Page 42 of Perspective
I glanced at the next piece, a newer one. One Kate and I had worked on. I hadn’t realized it before, but looking at them now, my older pieces felt kind of…flat. They lacked the movement and intensity of the newer ones.
And I thought about my life before Kate and my life since. There was no comparison. Life without her was worse than losing my ability to draw.
I let out a deep sigh, raking my hand through my hair. I’d fucked up. I’d wanted to reach out to her, to call her, but I’d been so busy preparing for the exhibit, I hadn’t had time.
No. That wasn’t entirely true. I’d been swamped, but I hadn’t made the time.
Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know how to do this or where we went from here. Because neither of us was without fault, but I still loved her.
And being here tonight, surrounded by all these people staring at and judging my art, I realized I simply didn’t care. Without Kate, this moment—what should have been a celebration of my triumphant return to the art world—felt hollow. Meaningless.
I felt as if someone were watching me, but I brushed the feeling aside. Of course people were watching me; I was the artist. The guest of honor. I glanced toward the large window at the front of the gallery. The sun had set, and lights flickered outside, casting shadows on the pavement.
And then I saw her—Kate.
She was standing on the sidewalk, looking in. She was even more beautiful than I remembered, like some sort of goddess with the light shining on her golden strands. I felt that same spark as I had the first time I saw her, that same pull.
Our eyes locked, hers gray and stormy. Mine questioning.
Before I could so much as think about it, my feet moved of their own accord, drawing me to her. Pulling my body where my heart already wanted to go.
When she spun, I was captivated by the way her hair flowed around her like molten gold. But when she started to walk in the opposite direction, I ran.
“Kate,” I called, jogging behind her. “Kate.” I grabbed her wrist, unwilling to let her go. “Wait.”
She spun to face me, and there were tears in her eyes. This close, I could tell she’d been crying, her eyes rimmed with red, her skin pale. Even so, she was beautiful, her body encased in a floral dress that smoothed over her breasts and hips like a present I wanted to unwrap.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come,” she said.
I pulled her closer, gratified by her sharp intake of breath. Even so, I never lost my grip on her. “I’m glad you did.”
“You are?” She tilted her head to the side.
“Yes. I’m very glad you came. You deserve to see the turnout for our paintings.” I’d intended to tell her how much I’d missed her, but at the last second, I choked.
She shook her head. “Yourpaintings. Xander, you did this. You didn’t need me. You never did.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I stepped closer, swiping away a lone tear with my thumb. “I do need you. But more importantly, I want you. I want to paint together and laugh together and even cry together.”
She leaned into my touch. “I want that too. So much. And I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t completely honest. I’m still figuring out who I am—I think I always will be. But I know what I want, and that’s you.”
I leaned my forehead against hers, allowing our breath to mingle. A wave of relief washed over me. But I knew I owed her an apology as well. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I walked away when you really could’ve used my support.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, softening.
I cupped her cheeks. “Kate, I should’ve said this before. Not when we were in the middle of an argument.” I drew in a deep breath, wanting to separate the words I was about to say from the ones that came before. “I love you.”
She gave me a watery smile. “I love you, Xander. And I’m so very proud of you.”
I crushed her mouth with mine, the salt of her tears mingling with her sweetness. I could spend the rest of my life trying to figure out this woman. But that’s what I liked about her. She helped me stay calm and centered, but she also kept me on my toes.
I knew we still had things to discuss, but I was confident we’d work through any issues together. With honesty, trust, and communication.
She was my muse, my love, my everything. And I was never letting her go.
