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Tristan

T ristan had been to enough galleries and art shows growing up to know this wasn’t how he wanted to spend his time.

But tonight?

Tonight was different.

Because every single photograph on these walls had been taken by Lena. And even if he didn’t have the words for what the images made him feel, he still felt it. For the first time in his life, he understood his mother. Why she’d given everything up for Amaury Devallé.

Tonight, the place was packed. Conversations buzzed softly through the bright space, the sharp click of heels and the occasional clink of glass adding rhythm to the air.

Most people wanted to meet Lena. At the moment, she stood next to one of his favorite photographs, showing a frozen alpine lake, the ice smooth like glass, and, on the edge, animal tracks in the snow.

She looked calm, composed, radiant in a navy blue cocktail dress that left her shoulders bare and billowed gently around her knees. Tristan knew some of his friend’s wives and girlfriends had surprised Lena with a shopping trip a few days earlier.

Tristan turned away before anyone could catch him grinning like a fool.

“Tristan!”

He turned to find Hugo and Jo standing nearby. Jo rested one hand lightly on Hugo’s arm, the other on her very pregnant belly. She looked flushed and content.

“Hugo. Jo. I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” he said, crossing over to them.

Jo grinned. “Please. I wouldn’t miss this. I love art exhibitions.” She tilted her head. “I like when Hugo describes things for me. And I like the finger foods.”

“She means the mini quiches,” Hugo said dryly. “She’s eaten four.”

“Five,” Jo corrected. “Make sure you tell me if somebody walks past me with another tray. I only have a couple more weeks to eat for two.”

Tristan chuckled. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a future where he and Lena might start a family as well. A few months earlier, he wouldn’t have imagined that as a possibility for him, but now, it was one of many options that had opened up. Even if it wasn’t something they’d talked about yet. “You look great, Jo.”

“I feel like a small planet,” Jo replied. “But thank you.”

Hugo leaned in and murmured something in her ear. Whatever it was, it made her smile widen.

“Sorry we’re late,” a voice said behind them. Tristan turned to see Isla and Ry rushing towards them. “How’s it going so far?”

Tristan glanced around. “People seem to like Lena’s work.”

“Of course they do,” Yvette said, walking up with Alex and Drake.

“Damien and the rest of the team are on their way,” Drake said. “They were late getting back from a rescue, so I left without them.”

Tristan shook hands with him.

“Thanks for coming out tonight.” Truth be told, he’d hoped some people from his own team might show, but hadn’t imagined their sibling PGHM team might join them as well.

Yvette winked at them and grabbed the arm of someone who appeared to be a reporter as he walked by. “So. What do you think?” she began, leading him away. “The thing I like most about Lena’s photographs is that they let me see things about the world I otherwise would have missed.” Her companion nodded eagerly and wrote something down in his little notebook.

And then Lena was there, slipping her hand into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I should hire Yvette to sell these,” she laughed.

“You shouldn’t sell any of them,” Tristan said, pulling her in tight against his side. “I think we should keep them all.”

Lena leaned into him, her body soft against his side. “I’m not sure Madame Guillaume will agree. She’s already planning a second show in Tokyo in the spring.”

Tristan pulled back just enough to look at her. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Her eyes sparkled. “She thinks they would be perfect for her gallery there.”

Tristan smiled slowly. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You deserve this, you know.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Tokyo?”

“All of it,” he said. “The attention. The success. People seeing the world the way you do.”

Before she could answer, someone gently tapped Lena’s shoulder. Madame Guillaume herself stood nearby, elegant in black, her silver hair swept into a soft knot.

“ Chérie ,” she said, her French accent lilting. “There is somebody I would like you to meet.”

Tristan squeezed her hand and let go. “Go. I’ll be here.”

Tristan waved to his friends and turned back toward the display wall, meaning to take another quiet lap around the gallery himself. But instead, someone touched his shoulder.

A familiar touch.

He turned—and froze.

His mother stood there, wearing a dark forest-green coat with a silk scarf tucked at her neck. And next to her stood his father, silver-haired, perfectly pressed as always in a tailored charcoal suit.

“ Maman ?” Tristan said. “ Père ? What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t think we would miss this, did you?” his mother asked. Her eyes were bright. “I just can’t believe I had to find out about this from friends, rather than from my son.”

“I …” Tristan’s brain felt like it had slipped out of gear. “I didn’t expect…” His parents—his father, certainly—never, ever came to see him. When they wanted to see him, they summoned him to see them. As they’d done for his father’s birthday. “I wasn’t sure it would be your thing,” Tristan finished lamely.

His mother linked arms with his, lowering her voice. “You’re our thing, Tristan.”

He swallowed hard, not sure what to say to that.

His father held out a hand. “You didn’t think we would miss Lena’s opening, did you? Come on, son. Show us around.”

Over the next hour, Tristan introduced his parents to his teammates and friends. If Amaury was surprised that nobody seemed to recognize him as a great watchmaker, he didn’t show it. For a man used to always being the center of attention, tonight he seemed content to stay on the edge. Even when a reporter recognized him, the only comment Amaury made was about the quality of Lena’s work.

“These are beautiful. Lena is incredibly talented,” his father finally said. And then he made a point of telling her himself, filling Tristan with the hope that things might be different from now on.

Until her parents were preparing to leave, and her mother excused herself to say goodbye to a friend.

“Tristan,” his father said. “Could you walk me out? I was hoping to talk to you for a minute. It’s about our conversation in Basel.” Tristan’s smile dimmed. If this was another attempt on his father’s part to try to get him to quit his job, it was going to be the last one.

“Please, Père . Not tonight.”

“It has to be tonight. What you said—no, actually, what Lena said—gave me a lot to think about.” His father spread his hands wide. “I’m getting old, and I won’t deny I hoped you would take over the business one day. But I realize now that wasn’t fair to you.”

Tristan blinked, thrown off by the unexpected gentleness in his father’s voice.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t understand it until Lena told me off,” Amaury continued. “I have loved you since the day I met you, Tristan. You are my son in every possible sense of the word. And I always thought a legacy was the best thing I could leave you. I wanted to hand you something enduring—something I built with my own hands. But you’re building something different, and it’s not worth any less because it’s different.”

For a long moment, Tristan didn’t speak.

His father wasn’t an emotional man. He didn’t say these things out loud. “Tell me you’re not dying, Père.”

Amaury laughed. “I’m not dying. Not just now, anyway. I just wanted you to know that I understand what Lena was trying to tell me the other day. I came here tonight to see her work, but also because I want you to understand that I won’t do that again—I won’t try to get you to change your life.”

Tristan gave a half-laugh. “That’s the most I can ask for. Thank you.”

They stood there a moment longer before Amaury extended his hand. Tristan took it. His father’s grip was firm, but not forceful.

“You’ll let us know about the Tokyo show?” Amaury asked as they stepped down toward the waiting car.

“Why? You planning on going to see that one as well?”

Amaury raised an eyebrow. “Well, someone has to tell the Japanese press that talent runs in the family.”

Tristan chuckled. “I’ll let you know.”

When he finally said goodbye to both his parents and turned back toward the gallery, Lena was waiting at the door. Her eyes found his instantly, searching.

“Everything okay?” she asked as he reached her.

“Better than okay,” he said, pulling her in and kissing her temple. “It seems your words made quite an impact. Come on, let’s get back to your guests.”