Epilogue

Rose

Two months later

I've made a terrible mistake. Until this exact moment, I was unaware that my palms could sweat so much. Now I'm anxiously rubbing them on the skirt of my dress because I'm at my first gallery show and I'm freaking out. Up until yesterday, I felt confident about the pieces I selected, about the quality of my work, but from the moment I woke up this morning nerves have taken control of my entire body. I've barely eaten all day and now my empty stomach churns as I watch more well-dressed people filter through the open glass doors and into the large industrial-chic space.

The turnout is huge, more than I ever imagined, and even includes some press. The doors have been open to the public for nearly half an hour but I can't bring myself to move from the balcony I've been hiding out on.

"How are you feeling?"

I gulp, still intimidated by the stunning woman who's come to check in on me, despite emailing back and forth with her a few times over the last couple of months. I don't think I'll ever get used to the Kimaya Chatterjee knowing who I am, let alone talking to me. She's incredibly down to earth for someone so important in the art world, but it seems I'm destined to remain a little star-struck around her.

"I think I might be sick." I wince, immediately cringing at my lack of filter but she responds with a tinkling laugh. Everything about her from her sleek ebony hair, to her figure-hugging emerald-green dress, to her laughter, is sophisticated.

"Nerves are to be expected, especially for your first show. However, I'm afraid it's time for you to mingle. They want to meet you." She inclines her head to the well-dressed swarm below. The room is a riot of colour, the crowd made up of an eclectic mix of styles—some guests looking like they just stepped off the runway, others dressed fashionably but in a more understated way.

"They do?" I squeak. I knew socialising would be part of the deal, it's partly why I let Aria talk me into buying the pricey peony-pink satin wrap dress I'm wearing—that and it makes me feel really good. Or it did. I'm not getting the same confidence boost from it that I did when I tried it on in the shop. Damn nerves. I shake out my hands in an effort to dispel them.

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by the attention your work has garnered." It takes a moment for Kimaya's words to register.

"Do they like it?" I ask tentatively. Her lips twist into a smirk, satisfaction dancing in her deep-brown eyes.

"You've already sold two pieces."

"What?" I yelp undignified as ever. Kimaya simply releases another tinkling laugh at my reaction. Selling two paintings so fast is incredible! "You're serious?" I ask, struggling to believe this is really happening.

"Why don't you head down and see for yourself." With that she turns and strides away in heels higher than I could ever hope to walk in. Just looking at the strappy gold death traps makes my feet hurt and I wiggle my toes, grateful for the considerably lower heel of my nude shoes. Knowing I can't hide up here any longer, and desperate to see with my own eyes that I really have sold two paintings already, I steel my spine and follow her downstairs.

The chatter of the crowd feels ten times louder now that I'm fully immersed in it. Champagne flutes clink, the pulse of the background music filters out from strategically placed speakers, and people passionately discuss the artwork around them. A dot indicating a piece has sold is being placed next to a painting by one of my fellow artists, and I smile at their success. It's been wonderful getting to know the other artists selected for the show. Phillip, Aria, and Bel have all been incredibly supportive of my work, but the opportunity to talk to people about their own processes and styles has been a joy.

Weaving through the bustling crowd, dodging stray elbows and catering staff with trays of canapes, I make my way towards the section where my paintings are displayed hoping I'll find Phillip there. I may have snagged a mini red pepper quiche from a passing tray on my way because damn those things looked delicious. My heart skips a beat when I spot Phillip in a grey suit, crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, with a pocket square that matches his eyes completing the look.

Placing my hand on his elbow I ask, "What do you think?" He's already seen the paintings I chose for this show—except for one. Luckily Kimaya let me swap it in for a different piece even though I made it clear I don't want to sell this one. I already know the perfect spot for it. Phillips' gaze softens when he turns to face me, taking my hand in his and drawing me closer.

"It's breathtaking, just like the artist." He presses a gentle kiss to my lips and, for a moment, the crowd around us falls away leaving only us. Only Phillip. When we pull apart, I'm light-headed from his touch and addictive pine and mint scent. Leaning into his side, his arm a comforting weight across my shoulders, I look at the painting that I displayed just for him.

We completed the set project a while ago and Aria was thrilled with the results. Once that was done, I was really able to throw myself into my own work again. Just like I had imagined, Phillip invited me to share his workshop and I have been in there nearly every day since. I worked on this piece at the flat, refusing to let him see it, but I've finished a couple of other paintings over there to the soundtrack of his terrible singing. I did put headphones on sometimes. Phillip finished the blanket box for the Gardners as well as a beautiful set of built-in bookshelves for a different customer, and more woodworking jobs had been coming in, keeping him busy doing what he loves most.

His lips brush over my temple as he murmurs, "I'm so proud of you, raincloud." Smiling, I tighten my arm around his waist in thanks.

"So, do you think this would look good in your living room?" I ask, imagining the painting hanging on the blank section of wall that has bugged me since I first saw it.

"No." I look up at him, brows furrowed. He grins and I can't help but offer a confused smile back as I wonder where he's going with this.

"Oh really?" I ask, smoothing my hands down the lapels of his jacket, unable to keep them to myself when he looks this good. He steps into my touch, hand dropping from my shoulders to my waist.

"Really. But I think there's a pretty good spot for it in our living room. Maybe the blank bit of wall I know you hate. What do you say?" My grip tightens on his jacket.

"Are you asking…?" I trail off wanting to make sure he's saying what I think he is.

"Well, if you move in, it will be our living room, our house. And I think decorating our house with your work sounds much better. Don't you?"

"You want me to move in?"

"Absolutely." His large hands squeeze my waist. "I love sharing my space with you, seeing your things mingling with mine. Having you in my workshop and being able to look over and watch you work whenever I want. The mornings I get to wake up next to you are my favourite, even though you don't speak before your first cup of coffee." I duck my head with an embarrassed laugh at his teasing. "I love you, Rose. I want my home to be your home too," he tells me earnestly, eyes searching mine.

"I love you too." I caress his jaw. "And I would love to move in with you."

The rest of the evening passes by in a blur as I do my best to mingle. As we carefully pack the piece I painted for Phillip into the back of his car my heart feels full to bursting. I can't believe that all of my other paintings were sold. Once we're home, Phillip heads straight for the living room. He plucks a stick-on hook from a box on the bookshelf and turns to me with a grin, wiggling it at me, and I laugh incredulously.

"You just happened to have that on hand?"

"Please," he scoffs. "You've been eyeballing this space since the first day you came over. It was only a matter of time before you made something to fill it." I shrug, admitting nothing even though he is one hundred percent right. "Help me get it centred."

Stepping back to guide him on where to stick the hook I marvel at how much my life has changed in just a few months. Back when I started this portrait of Phillip, inspired by his captivating eyes, I never imagined we would end up here. Once the painting is hung straight, we curl up on the sofa together, looking at it in comfortable silence. We may have had a rocky start but I know Phillip and I have built something special here—a love that will last a lifetime.