Page 56 of Forbidden Desires

I winced. It wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear, but I definitely deserved Dominique’s response. “I know I fucked up,” I admitted. “I believed something that obviously wasn’t even close to being the truth.”

Diamonique scoffed. “You’re right about that. And I suppose now you want me to clean up the mess you made?”

I sighed, pushing my hands through my dishevelled hair. “I would like yourhelp, so I can clean it up myself.”

“Apologies go a long way.”

“That goes without saying, but she deserves more than just a regret filled apology from an old man with more pride than he has sense.”

Dominque chuckled. “My, my. You really are feeling down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the self-depreciation zone.”

I smiled weakly, even though she couldn’t see it. “It’s the only thing I have going for me right now.”

“Well, not the only thing,” Dominique countered, almost gleefully. “You’re in luck. I have it on good authority that Jasmine has feelings for you—”

“Even now?” I asked incredulously. I didn’t expect to hear that. I’d fully anticipated Dominique telling me that Jasmine didn’t want anything to do with me. Why would she after the way I’d dismissed and treated her?

“Did your feelings for her stop when you thought she’d talked toThe Affluent Collectiveabout your parents? And don’teventry and convince me you aren’t in love with her.”

The fact that Dominique would say such a thing startled me. “What makes you say that?”

“Eric, I’ve never seen you stay with a woman as long as Jasmine, and there’s only one reason why you kept her around so long. Love, darling. Am I right?”

I swallowed hard. I’d already come to terms with my feelings for Jasmine. That yes, I did fall in love with her, despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t have, all the reasons I swore I wouldn’t. I no longer cared about our age difference. I wanted Jasmine in my life, forever, and I’d do whatever it took to keep her there. I would give her anything and everything her heart desired, including the children I knew she wanted. That I wanted with her.

It was a startling realization to have found the one woman I wanted to marry and spend the rest of my life with, but I still didn’t know where I stood with her.

“Yes, you’re right,” I said to Dominique, verifying my feelings for Jasmine.

Dominique gave a little huff over the phone line. “Then don’t undersell Jasmine’s feelings for you, either. When they’re that strong between two people, they don’t just disappear over a little tiff.”

Ours had been far more than a little tiff, but I didn’t correct the other woman. “I…I just need to make this right.”

“Damn right you do. Our girl deserves the grandest gesture you can pull out of your hat,” she replied. “And luckily for you, I also have it on good authority what Jasmine’s been up to lately and where you might find her, and it’s not with another man because she’s quit the business altogether.”

I exhaled a breath, the relief whooshing out of me leaving me light-headed at that news. “Where?” I asked anxiously.

Dominique told me where Jasmine would be that evening, and even before we hung up, I was already thinking and planning and praying that my one shot at redemption worked.

I slid backinto the car waiting at the curb and gave Jeff distinct instructions on where to head next, to a jewelry store that only sold custom made, one-of-a-kind pieces. Grand gestures were not my forte, mainly because I’d never wanted to impress another woman the way I desperately needed to convince Jasmine of just how sincere my feelings for her were.

From there, I headed home and showered, shaved, and dressed in a charcoal gray suit. Then I was off again, with Jeff driving me to The Marquee, a quaint little gallery located near the beach that liked to showcase up and coming artisans. Tonight’s featured artist was Jasmine Greene, along with half a dozen other new creators showing off their artwork.

All Dominique’s doing, I’d discovered during our earlier phone conversation. Wanting to get Jasmine’s mind off of me, Dominique had contacted Ceilia Davenport, her good friend and owner of the Marquee—and someone I, too, supported—and once the other woman saw Jasmine’s work, she’d made Jasmine’s paintings the main draw of the evening.

I arrived at The Marquee a short while after the venue opened to guests. I stepped inside, where dozens of people were milling around the three-story art gallery with wine in hand, their spirits high as they discussed various pieces of artwork.

In a way, I envied their casual conversation and easy laughter, considering the nervous sensation swirling in mystomach, when I was not a man prone to anxiety. No one was here tonight hoping to repair a relationship with the woman they loved. For all these guests, this was a leisurely outing. They were going to drop more money than most made in a year just for something unique to put on their walls or in the halls of their illustrious homes.

These showings were all so incredibly indulgent, yet more than worth it considering the line-up of artists included my Jasmine.

Glass of wine in hand, it was her works that I moved along now. All around me in a large area of the gallery that had been dedicated to her use exclusively, were the fruits of her labor and I eagerly drank it all in, both overwhelmed and so impressed to see this creative side of Jasmine now that she’d allowed it free rein. Bleeding roses and rococo-esque women in shredded ribbons of lace and silk. Voids of dark black ink and wisps of white dancing across them. Her work held an emotional, ethereal quality in all mediums from acrylic to oil to watercolor.

She was wildly, painfully talented. I needed her to know that I appreciated that about her. That I appreciatedher. That she was more to me than just a contract, more than just a moment in my life.

She was my entire life. My future.

Hindsight was always twenty-twenty. And right now, I knew more than anything that the window to fix my fuck up was closing in on me, fast.

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