“And look,” she exclaimed. “There’s one of you strapping on some ballet slippers. You look gorgeous, Michaela. Look at the detail in your eyes.”
A smile stretched my lips, a tear slipping down my cheek as I stared at the painting, knowing what it meant for Holden to have paid as much attention as he did to the coquettish look in my gaze. It was a memory from before Delilah had died, a snapshot of the dance studio where we held practice. The fact that he’d remembered every small detail so clearly forced the breath from my lungs.
“Damn, your man is talented with paint and brush. You were right to bring him out here. He’s going to be somebody, Michaela, and he has you to thank for that.”
Passing painting after painting, their surfaces illuminated by track lighting that hung above them, we listened to the excited words spoken by the other attendees of the events. Several times, I’d heard the term ‘genius’ or ‘inspired’ as they discussed the artwork they’d come to see. Several people were already discussing bids they’d make on the paintings when it was time in the evening to buy them.
Trying in vain to keep my makeup from dripping down my face, I thanked the universe that I’d remembered to wear waterproof mascara. The room was filled with people, the crowd moving and swaying as we made our way toward the center of the room.
I lost the ability to hold my emotions inside me when the crowd finally opened enough for me to see Holden standing by his largest painting - an image of Delilah spinning in place, her smile stretching from ear to ear, her soul dancing above her.
But it wasn’t the painting that weakened my knees so much that Angela had to keep me from falling, it wasn’t the sorrow, or the love, or the devotion I knew he’d blended together with the paint, it was the man standing before it in a black tuxedo, his dark hair swept back, his blue eyes beaming as people passed to shake his hand, congratulate him, or remind him that his natural talent far exceeded so many other artists that came to this town to make their way.
Staring at a person who had endured abuse, who’d lived through heartache, and who’d crawled out from beneath the ashes to fly again, I realized in that moment that the gorgeous man smiling at me now could never be small...
Holden Bishop was a soul that would always be brilliant. He would always be striking and large.
THE END
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Table of Contents
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE