It had taken her a few days, but she was beginning to think her work was the reason for the sales, not her connection to the man. That morning, she’d mentioned to a middle-aged woman interested in one of her larger paintings that she and James weren’t a thing, only to have her say, “Who’s James?”
“No one of importance.” The lie had tainted her tongue and made her heart clench.
No one of importance? If only.
God, she missed him. It was stupid, of course, given what their relationship had been before the truth shattered it all. But she missed him.
She missed the way he made her laugh. The way she felt when she was with him. Alive. Intelligent. Talented. Missed the way he made her burn with pleasure and need and carnal desire.
Damn it, she needed her head read.
She’d sent him a text, thanking him for clearing their father’s gambling debt. She’d also forwarded a note to his office from her father, written to James from Platinum Joe’s cell, doing the same.
Both had been received with a simple text reply, “You’re welcome. J.D.”
He’d appeared on television once in the last six weeks, interviewed on a rival network’s news program about his relationship with “a convicted felon’s daughter” and the rumors he’d been in a street brawl with a suspected criminal figure.
He’d laughed off the latter, pointing out he’d never get into a fight given how much his suits cost, and then stated that Sienna Roberts was someone he held a lot of feelings for before turning the discussion to the signing of his own news program’s newest anchor.
She couldn’t bring herself to watch the interview. Zach had, filling her in, quoting James and going on about how pathetic and lonely he looked when he was talking about her.
She both wished he had and hadn’t. What the hell was she meant to think of “someone I hold a lot of feelings for”? What the hell did that even mean? And why did it make her heart beat faster and her stomach flutter when she thought about it?
“Then stop thinking about it,” she muttered, placing the kettle on the stove.
Huh. If only.
She moved to the counter, scooped up the mail Zach had brought in from the letterbox the day before, and sorted through it.
The latest bill from her father’s lawyer made her pause for a second. She’d open it later. She didn’t fear them like she used to. She had the money to pay for them now. She and Zach still lived a Spartan existence, but they weren’t close to losing it all anymore. For that alone, she wished she could thank James personally.
Then go see him. Why am I waiting?
She had no answer. Just like she’d had no answer when Zach had asked her the same thing a week ago.
She just couldn’t. She wasn’t being stubborn. James had hurt her. He’d intended to hurt her much more. She couldn’t forget that.
And still…
Thomas St. Clair’s words came back to her, as they had time and again since James had driven away from her home. “He’s not like that deep down. I’ve never seen him smile like he did when he was with you.”
“Goddamn it.” She sighed and threw the rest of the unopened mail on the counter. Tea. She’d have a cup of tea and get back to—
A logo on one of the envelopes amongst the mail caught her eye.
The State Art Gallery.
Frowning, she picked the envelope up. It was addressed to her, handwritten in a neat black script.
The State Art Gallery was famous for its exhibitions of artists no one else in Australia could land. An exhibition at the State Art Gallery was almost like a license to print money for a working artist.
Pulse a trip hammer in her throat, she opened the envelope and withdrew the flyer inside it.
Sinful Strokes: The James Dyson Private Collection of Works by Sienna Roberts.
“Holy crap.” She stared, stunned, at the flyer. Beneath the exhibition’s title was an image of one of her paintings, the one she loved the most of all she’d painted for Mason Xavier: a couple entwined, the world meaningless to them as they gazed into each other’s eyes. She’d called it Hope.
Hope.
Her breath caught when she saw a handwritten note on the bottom of the back page.
Please come. J.
She swallowed. Her heart leaped into her throat, making it hard to breathe.