Page 15 of A Virgo’s Muse (BLP Signs of Love #12)
Tonight was the night. Every stroke, every brush, every canvas covered in the story of my healing was about to be seen and not just by strangers but by people who mattered… my people… him.
Onyx stood behind me in the mirror, helping fasten the back of my dress. His fingers were steady, gentle, but his eyes were watching me in that way he always did like I was the only thing in the room worth noticing.
“You nervous?” he asked, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“A little,” I admitted, smoothing down my olive-green gown. “I haven’t shown anything this personal before.”
He looked down at me, expression soft. “It’s already beautiful. ’Cause it’s yours.”
That man had a way of making me melt and believe in the same breath.
When we arrived at the gallery, the air shifted.
Friends, supporters, and collectors milled around, sipping wine and admiring the previews of other artists.
I slipped into my hosting mode, greeting, smiling, and thanking everyone.
And Onyx, always being able to be adaptable, did the same in his own way.
People gravitated to him. It was his energy—calm but commanding.
The gallery buzzed with soft chatter and clinking glasses, but all I could hear was my heartbeat.
We drifted apart for a while, each of us floating in and out of conversations and handshakes. I could feel his eyes on me, though, even across the room like some invisible tether.
Then the host tapped the mic and called for attention. It was time. I walked to the center of the gallery, where five of my pieces were covered in black satin drapes. The mic felt cold in my hands, but the second I spoke, I found my rhythm.
“Hello, everyone,” I began, scanning the room filled with familiar and unfamiliar faces.
“My name is Desire Howard, and I own My Desires, which is an art studio. A lot of you have seen my artwork, bought it, sat in one of my classes, or even watched me live as I painted. Some of you know me by name, some only by brushstrokes, and others have taken classes and made a personal connection with me.”
I took a deep breath, grounding myself in truth.
“After my childhood home burned down, I lost everything, including my very first pieces of art. It wasn’t just paint and canvas. It was me. And when that burned, I lost my spark. I couldn’t paint. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to teach. I didn’t even want to feel.”
A hushed tone blanketed the room.
“These new pieces mean the world to me. Over the last few months, someone walked into my life unexpectedly and shook everything up. Not in a stormy way,” I said, chuckling, “but in the way that forces a flower to bloom after a long winter.”
My eyes found Onyx across the room, and even in a crowd, he made me feel like we were the only two standing.
“This person saw me… truly saw me. Not the strong version I present, not the teacher or the brand, but the woman underneath all of that—raw, imperfect, guarded. And he didn’t flinch.”
A few soft smiles spread through the crowd as well as a few nods.
“I call this collection A Virgo’s Muse because it’s about finding balance between logic and chaos, between silence and noise, between control and surrender. It’s about him.”
I smiled through the tremble in my throat.
“I want to give a big shout out to my man, my man, my man,” I said with a teasing grin that made a few people laugh. “Onyx Bradford is the inspiration behind every single piece in this collection. From Control Meets Chaos to Earth Meets Fire , this man became my peace.”
I turned and pulled the first tarp. I was met with gasps, soft oohs, and a few audible wows.
I unveiled each painting one by one. Each piece of art was rich with emotion, warmth, vulnerability, and power. Each told a story—our first night together in paint, his hand at the small of my back, our shared silences, our passion, our pain. But one was still covered.
I motioned toward him. “Onyx, come here.”
He walked toward me without hesitation. The room faded the moment he reached me with those dark eyes locked on mine.
“I love you, Onyx,” I said softly into the mic.
“You gave me a spark I thought I lost in that fire months ago. You reminded me that creation doesn’t just come from happiness or pain, it comes from connection.
” He blinked, eyes glistening. “I owe every canvas to you. But this one… this one I dedicated to us.”
I pulled the last black tarp, revealing a painting titled Sanctuary .
It was the two of us, our bodies intertwined on a canvas, not sexually but spiritually. He was holding me, shielding me with the strength of a man who’d kill for my peace. And I was clinging to him like he was oxygen. It was bold. It was intimate. It was us.
“This is called Sanctuary ,” I whispered. “Because that’s what you became for me. You became a safe haven when the storms of the real world got too loud.”
He stepped forward, pulling me into his arms. I felt his chest rise and fall. Then his body began to shake slightly.
Tears—he was crying. The paintings and my words evoked the emotion. I was glad that I was the cause of it. I hated the stereotype that men were less masculine if they cried. My man was crying, and I was going to hold him like a baby if he wanted me to.
“I don’t cry,” he murmured into my ear, voice cracking.
“But I ain’t never had nobody love me out loud like this before.
Nobody.” He whispered the last part like it was a secret.
His hand slid up to cup the back of my head as he looked down at me.
“I appreciate you, baby, for giving me room to be soft, for seeing the shit I try to hide, and for loving the real me, not the man the streets talk about or the one the shadows feared.”
He took a deep breath, kissed my forehead, then pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
“I got a surprise for you.”
“Oh, Lord,” I teased, wiping a tear from his cheek.
“I’m serious,” he said, pulling out a small envelope from his jacket pocket. “Tonight ain’t over.”
I took it with trembling fingers.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” he said with a smirk. “But just know I meant what I said… I’d tell the whole world what you mean to me. And this next part? You’ll never forget it.”
I didn’t know what he had planned, but with Onyx, I didn’t have to. I just knew it would be unforgettable.