Page 107 of My Sweetest Obsession
But it doesn’t make them any less haunting or any less beautiful.
Ivy doesn’t say anything as we slowly make our way around the gallery, viewing the nearly four dozen paintings I chose to be part of the collection.
The longer it takes and the more time that passes in her silence, the more anxious I become for her reaction.
She hates it.
She’s angry.
I shouldn’t have done this without asking her permission.
What the fuck were you thinking, Cam?
Drea lets out a little annoyed sound before resettling against my chest, and I rub my hand up and down her back softly as I follow Ivy. Giving her some space to gather her thoughts.
When we finally reach our starting point back at the massive canvas, Ivy turns to face me, tears sliding down her cheeks.
My gut twists violently. “I’m sorry. I know I should have asked your permission. I understand if you’re mad. I shouldn’t have?—”
“No.” She shakes her head, a soft smile forming on her lips. “I’m not mad.”
“You’re not?”
She lets out a little laugh. “God, no. I’m…honored and surprised and…”
“Surprised about what?”
Her gaze travels over the gallery walls. “Is this really how you see me?”
I narrow my gaze on her. “What do you mean? You know it is. You’ve seen the paintings I’ve done of you. Well, most of them.”
“Yeah”—she nods—“I mean, I have, but not like this.”
“Ivy…” I close the distance between us and securing Drea with one palm, grasp Ivy’s chin in the other. “There isn’t a good enough artist in the world to truly capture how I see you and how beautiful you are, but this is as close as I could get.”
She pushes up and kisses me, her lips gliding across mine in a movement filled with love, pain, and sorrow, then presses her forehead to mine. “Thank you. This is a tremendous gift.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “There’s more.”
Falling back on her heels, Ivy’s brow furrows. “More?”
“Something I should have done a long time ago…”
I incline my head toward the adjoining gallery. “I call this collection ‘Red,’ but the one in there is different.”
Chewing on her bottom lip, she moves toward the next gallery.
I’m frozen in place watching her step inside—a combination of anxiety and the grief that still lingers keeping my feet from moving to follow her.
A muffled sob falls from her lips as soon as she walks in, and I squeeze my eyes closed against the burn of tears, trying to keep from falling apart completely while Drea is in my arms.
Snuggling her close, I force my eyes open and follow Ivy.
She stands in front of a half dozen paintings of Drew—the ones I’ve done over the last several months, trying to capture those precious memories I have of him. Moments when he truly displayed who he was for the whole world to see.
I step up next to her. “I call this collection ‘Light.’”
Because that’s what Drew always was for everyone he met.
