Page 277 of Money Reigns
Ella smiles. “Guess we’re headed to see your portrait, future Mrs. Beaumont.”
The car pulls away from Smash and Sugar, and Ella immediately tears open the bag of macarons.
“Pass the pistachio,” I laugh, nudging her as I peek into the envelope again just to reread War’s handwriting.
She hands me one, biting into a raspberry with a sigh. “Okay, I know he was terrifying, but… that Vaska guy? Kind of hot.”
I choke on a crumb. “Ella!”
“What?!” She grins, brushing sugar from her sundress. “Dangerous, yes. But hot. The knife twirling?Very bad boy aesthetic.”
I shake my head, laughing so hard I nearly drop my macaron. “You’ve officially lost it.”
The car slows as we pull up to the grand glass façade of the gallery. My laughter fades into something softer, chest tight as memories roll in. The last time I was here, I stood in a gallery, staring up at my own face on canvas, larger than life. War’s gift. Hisdeclaration.
The driver opens our doors, and as we step onto the marble steps, a sharply dressed woman is waiting for us. She’s elegant, clipboard tucked to her side, smile polished.
“Miss Baker,” she says warmly, pressing a black envelope into my hand. “On behalf of the gallery, congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I answer, bewildered.
But she’s already stepping back, leaving me with the note.
I open it, pulse quickening.
Your art deserves more than a gallery.
It deserves to be free.
Today, yourpiece will be hung where it belongs: amongst your family.
—W
My brows knit. “Amongst my family? What does that even mean? He wants me to go back to Brokenwoods?”
Ella tilts her head, thinking. “Hung. Amongst your family. Obviously photos are hung. Where do you have pictures of your family?”
The realization hits me like a thunderclap. My old apartment.
The last place I stayed before I left him. Before I thought I had to go back to my family instead of building one with him.
My throat tightens. “My apartment. He furnished it… he hung all my portraits there.”
Ella squeezes my hand, eyes shining. “Then that’s where we’re going next.”
The car glides to a stop in front of my old building. My heart twists as I step out, so many memories embedded in these bricks, some sweet, some jagged.
Ella follows close behind, clutching the bag of macarons like it’s her security blanket. “This is it?”
I nod, nerves buzzing under my skin. “Last place I lived before War”
We head into the lobby, up the elevator, the ride quiet except for Ella crunching on a soft macaron shell. When the doors slide open, I lead the way down the hall. My old door feels both foreign and achingly familiar.
I reach for my bag, then stop short. “I don’t have the key.”
Ella smirks. “Under the carpet?”
I laugh. “Yeah, right. I never kept it there.”
