Page 44 of Daring Wicked Love (Wicked Dade #2)

SIX MONTHS LATER.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we here at Savannah Gallery are excited to welcome you all to our latest opening,” Violet’s voice echoed through the quiet gallery.

“As some of you may or may not know, I personally love the part of my job where I get to discover new and talented artists. It’s like finding a rare jewel. ”

The nervous ball of energy beside me bounced on her heels.

“Tonight, as we stand before these beautifully crafted pieces, I invite you not only to witness the evolution of an artist who has overcome a great deal, but I also invite you to reflect on the world through their eyes. See their trauma, their pain, their love, and their unwavering hope in the darkest of moments.”

Leaning down, I kissed the top of Orla’s head. Her whole body vibrated with equal parts excitement and nerves. “I’m so proud of you, Pixie.”

Violet raised her glass of champagne. “So I ask everyone to raise their glass to Orla Connell, an artist I’m lucky to not only call a colleague but also an amazing friend.”

I raised my glass alongside the sea of bodies at the sold-out event.

Pride bloomed in my chest as I nudged Orla to walk toward the center of the room, her cheeks roaring pink as Violet took the champagne flute from Orla’s grip and replaced it with a microphone.

It had been a tough six months, grueling at times, but seeing her right now proved that all the pain and tireless work had been worth it.

Noah worked with her tirelessly, showing her the techniques she needed to paint with the mobility she had been left with.

Though her hand likely would never be the same again, something she had come to terms with thanks to weekly sessions with Dr. Moorehead, Orla didn’t let it stop her. She taught herself how to express her art in other ways with a determination I feared she’d lost six months ago.

No longer letting her own fears fuel her, she explored every medium she could, going as far as teaching herself to paint with her non-dominant hand.

Every step she took forward, she did it by my side, and I got to see her come back to life before my very eyes—something I was eternally grateful for.

She was so damn talented, so briming at the seams with passion and love for what she did, that no matter what new medium of art she tried it always took my breath away.

With every hurdle she overcame, I somehow continued to fall deeper in love with her.

“Um, okay, wow, those lights are bright,” Orla chuckled nervously into the microphone.

“I guess I want to firstly say thank you to Violet for taking a chance on me and not letting me back out of our contract six months ago. Your patience and unwavering belief in me means more than you will ever know.”

Something both she and I would always be forever indebted to Violet for.

Violet wasn’t quick to toss Orla to the side when she found out about her injury.

She gave Orla all the time she needed and promised to work with her no matter what.

It was exactly what Orla needed to hear, to know that her fear of rejection and people giving up on her was nothing more than her own inner demons working against her.

“Secondly, I want to say thank you to the one man who never gave up on me. He is the reason I am standing here today,” she continued, grey eyes searching for mine through the crowd.

“It’s amazing what love can do to a person.

Love is a powerful force. It heals, it inspires, it takes everything you ever thought you knew, turns it on its head, and molds it into something spectacularly beautiful. ”

Wasn’t that the truth?

I thought I was perfectly content—okay, not content, but I didn’t realize how much I was missing from my life until Orla came along and upended it.

Orla was everything I wasn’t.

She was happy. Bubbly. Talkative. A relentless ray of sunshine in the dull cloud I called life.

The moment she blew into my life, a whirlwind hurricane of laughter and light, all the pain I carried on my shoulders for nearly thirty years, all the intentions I had to live out the rest of my days alone, flew right out the fucking window.

She did the impossible and showed me how not to just love again, but to accept the kind of love I’d spent years convincing myself I didn’t deserve.

“Everything you see here tonight is because of him,” Orla smiled softly, her attention on me and only me. “ Tout est pour toi. Je t’aime, Frederic.”

The room erupted with applause for her and damn she deserved every second of it.

Standing back, I could do nothing but watch with pride as people approached the woman who stole my heart, photographers taking shots of her and asking her about her pieces.

“You look happy, grand frère. ”

Snapping my head around, I found Jaxon leaning casually against the wall with a glass of bourbon.

There was no point in denying it. “I am.” I stood beside him. “ Merci for coming tonight. I wasn’t too sure if you got my invite.”

“You know how I feel about art.” He shrugged, taking a sip. “It was Evelyn who wanted to come. Her, Orla, and Violet have gotten close these past couple of months.”

Ah, of course.

It wasn’t as if things hadn’t improved between me and my brothers. Elliott and I had, in fact, become closer than I ever imagined, with him spending whatever little time he gave himself off from the hospital at my home.

Hell, he had even claimed a bedroom for himself on the top floor, which was now filled with the teddy bears Penelope was willing to share with him.

But Jaxon was different.

We were starting to get back on track, though that mainly came down to his wife.

Evelyn’s new budding friendship with Orla via Violet forced me to confront the demons of my past right in the pale-freckled face.

Evelyn accepted the apology I gave her after an awkward encounter at Nirvana Gallery .

Orla had told me months ago that Evelyn forgave me, that she didn’t hold any resentment, but I still wanted to do the right thing and verbally apologize.

I owed her that much.

In return for my apology, Evelyn went as far as hugging me and promptly inviting me and Orla to dinner with her and Jaxon.

It was tense. Yet, the dinner planted a small, fragile seed of hopeful optimism, with the meal ending with Jaxon and me alone in his study, hashing out our past.

We talked for hours, going over every painful detail of our childhood and adolescence in hope to further understand each other.

It wasn’t easy, but it was a start.

Only time would tell, but I tried to remain positive for a better future that included all my brothers.

“How’s Penny?” Jaxon asked. “Any better with her mother?”

My back teeth ground together. “ Non. She said she doesn’t know if she will have time to take Penelope this summer, something about a two-month-long cruise around the Caribbean that isn’t child-friendly.”

“Ah.”

The hope I once had that Maura might become a better person, a more present mother, was fading fast. Each pathetic excuse chipped away at it, each missed promise another brick in the wall she was hand-creating between her and Penelope.

“It is what it is. It’s just hard on Penelope,” I sighed deeply. “Maybe one day she’ll wake up and realize that with each new disappointment she is pushing her own daughter away, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“Penny’s lucky she has you.”

His words were simple, but they hit that much deeper coming from him.

“ Merci ,” I said quietly.

And for a moment, the silence between us felt almost comfortable.

“I’m not sure if Orla has said anything to Evelyn yet.” I spied the blonde-pixie making her way toward us. “The three of us are going to spend the whole summer at our place in Nice. You and Evelyn should come and spend some of the summer there with us. Even for a couple weeks? It might be fun.”

Continued silence stretched between us. A line formed between Jaxon’s thick brows, his jaw twitching as he stared into his bourbon.

Maybe I was reaching too far, too soon.

“Can I steal you?” Orla’s warm voice broke the silence as she stepped closer. “Only if you’re free?”

I nodded, my hand instantly finding hers.

“For you, always.” Letting her lead me away, I looked back at my brother and said, “There’s no pressure, I just thought it might be good for us all to spend the summer together.

Build those sandcastles like we used to when we were boys…

Something for you to consider, no pressure. ”

Orla didn’t stop, weaving her way through the bodies, surveying her art, and ignoring the ‘sold’ signs that Violet was busy placing on several of her pieces.

Sold — ma chérie was living her dream. The dream she clawed back from the brink, and it made me so goddamn happy that the grin on my face started to actually hurt my cheeks.

Only when we got to a painting near the back, far away from the noise of voices and bright lights, did she stop.

“This is all a little overwhelming,” she huffed a chuckle, stealing my half-drank champagne and knocking it back. “Plus, it’s like a million degrees in here and those bright lights are not helping.”

I laughed, placing a hand on the curve of her naked spine. “You should be so proud of yourself, you’re doing amazing.”

“I feel like I might puke.”

“That’s totally normal,” I said. “But maybe we should get you some iced water and a little less champagne.”

Before I could take her back toward the bar, she stopped me by placing her right hand on my chest. “Hold on, I wanted to show you something.” She turned to the painting behind us, her eyes brightening as she took in the canvas.

“It’s my favorite piece. My best work. A true masterpiece if I do say so myself. ”

Vivid colors exploded on the canvas, streaking in every direction except in the middle. Right there in the middle were two shadows. One tall, one small. One black, one white. And between the shadows were two red imprinted thumbprints.

A thumbprint I remembered making all too well.

My eyes tried to absorb the raw beauty before me, taking in every stroke, every bit of her heart and soul that was poured onto the canvas.

Slowly, my eyes found the plaque beneath the piece, my chest all but ready to explode as I re-read the words over and over.

‘To be loved by him. ’

This wasn’t just art. It was us, captured in a way words could never express.

“How much?”

She tilted her chin to look up at me. “How much is what?”

“How much for me to buy this piece?”

“You want to buy it?”

“Of course, I do. It belongs in our home with us.” I buried my nose into the top of her head, inhaling her shampoo. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect, Pixie.”

Orla rested her shoulder against the flat of my arm as I pulled her tightly into me. “Now you know why I painted our hands red that day. Told you it wasn’t for kinky things.”

“Tell that to the red paint that’s permanently stained our mattress.”

She shrugged with a devilish glint in her eyes. “What can I say? I like the look of you with my handprints all over your body.”

She wasn’t the only one.

I loved when she marked me like that, claiming me as hers.

Because I was hers. Only hers, forever.

When she first met me, I was the Ice Man. Cold, brutal, and unforgiving. But she was the inferno I didn’t know I desperately needed in my life, burning through every layer around my heart, leaving nothing behind but her warmth.

Penelope and Orla were my whole universe, my beginning and end.

And I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life showing Orla how grateful I was that she dared to take a risk and fall in love with the man hiding beneath all that ice.