Page 17 of Dedicated Billionaire

Will people come to see paintings by female artists of the last century, focusing on everything from women’s everyday lives to the struggle for power in the modern world? Or will my first ever exhibit be a dud?

I’ve never been this nervous in my life.

No, maybe it’s a tie between now and the time eight years ago that Braden and I revealed our relationship to my older brother. I had bet that Matt would take things well, and Braden was positive he’d get his butt beaten. He was prepared to take a few licks, but I didn’t want any kind of fight.

Matt surprised us both. He didn’t exactly take it well, unless you consider laughing his ass off for a solid ten minutes a normal response. He said he’d seen it coming and was just waiting for the big reveal. I finally had to admit my secret crush that never really wore off, but Braden swore up and down his feelings had taken him by storm. Matt’s fists might have been clenched, but my mother intervened with Dad, who was thrilled, and couldn’t wait for the next family vacation. That one would be just us— real family— no employees.

So neither of us really won the bet, but we did become real family just a year later when we got married in a tiny but heartfelt ceremony, then spent our honeymoon, which was also my last summer break before I graduated, touring Europe. Lazing on the beaches, scouring museums for inspiration, and being together. My favorite thing in the world.

“Mommy!”

My head snaps around and I smile. The sound of my five year old daughter’s voice snapped me out of the memories I’d conjured to escape my nerves, and the excited look on Mabel’sface washes what’s left of them away. My strongest supporters are here, always by my side to cheer me on. Even if no one shows up for the opening, they’re here.

Braden lets go of her hand and her slapping feet on the marble museum floor shake our toddler out of her slumber against Braden’s shoulder. Lilly blinks and holds out her hands to me before yawning hugely and collapsing back onto Braden’s chest.

“She was running around like a monkey at Uncle Matt’s,” Braden says. “He has a knack for wearing them out.”

I’m about to suggest putting her in my office with my assistant to finish her impromptu nap, but she perks up once she realizes where she’s at. If anyone takes after me with my love of art, it’s Lily, and she whines to get down and explore.

“We have to wait for Mommy’s exhibit to open,” Braden tells her mildly.

He leans over to give me a kiss and a concerned look. I’ve been running myself ragged getting the finishing touches put on this event and he knows it means the world to me.

“Everything looks great,” he says, his eyes sweeping down my body. “You look amazing.”

I had hurriedly changed from my work clothes into a new cocktail dress and now I smooth the shimmery fabric down over my curves. Motherhood has filled me out a little, but Braden still gets that mischievous glow in his eyes whenever he sees me. His blue eyes darken as he takes me in again, pulling me close for a hug.

Lily grabs my hair and attempts to nom on the gemstone clip I’ve put in my updo, and the three of us end up laughing as I try to get it out of her mouth without ruining the style. Mabel runs over and bosses her around like a true older sister, and shockingly, Lily lets go.

My hairstyle is ruined though, but Braden runs his fingers through the strands, arranging the curls around my shoulders while simultaneously making me weak in the knees. He has a few sparks of silver in his blond hair now, and his ever present scruff still doesn’t mar that strong jaw.

He puts Lily down and Mabel grabs her hand to steer her over to my assistant, who’s about to unlock the doors for the event. I squeeze my eyes shut and lean against Braden’s sturdy form, his arm wrapping around me.

“Look up,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

As soon as the doors swing open, a line of people file in, clutching their exhibit pamphlets. I spot my parents and Matt, some of the first to enter, but then it’s just a mob of people. They keep pouring in, their eyes eagerly searching the rows of paintings I’ve so carefully curated over the last year.

It’s not just going to be the fifty or so people I’ve invited to the cocktail party after, and truthfully, I was worried some of them wouldn’t show, either. It’s young and old, men and women, all excited to see what my posters have been teasing for the last month.

“I told you,” Braden says smugly. “There was no way you could fail. You cared way too much and everyone in town saw it. They want to be a part of your big night.”

A tear rolls down my cheek, relieved and full of joy. I lean against him for another quick second, then straighten up and hurry forward to welcome everyone. As I answer questions and accept their kind accolades, I’m already planning my next exhibit.

Because of Braden easing back on his workload with the team, he spends a lot more time at home with the kids. We’ve expanded on the charity he’d started working with years before, increasing their exhibits to encompass the entire country. It’s a great way to bring art to smaller towns, while also raising moneyfor a good cause. Braden thrived on the marketing aspect, always having a keen eye for what people want and how to get it to them.

I nod along with one of the patrons while looking over her shoulder at Braden, a hand on Mabel’s shoulder and a firm grip on Lily’s hand as he leads them around the exhibit. He was surprisingly interested in the whole journey, making sure the girls paid attention whenever I decided on a new piece. He’s a fantastic dad, wanting his daughters to know they could do anything they wanted in this world. Just like the women in the portraits I chose, and just like their mom.

Right before the cocktail party, our nanny arrives to take the kids home, and Braden has to practically hold me up by the time the night is over. It’s a whirlwind of questions, congratulations, and a few bits of constructive criticism by my bosses that I take on board for the next show.

“I’m retiring,” I joke in the car on the way home.

“Yeah, right,” Braden says, his hand firmly on the wheel as he glances over at me. “That’ll be the day.”

My eyes travel up his muscular forearm to his rolled up sleeve, barely containing his biceps. He still works out like he’s training for his team, getting up before the girls wake up and pumping iron and running. Sometimes I tag along to the massive home gym he’s set up next to the tennis court, but it’s mostly to ogle my hot husband. He pretends I’m distracting him, which I usually am, but when he drops the weights to pull me into his arms, neither one of us is ever complaining.

“No, really,” I say.

As the night progressed, I found I couldn’t take my eyes off my husband and daughters. We really are a perfect family, if I do say so myself. Perfect to me, anyway, and everything I ever wanted. As much as I love the museum and thrive when I’msurrounded by art, getting home is always the best part of the day.

---