Page 113 of Black Ties and White Lies

She tugs on my hands, walking backwards toward the desk. She’d lowered it so it now sits flat. A large canvas, one larger than the tabletop sits on top of it. I can’t see what she’s worked on at first, only seeing white canvas hanging off the side.

My steps come to a halt when what she’s drawn comes into view. It’s the most beautiful piece of work I’ve ever seen. My hand comes to my chest, my breath taken away from the sheer talent of the piece of art in front of me.

Her answer to if she’ll ever forgive me—if she loves me—is written all over it.

One side of the picture is a perfectly sketched out photo of her and I back in LA in that terrible, dingy conference room. It’s almost come to perfect life, me sitting on the edge of the table as I spoke to her. I even hold the ugly as fuck balls pen in my hand. Her attention to detail is stunning. I knew she was talented, but this is unfuckingreal.

As breathtaking as that side of the photo is, it’s what’s on the other side that has pulled the air from my lungs. In the picture Margo has drawn herself in a white dress—a wedding dress. It looks like I’m pulling her from a chair onto the dance-floor. There’s a wedding band on my hand that’s outstretched toward her. The picture is drawn in such detail, the colors distinct, that it seems real. I could imagine the exact scenario happening.

It looks more like a photograph than a sketch.

I tear my gaze from the picture to look at her.

She smiles. “I may have lied just a little. I drew the picture for you, but I hope you don’t mind if it goes on display somewhere.”

“What?”

“It’s going to be the focal point of the exhibition show I’m having—at Camden’s gallery.”

“You—”

She nods up and down, tears misting her eyes. “I spoke to him. I hope you aren’t mad at me, but I needed to talk to him and know that he wasn’t speaking to me because I’m your fiancée. I put on a dumb disguise and showed him my work. He’d loved it and was shocked when I came clean on who I was. Actually, I think he was upset at first that I didn’t tell him who I was. But it doesn’t matter. I got in, Beck! We’re going to start with one photo. But once I get enough for an entire showcase, he said he’d fit me in for one. And I wantthisto be the focal point of the entire thing.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I answer. Reaching across, I grab the collar of the shirt on her body and bring her into me. “I knew you’d get it, Margo. You’re so god damn talented. I knew he’d see it.”

“I still can’t believe it,” she whispers between us.

“What you drew…the wedding…does this mean?”

She nods confidently at me, tears coming down her cheeks. “I love you, Beck. Nothing is going to stop me from it. I can’t believe you’ve gone all this time hiding how you felt. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. That you weren’t the one I spoke to at that bar, but I want to spend forever making it up to you. It should’ve only ever been you, Beckham Sinclair.”

I waste no time pulling her mouth to mine. When our lips collide, I don’t know if the salt I taste is from her tears or mine. All I know is I’m never risking losing her again.

“I’ve been waiting sogod damn long for you to say that.” Beck pulls away only far enough to get the words out. They’re said against my lips as his deep indigo eyes stare at me with so much love, I have no idea how I never noticed it before. It’s something I’ll never miss, or take advantage of, ever again.

“So, you like the piece?” I wrap my arms around his neck, needing to pull him closer to my body. It’s only been a few days that we’ve been apart, but they drug on miserably without me being able to touch him like this. If I didn’t have the distraction of getting the job with Camden and finding this studio, I don’t know how I would’ve spent the miserable minutes without him.

Never again. I promise myself. I know there’s times where we’re bound to be apart. He owns a jet for a reason. He has to travel a lot, but I’ll make sure he calls me any chance he has. Or at least that I’ll still get dirty emails from his company email while he’s away.

I just know I never want to go days without speaking to him again. It allowed me the clarity I needed to know how deeply I was in love with him, but I never need that space again.

Beck continues to pepper kisses over my jaw, my neck, my throat. He slides his work shirt off my shoulder, biting down on the tender flesh of my shoulder. I laugh, my fingers clutching the fabric of the shirt he wears. “Beck,” I scold. “You didn’t answer me if you liked it.”

His fingers are quick at unbuttoning the shirt of his I wear. “I love you baby, but the question is a little unnecessary.”

I frown, my back arching on its own accord as his hands push open the button up and run down the bare skin of my side. “How so?”

He takes a step back, leaving me to stand in front of the desk alone. It feels cold without his touch. “Because of course I fucking love it. In fact, if I wasn’t so fucking proud of you for getting into the best gallery in New York, I’d say fuck Camden and selfishly keep the art for myself.”

My eyes narrow at him as he smirks back at me. “What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “I’m selfish, Violet. You know this.”

“It’s going on display.” I take a step backwards, propping my hip against the desk.

He takes a step toward me. And then another, all while keeping that cocky grin I’m so damn in love with on his perfect lips. “Yes it is. And I’ll be the first damn person in line to see it.”

Beck closes the distance between us. He reaches up to open the button up, revealing my bare breasts.

“If I learn that Ezra saw you wearing this, I might fucking kill him,” he notes. He traces his knuckle up my ribcage with the lightest of touches, causing my skin to prickle with desire.

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