Chapter 17 - The RetrospectiveThree hours later, the gallery crowd had thinned out into a relaxed, intimate gathering of close friends, family, and art buyers. Several of Lily’s major pieces had already sold for record-breaking prices to legitimate, reputable collectors from Seattle and San Francisco.
I stood near the centerpiece painting—The Eighth Year—holding two glasses of champagne.
Lily walked up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her back against my chest. I handed her a glass, turning around to look down into her bright, triumphant eyes.
"Well," Lily whispered, clinking her glass against mine. "That went slightly better than the family dinner."
"Slightly," I laughed, wrapping my free arm securely around her. "Though I’m pretty sure your dad nearly gave Julian Vance a heart attack."
"Dad can be terrifying when he wants to be," she smiled, resting her head against my shoulder. "Just like a certain audio editor I know who risked his entire professional reputation to protect me."
"I’d do it again in a heartbeat," I murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss against her forehead. "Though next time, can we pick a couch that doesn't break?"
May you like
Lily laughed, a bright, melodic sound that filled the high-ceilinged gallery. "No promises, Ethan. Broken furniture seems to be our specialty."
Across the room, Noah raised his glass toward us with a wry grin, standing beside his father. The war was officially over. The secret was out. And the future stretched out before us, completely unburdened.
