Page 166 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

The Rothsteins move on to examine another piece, and Gideon returns to my side.

“You’re a natural at this,” he says, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “They’re eating out of your hand.”

“I’m faking it spectacularly,” I admit. “Inside I’m still that girl who used the wrong fork and started eating before you at your own charity gala.”

“You never needed to fake anything,” he says, suddenly serious. “That’s what I love most about you.”

A server passes with a tray of champagne and water, and Gideon smoothly exchanges my empty water glass for a fresh one. The brief moment gives me time to compose myself before I’m pulled into another conversation about my inspiration and technique.

The night continues in a whirlwind of introductions, explanations, and sales that Dean Wess, who I’ve hired as an extra hand tonight, handles with theatrical flair while I do the creative talking. Through it all, I feel Gideon’s presence like an anchor, steady and sure.

Six months have passed. Exactly the same amount of time as our original arrangement.

But how different these months have been. Six months of truth instead of pretense. Six months of building something real. Six months of learning each other’s habits, fears, and dreams without the protection of a contract that promised it would all end.

And now, as I glance around at the gallery filled with my work, literal pieces of my soul splashed across canvas for strangers to judge, and feel the tiny flutter of my future growing inside me, something clicks. The noise of clinking glasses and pretentious art chatter fades away, and I finally, truly understand what my grandmother meant when she said true art comes from living fully.

This is it. This exact moment. The terrifying, exhilarating free-fall of being completely, messily alive and in love.

This, the gallery with my name on the door, thebaby doing somersaults in my belly, the reformed billionaire who looks at me like I hung the moon instead of just some paintings, all of this is what it means to live fully.

And it’s just the beginning.

God, that sounds so cheesy. But also... true?

It’s funny. Me and beginnings, we don’t usually get along very well. Historically, they’ve been right up there with visits to the dentist and small talk with gallery patrons who want to tell me what my art “really means.” Something to endure while silently plotting escape routes.

But with Gideon at my side, and I meantrulyat my side, not hovering protectively or watching from a distance, with him at my side, for the first time in my life, beginnings don’t terrify me.

They feel like fresh canvas. Full of possibility. Mine to fill.

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