WREN TWISTED HER hands in front of her. Seeing her paintings up on a wall—knowing soon there would be people standing here, eyeing them critically—filled her with a strange mix of emotions. The art show was showcasing work from ten artists in total, all former employees—and victims—of Sean Ainslie.
When she’d headed back to Charity Springs with Rhys in tow, Wren had needed something positive to keep her busy. She had her man by her side, which had made her feel like the luckiest girl in the world, but she knew deep down that there was one more thing she could do to help Kylie and the other women who’d been hurt by Sean.
She straightened Rhys’s portrait. It’d felt right to include it in the show; after all, it was the painting that had brought her back to art. That had made her want to be creative again. Without that painting she might have given up altogether.
But it wasn’t really the painting that had healed her wounds. It was him. His hands, his mouth, his arms.
His love.
She’d wanted to do the same for the other women. So, she’d come up with the idea of the show to support Sean’s victims, and hopefully to stop them from giving up their passion. To allow them to claim what was rightfully theirs.
Kylie and Debbie had taken on the tasks of organizing a space and getting the word out. Wren had rounded up the other artists. A few had declined, determined to keep that part of their lives in the past. Which she definitely understood. But eight had said yes, with three more agreeing to come along and support the cause. Wren had decided to ask for a small donation upon entry, with the proceeds to be given to a local charity for abused women.
“Everything looks amazing, Birdie,” Debbie said, her hand slipping into Wren’s. “This was such a wonderful idea.”
“I hope it goes well. I don’t want to let these girls down.”
“You won’t. Just the fact that you’re doing this means so much to them, and it means the world to Kylie.” Debbie rested her head on Wren’s shoulder. “I know Mom and Dad don’t always see why your art is important, but I do. You have a good soul and the way you share that is through your paintings. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you.” Wren pulled Debbie into a hug.
“Careful!” She touched a hand to her hair, laughing. “Do you know how much I paid for this blowout? Damn, Brooklyn is expensive. I have no idea how you’re going to be able to afford to live here.”
“I don’t get blowouts at fancy salons, for one.” She drew a breath, the nerves prickling along her limbs, filling her with buzzing energy. “And I got lucky—a local community center hired me based on all the volunteer work I’d done back home. They’re not paying me a fortune, but it’s something.”
“I don’t want to hear that you’re living on baked beans and toast, okay?”
“So now you’re my nutritionist as well as my doctor?” She nudged her sister in the ribs.
Having the support of her sister had made the move a lot easier. As for her parents…well, they loved her in spite of her impulsiveness, and that was all that mattered.
She glanced over to where Rhys stood talking to one of the other artists. He looked so handsome tonight in his dark suit and crisp white shirt. It made his brown skin gleam and his eyes sparkle. If they weren’t at such an important event, she’d be dragging him out back so she could show him just how sexy he was. Just how much she loved him.
The word made a lump form in her throat. For an artist, the idea of love shouldn’t be so scary, especially not when she’d survived having her work and reputation ripped apart by a whole town.
But it was utterly terrifying in the best way possible.
Earlier, she’d rounded up everyone involved in the show and they’d toasted with champagne to a successful evening. To triumph over horrible people and to never letting your dreams die. Seeing them all—especially Kylie—with smiles on their faces, nervously chatting and swapping stories about their art, warmed Wren.
Aimee hadn’t been able to make it; she wasn’t out of the woods physically or emotionally enough to face the past. But she’d sent her love in the form of a huge bunch of flowers and a promise that they would talk soon.
It was also great to see just how different everyone’s styles were. Kylie had her vegetables; Marguerite had the most beautiful garden landscapes. There were Fauvist birds, abstract flowers, Pop Art portraits. Then there were Wren’s nudes, alongside Rhys’s handsome face.
From a distance Wren could see the monochrome style of her paintings—all earth and flesh tones. It had taken her a long time to cultivate a theme for her work, to get comfortable in the voice with which she painted. But the people viewing her work seemed to be enjoying it.
“I can’t believe you put my ugly mug up there with all those beautiful women.” Rhys’s voice ran down the length of her spine, making her shiver.
“I happen to think it’s quite an attractive mug,” she replied, turning to face him. “I wouldn’t have painted it otherwise.”
This close, she could easily breathe in the smell of soap and a bare hint of cologne on his skin. She’d come to crave that smell because it was uniquely him.
“This is an incredible thing that you’ve done, Wren. You’ve taken something ugly and transformed it into a thing of beauty.”
“I know it won’t change what happened to these women, I know that they’ll always be affected by what he did to them. But if this helps them find the strength to keep going, then…that’s a good thing, right?”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing.”
The sound of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air. The gallery was getting full, and all Wren wanted was to have Rhys all to herself. They had a hotel room close to the gallery for the night, a treat that he’d insisted on.
“I regret ever giving you a hard time for looking out for other people,” he said, his hand linking with hers. “You have such a kind soul. I really love that about you.”
“Really? I thought you loved me for my brownies.” She sipped her champagne and looked up at him, a smile tugging on the corner of her lips.
“Well, that too. Kindness and brownies, it’s a good combination.” He grinned. “In fact, it’s such a good combination that I want to make sure it’s part of my life forever.”
“I’m not going anywhere…” Wren turned to give Rhys a playful shove when she noticed he’d dropped to one knee.
He held a box out to her, the plush velvet insert cradling a single, sparkling diamond that captured every color of the rainbow in its fractured light. “Wren Livingston, you’re the best person I know. Your kindness and messiness is unsurpassable. I could not think of anything I want more than to spend the rest of my life living in your colorful, chaotic world.”
“You do?”
All eyes in the gallery were now on her, the anticipation palpable in the air. Given Rhys’s fear of rejection, his proposal was sweet on so many levels.
“One hundred percent.”
“Not a hundred and ten?” She couldn’t stop herself from laughing.
“There is no more than one hundred percent.” He took the ring from the box and reached for her hand. The band was a perfect fit. “Will you marry me, Wren?”
“Yes,” she breathed, and the whole room erupted in applause. As he stood, he swept her up into his arms and brought his lips down to hers.
“I guess I should have asked if you’d keep making me brownies for the rest of my life,” he said as he pulled back.
“Too late. Bargaining time is over.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’ll just have to take me