Page 137 of Cruel Dominion

Of course he did.

I shook my head again, getting up to walk past him, feeling the weight of my round belly more heavily than usual.

He wasn’t totally wrong—normally, sex with him made me relax. He could get me out of my head and back into my body with a few well-spaced orgasms.

But I didn’t want to relax this time. I wanted to feel all of this, anxiety and nerves and all.

“It’s time,” I breathed, placing my hands over my belly. “Let’s go.”

Carter’s expression tightened a fraction, but he swept open the door despite his own unadmitted anxiety.

Heading out into the exhibition space, I took a couple of deep breaths to occupy myself with something other than my racing thoughts. I wiped my sweaty hands on my deep olive-toned dress, searching for one of the waiters.

One passed with a tray of champagne and what I wouldn’t give to take the edge off with one of those shimmering flutes…

“Could you bring my wife a glass of water,” Carter asked the waiter, stopping him with a grip on the elbow.

“Right away.”

“You have to stop that,” I chastised as the waiter scurried off to fetch me a non-alcoholic drink.

“Making sure you’re hydrated?”

“Calling me your wife.”

His sea blue eyes glimmered with amusement as he lifted my left hand and pressed a kiss to the diamond on my ring finger. “This is my ring on your finger, is it not, little siren?”

I tugged it from him with a coy smile. “Maybe.”

“And this.” He rubbed his palm over my belly, earning himself a little kick from the growing babe within. “This is mine, too?”

“Ours,” I corrected him.

“Ours,” he conceded. “And remind me again the name of this exhibit. Was it…the Anna Cole Exhibit?”

I swatted him. “That’s because I didn’t want the press of using the Vaughn name.”

“Well, Anna, darling, I’ve considered you my wife since the moment you said yes. And you know what I think?”

“What?”

He leaned down to flick my nose with his, whispering over my lips. “I think you like it.”

When he kissed me, my body hummed with feeling, making my belly tighten and a tingle shoot all the way to my toes.

I mourned the loss of him with a sad moan as he pulled away with victory in his stare.

“Come on, Mrs. Cole. We better get you out there before I change my mind and drag you back into that office.”

The crowd in the gallery looked about as big as he had estimated. People walked around the space, viewing my work in the way I intended, directed by the curator and her assistants.

I agonized for months over how to display it. The museum’s curator was a huge help, and I had Olivia and Summer to give me second opinions. A few group shots were blown up to the full wall-size. Immediately, viewers could feel like they were walking right into the Butterfly Room. They were a little more spaced out as you walked deeper into the room, so you could spend time examining each one in finer detail before moving on to the next.

The day before, I’d shown the gallery off to the harshest critics of all. My friends from the Butterfly Room had agreed that they didn’t want to come to the official opening. They didn’t want to have to answer questions about their lives from strangers. But each of them was thrilled to be featured and couldn’t wait to see how much each image would earn.

It was surreal—seeing them again. Carter flew them out from Chicago a day early and put them each up in a luxury suite. I brought the women into the museum yesterday, fully prepared for them to tell me they hated it. Instead, every single one of them told me they loved it. We laughed together, remembering the time Vanessa got food poisoning from eating expired chocolate cake, or when a patron tipped me 200% for convincing the DJ to play nothing but Shania Twain music for an hour.

They left me with long bear hugs in exchange for a promise that I’d visit them soon. I left the preview feeling like I was floating on air.

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