thunderous applause, their unspoken answer to his question perfectly clear: Yes, they would all walk that mile. Simply because Sebastian Montgomery believed they could.
On the way out, he grabbed Charlie's hand and they were propelled down the aisle to a small reception in the green room. Everyone wanted to touch him, as though something magical might rub off. He was polite, friendly, and accepted compliments with humility.
The most amazing thing of all was that he acted no differently at the reception than he had on stage. He was the same man who'd walked into her studio and said her art was magnificent. The same man who'd told her all about his parents and upbringing after dinner at his house. The same man who'd driven her wild with need every second of every day since they'd met.
He had power no matter where he was, but it didn't come from arrogance. It had come from walking many long miles, the way her mother continued to do every single day.
Two hours later they were ushered out and into a waiting helicopter that flew them to the airport. In the VIP lounge, finally alone with Sebastian for a few moments, she said, "Thank you for letting me see you in action."
"It was my pleasure." He reached out to stroke her cheek. "I've been privileged to see what you do. I was hoping you would enjoy this."
She shook her head, knowing he shouldn't be comparing the two of them. "I make art. But you--" There was no other way to put it. "You inspire the world."
"You inspire too, Charlie. More than you know. Especially now that everyone will see your sculptures once you take your rightful place at the top of the field."
As always, when he talked about her impending ascent to the top of the art world, her stomach twisted. Frustration bubbled up in her for a split second before she could shove it away, along with the question she'd been asking herself for weeks: Why do I keep having these doubts?
But today of all days wasn't a time for doubts. Not when Sebastian's tribute to her mother had been beyond beautiful. It had never been clearer that compared to the struggles other people went through, Charlie had absolutely nothing to complain about. So what if she was worried about her life changing--and about whether or not she could fit into Sebastian's world the way he obviously wanted her to? She'd have to get over her doubts.
"My mother will love that you told her story." She touched his arm, admiring the play of strong muscles beneath her fingers nearly as much as she'd admired him on that stage. "It means a lot to me to know you understand."
"I didn't plan what I said, but with you watching me, all I could think about was how much you give to her, and how completely deserving she is. Both of you possess an indomitable spirit."
"If I'm indomitable, then why am I so nervous about the grand opening gala at the hotel?" The words were out of her mouth, with more already falling before she could stop them. "Why am I so terrified that everyone will see my rams, and then they'll look at me and I'll be cursing myself for not wearing the right dress?"
Pulling her to her feet, he said, "You're gorgeous just the way you are."
His words made her belly flutter. They both knew better. "I can't wear jeans to a gala."
"Then we'll go shopping."
He was sweet, but like a typical guy, he still clearly didn't get it. "The other women will all be salon-prepped and wearing designer outfits that cost as much as a condo on Maui."
"I have a condo on Maui," he said as the corners of his lips twitched, "and I can confirm that some of those dresses cost even more." She was glad that the laughter bubbling up helped to untwist the knots in her stomach. "So let me take you shopping," he said softly, as persuasive as he'd been on stage.
"You've already paid for the chariot." For an amount she still had trouble wrapping her mind around. When she threw in the money he'd negotiated for her rams... Honestly, her head was still spinning. "A dress isn't part of the deal."
He circled her slowly, trailing his fingers across her neck until he'd pulled her hair back at her nape. "Think of dressing up as part of your job. Showmanship. Salesmanship." His warm breath in her hair made her legs weak. The kiss on the tender flesh of her neck made her knees tremble. "You'll amaze them," he whispered as he pushed her hair to the other side and kissed her just below her ear, then licked her. "Soft velvet," he murmured, circling her waist with his arms. "Silky lace."
Suddenly, she couldn't think straight, especially when he drew her back against him and all she could feel was hard, sexy male.