Page 83 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

We reach my grandmother’s portrait last. Gideon stands silently before it for a long moment.

“This one means something special to you,” he says finally. It’s not a question.

I nod, throat suddenly tight. “My grandmother. She... supported me, when otherswouldn’t.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes. “It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I shrug, aiming for casual but probably missing by a mile. “It’s not as good as the original, but it’s mine again.”

His eyes hold mine. “It’s exceptional, Ava.”

The compliment hits differently than all the others I’ve received tonight. Something about the way he says it makes me believe him.

“What happened to the original?” he asks.

I shake my head, unable to let him in that deep. Not yet. “It doesn’t matter.”

He studies me a moment, but thankfully lets it go. He looks around. “I noticed none of your exhibition pieces include me,” he says with a hint of mischief. “Not even one tiny portrait? I’m wounded.”

I laugh despite myself. “Your ego is intact, I promise. But no, these are all from my Brooklyn studio. The pieces with you, the ones I paint in the penthouse, well, they are...”

Private. Too revealing. Evidence of feelings I’m not supposed to have.

“Are what?” he prompts when I trail off.

“Still works in progress,” I finish lamely.

Lucy appears at my side, saving me from further explanation. “Sorry to interrupt, but that gallery owner from Chelsea is asking for you. I think she wants to discuss representation.” She gives me an excited little push. “Go. Now.”

As I’m pulled away to talk business, I glance back to see Lucy and Gideon chatting easily. Whatever she’s saying makes him laugh, and I feel a strange mix of gratitude and terror. Lucy knows me better than anyone. What if she sees right through our arrangement?What if she manages to pry something from Gideon that gives it all away?

But no, I need to trust him. Trusther.

Later, as the night winds down, Lucy catches me alone by the refreshment table.

“So,” she says, bumping her shoulder against mine. “You really did it. First-generation college graduate with a killer exhibition.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” I admit, suddenly emotional. “All those late nights you brought me coffee during finals, all the times you modeled for free—”

“Stop, you’ll ruin your makeup.” She grabs my hands. “I’m just happy to see you finally getting the recognition you deserve. And for what it’s worth, your husband seems genuinely proud of you.”

I glance across the room where Gideon stands examining a piece, his expression thoughtful. “You think so?”

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night when you weren’t looking,” she says. “That’s not fake, Ava.”

Fake. I smile sadly at the word.

Before I can respond, Professor Marshall pulls me aside to introduce me to another industry contact. As we talk, I spot Gideon across the room with Lucy, deep in conversation once again. Whatever she’s telling him seems serious, and I have a momentary panic that she’s warning him not to hurt me.

“Your work has matured dramatically,” the contact tells me. “There’s an emotional authenticity here that’s rare in emerging artists.”

“Thank you,” I say, wondering if everyone can see what Professor Marshall sees. You know, the influence of this complicated arrangement with Gideon bleeding into my art.

Later, as the crowd thins, I find myselfbetween Lucy and Gideon before the portrait of my grandmother.

“Congratulations,” Gideon tells me quietly. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, you’ve achieved something exceptional here.”

“It feels surreal,” I admit. “This milestone wasn’t supposed to happen. Not according to my stepfather’s plans anyway.”

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