“It hurts, how little respect my father has for me,” I whisper, my throat raw, my eyes burning.
“I wish I could take away your pain,” he says, and I can’t help it.
I stare at him in disbelief, wondering where the cruel, brooding Crew went. He’s been replaced with this sweet, sexy, thoughtful man who only wants to take care of me, and…
I love it.
I love him.
I do. I’m in love with him.
“I’m just glad you’re here.” I glance over at the piece leaning against my wall, and he does the same. “I love it so much.”
I love him so much, but how do I tell him that?
It’s scary, how strongly I feel about him. Does he feel the same way about me?
“I knew you would.” He kisses my temple and I lean into him.
I should’ve known Crew gave it to me. All the clues were right there, staring me in the face, and I was so blinded by the idea of my father wanting to earn back my trust and forgiveness, I went along with his lie.
But my eyes are open now. Thanks to my mother. I would’ve found out eventually, and I still can’t believe I didn’t see it, but now I know.
Crew was the one who went in search of it and found it, and God knows what he paid for it, but he gave that piece to me because he wanted to see me happy. He said that to me, only yesterday, at the Chanel store.
“Happy Birthday,” he whispers, and I return my gaze to him.
“I still can’t believe you did this.”
He hesitates, frowning. “It’s what you wanted, right?”
A sob escapes me and I cover my mouth, nodding as yet more tears spill.
Crew presses my head against his chest, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart. “Aw Birdy, don’t cry.”
“I’m fine. I’m perfect.” And I’m still crying. This day has been so completely overwhelming. Good. Bad.
Wonderful.
“I don’t like it when you cry.” Crew’s voice is strained. “The piece was supposed to make you happy.”
“You make me happy,” I tell him, pulling away slightly so I can stare at his handsome face. “I can’t believe you would do this for me.”
His voice lowers, his expression gravely serious. “I would do anything for you, Wren. Just to see you smile. Hear you laugh. Remember what I told you?”
I nod, sniffing loudly.
“Instead, you’re crying like I killed your cat.”
“I don’t even have a cat,” I mumble, making him smile.
“Soon you’ll have two pussies,” he says, referring to the painting I bought at the gallery that day, when he followed me. Took me to lunch.
Kissed me in the back seat of his private car.
I laugh. Cough. Sniff. I’m a mess. “You’re right. I will.”
We’re quiet for a moment and I eventually disentangle myself from his arms to grab a tissue, wiping the tears from my face.