I feel hot tears roll down my face as turn to him, Jared. I can’t say a word, not a damned thing. Nothing is appropriate. For months, I’d been trying to exist without him, convinced that our future could only exist separately. I’ve been crying, bitching, and wallowing in my own pity for longer than what could be deemed a tolerable break-up depression. And apparently, Jared has been real busy quitting law school, giving his Mum the middle-finger, and telling his regal fiancee to stuff it up her aristocratic arse. I am so proud of him!
Jared clears his throat and takes me by the hands. “Look, I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me, but I’ve changed.”
He’s being truthful, at least with about his work, but for the rest...how could I be sure?
Jared puts his palm against my cheek, brushing away tears with his thumb. “I gave up everything that I thought I wanted—for you, only to realize that I never really wanted all of that crap in the first place.” He shuffles a little in place, and then goes on, “You showed me who I really am. I am a painter, not a lawyer. I’m a Sunday-afternoon in the park, not a Saturday-morning at the Royal White-bread Country Club.”
I can’t help it… I smile and cast a quick glance around the room at the dozen or so people who have stopped to watch our reunion. Blushing, I bury my head into Jared’s shoulder, nuzzling in the hollow above his collarbone. It’s my favorite spot to kiss—or was—no, is.
“Sari?” He stokes my hair clean to where it ends at the base of my hips. “So, do you like the new stuff?” he adds, nodding towards the walls of art mounted on concrete.
I shrug, feigning ambiguity. “I always knew you could do a lot more than some stuffy old still-life’s.” I lean in to half-whisper, “Of course, now that I know you can paint like that, I plan on bullying you to keep it up. This is your career from now on. And I know just the person to do all of your PR work.”
“No disrespect to Thom,” Jared smiles wide and folds me back into the embrace, “but with you in my corner, I can’t loose.”
Jared inhales slowly, and I can feel his Adam’s apple rippling with a slow gulp. “Sari Ophelia Singh, will you be mine, in good paintings and bad, with the poverty and/or riches of an artist’s income. Will you sign on for that?”
“Hmmm,” I muse casually, letting Jared sweat for a second, but its obvious from his grin that my own face is giving me away. “I do think, Mr. Macmillan, that we can reach an amicable contract.” I hold out my hand to seal the deal. “Call on Monday to set up an appointment with my secretary—I believe that I will be indisposed for the rest of the weekend.”
Ignoring my held-out hand, Jared sweeps me into his arms, and cradles me like he’s fighting the pull of a riptide. “What a gift,” he says as he draws me close to his lips. I can feel the heat of his breath on the tip of my nose. “I chose myself above everything, and got you as a bonus.” As I’m drawn into the kind of kiss that completes every major girly movie, I hear the crowd break into clapping and cat-calls. And to think, I almost bagged the reception in favor of The Princess Bride, a half-gallon of Rocky-Road, and a bag of greasy potato chips.