Page 78 of Thunder

In this moment, there's only Marcus, the hum of the motorcycle, the call of the sea, and the promise of the wide-open horizon ahead.

This is what I want.

Freedom. Surrounded by beauty. Living in it with the man I love.

I shout for joy. A shout that fills me with more peace and happiness than I’ve felt in so long. The ride goes on for hours, nothing but a rumbling between my legs, my arms around the man I love, and the world nothing but beautiful, open serenity.

Then it ends.

And when we return, the gallery is unrecognizable.

It's buzzing with life, filled with faces I've grown to love: Eileen, Natalie, Eliza, Bullet, Maddy, Rook, even Striker is here, looking dapper in his uniform. The space I'd come to see as a sanctuary of solitude is now transformed. Alive. Elegant fairy lights hang from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the gallery. Tables draped in white are positioned strategically around the room, each topped with delicate vases holding fresh lilies. Their fragrance mingles with the soft notes of jazz playing in the background. Servers navigate the crowd, carrying trays of champagne and appetizers.

In the center of this spectacle stands a podium, where an animated auctioneer is warming up a growing crowd. To the podium’s left, there’s a showcase of my best paintings, each one illuminated by a spotlight, their vibrant hues even more pronounced against the dimmed ambiance. I recognize a few faces in the crowd—local artists, gallery owners, and some influential members of the Costa Oscura community.

"What's going on?" Surprise gives my voice a sharp pitch. I’m shaking, vibrating, so overcome with emotions that I feel ready to start jumping.

Marcus and Sera exchange mischievous smiles.

“You tell her,” she says.

"I thought some folks might want to buy those 'splashes of color,'” he says.

"You did this for me?"

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Shh, you two, the auction is about to begin,” Sera whispers. “Take your seats, because I have a feeling the bidding action is going to be intense. You should hear the way some of these people are talking. They’re like sharks and the water has just been flooded with chum. Or whatever the fuck fishermen say, I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve had three glasses of champagne already and I am so excited to watch people bid on your art, Lia.”

“No way. This can’t be real.”

“It is,” Marcus says. “It’s real, and it’s all for you.”

I watch as they bring the first painting forward—a canvas filled with swirling blues and greens, capturing the tumultuous beauty of Costa Oscura's waves crashing against its rugged cliffs. The bidding starts slowly, but soon, a fierce competition erupts. My heart races. Each increasing bid feels like a testament to my worth, my talent, my future.

"Going once, going twice, and sold to the gentleman in the back!" The auctioneer's voice resonates throughout the room, sealing the painting's fate and making me grin like a lunatic as a euphoria unlike any other washes over me; my work, which I’ve always seen as just an emotional outlet, is now valuable. Valuable. And to someone other than me or my extended, chosen family.

Marcus gently nudges me, drawing my attention to the next piece, a personal favorite. It's a vibrant depiction of a sun setting over the Costa Oscura harbor, a medley of fiery oranges, purples, and deep blues. And some cute tiny boats that drift in the calm current, because I love cute tiny boats.

"Remember that evening?" he murmurs, reminiscing about the inspiration behind it. We sat on the shore, hands intertwined, losing ourselves in the breathtaking beauty of the world around us. Meaning, I painted the landscape, we kissed a hell of a lot, and then made love in the grass. Twice.

It was a great night.

The bidding for this one is even more zealous, and my smile gets so wide my face hurts. With every raised paddle, every nod of acknowledgment, the fragmented pieces of my confidence meld back together. This isn't just about the money; it's an affirmation, a resounding chorus that speaks of my worth.

Throughout the night, the pattern continues; throughout the night, my sense of self-worth grows.

My paintings, my dreams displayed on canvas, are appreciated and cherished. I feel a pride that had been elusive for so long; I'm not just Lia, the unemployed woman caught up in the whirlwind of the Santoro Syndicate scandal; I'm Lia, the artist whose work speaks to the souls of those who witness it and makes them want to pay a lot of money to own it.

Sera sidles up to me, grinning like the drunken, lovely lunatic she is, and she hands me a flute of champagne.

"See? I told you," she says. "Your art isn't just a hobby; it's a calling."

The room fills with the sound of applause, drawing my attention to Marcus, who now stands at the podium. He raises a glass in my direction, his eyes speaking volumes, his form a commanding, love-inspiring vision.

"There’s just one painting remaining, and I promise I’ll let you all get to bidding on it in a moment, but first, I want to take a second to acknowledge the reason you are all here tonight: Lia. Let’s all raise our glasses and toast to Lia, the talented, beautiful woman whose art has touched all our hearts tonight."

Tears well up in my eyes.

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