Page 30 of Save Me the Trouble
As if on cue, the computer chimed, drawing both of our attention back to the screen. The “Match” section on Killian’s profile was no longer empty. The image of the woman—Alicia Cortez—glowing like a beacon of reality.
I couldn’t stop myself from clicking on her profile.
Brunette. Busty. Beautiful smile.And that was only the beginning of her perfection.Prestigious human rights lawyer. Adjunct law professor at UCLA. Co-founder of two non-profit organizations. Has run in either the Boston Marathon or the New York City Marathon for the last five years. Likes to paint in her spare time.
She was perfect for him…and I…was a fool for forgetting that this was only a job.
Darcy was the first to speak, her tone firm. “Invite her to the exhibit tonight. It’s the perfect opportunity for them to meet.”
I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep the evening between just Killian and me, to hold onto the fragile connection we’d begun to build. But Darcy was right. If I didn’t invite her…if I didn’t make a sharp turn off the path I was on, I would be destined for trouble.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded and pulled up her contact information. I typed out a quick,very professionalmessage, informing her of the match in our system and inviting her to the gallery tonight to meet Killian. My fingers felt heavy with each keystroke, like I was sealing my own fate with every letter. As much as I hated it, I was glad Darcy looked over my shoulder the whole time.
I hit send and instantly took a deep breath, wanting to remind myself that it was fine—that I was fine. And that this was for the best. For both of us.
“Good call,” Darcy said, patting my shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing, Grace.”
I forced a smile and nodded, though my heart wasn’t in it. “Yeah. The right thing.”
As I turned back to my desk, my eyes fell on the dress again, the rich emerald fabric almost mocking me with its beauty. Tonight, I’d wear it and play my part, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was about to lose something important, something that could’ve been real. And that realization was almost too much to bear.
Chapter Nine
Grace
The gallery was filled with the soft hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the muted sounds of footsteps on polished floors. I’d always enjoyed exhibits at the Frye, but this was on a whole other level.
The demure guests dressed in satin and jewels, the free-flowing champagne, and the way the lighting in the room seemed to carve out only the photographs from the shadows. It felt almost regal—like the photos weren’t the only thing here to be seen.
Meanwhile, I was an outsider. An observer who didn’t belong. But thanks to him, no one would know it. Not when the dress he’d sent me flowed around my legs like liquid emeralds and the diamonds around my throat were heavy with the knowledge that they were real. I felt more like a princess than someone who had spent most of the day battling her conscience.
A Cinderella who knew her night would end in disaster.
Ms. Cortez had accepted my invitation to the gallery, but I’d told her to come at nine-thirty even though I knew Killian waspicking me up to be here for eight. I needed some time to tell him about her.And some time to prepare myself for the break.
We wandered through the exhibit together, an invisible string pulling us closer with every step. Every time we passed another couple or turned in a different direction, Killian’s hand landed on the small of my back to guide me. Except it was his fingers directly on my bare skin, every brush stoking the flame inside me that I was here to put out.
We stopped in front of a series of photographs capturing monarch butterflies in the wild. The images were stunning—vibrant wings in mid-flight, close-ups of intricate patterns, the ethereal dance of these fragile creatures captured forever in time.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, my eyes tracing the delicate veins of a butterfly’s wing in one of the shots, every tiny detail in sharp focus, and the result was breathtaking.
“I couldn’t agree more.” His voice rumbled low, calling for me to turn to him, and when I did, I found he was looking at me.
My lips parted, my stupid heart still refusing the memo that racing and aching for this man were off-limits.
“What, um, lens do you think they used for this one?” I snapped my attention back to the photo.
He moved to stand right next to me, his shoulder brushing mine. “A macro lens to capture the detail. Those over there”—he pointed across the room—“were shot with a telephoto from a distance.”
I hummed, appreciating the difference.
“Photography—any kind of art is more than just the subject being captured, it’s also the person doing the capturing. There is a vulnerability on both sides that creates a connection…that allows for something beautiful to form.”
He wasn’t talking about photography anymore. He was talking about me—about his profile.About us.
My mouth went dry.No.I couldn’t let this happen. I promised Darcy—I promised myself.
I lifted my glass of champagne to my lips, downing two massive gulps, before I replied, “I guess it is a skill to be able to capture something in the moment that you know can’t last.”
