Chapter 12

TWELVE

FOSTER

Aurora lowered the paintings to the floor.

She wore the same dress she’d worn when she first walked into my office. Rich plum. Tiny white dinosaurs. It felt like a lifetime ago. Only weeks had passed.

Seeing her now, after weeks apart, hit me like a meteor.

I’d expected the ever-present ache in my chest to fade. It flared, hot and sharp.

“You’re here,” she said, her voice soft, her gaze filled with awe. Her shoulders straightened, too.

Caution radiated from her.

Of course she was hesitant. I’d hurt her.

“How are you here?” she asked.

“Ruby,” I said.

Aurora glanced around the hall for her friend. She didn’t find her.

Ruby had run ahead to give us a moment alone.

“I hunted her down to ask for her help,” I said. “Aurora. I am so sorry I didn’t tell you everything from the beginning.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“You deserved the truth from the start,” I said. “I thought I was holding back to help you. I convinced myself it was for your benefit. I was being selfish.”

“I saw your interview,” she said.

“Good.”

“You didn’t mention Bertram.”

“Screw Bertram.”

Her lips curved up into a small smile. “Screw Bertram.”

I picked up half of the canvases.

She picked up the other half.

We walked down the hall and set them up in the meeting room. Her exhibition was smaller than I’d expected, though massive for an artist’s first. Every piece led perfectly to the next. Subdued whimsy filled the canvases.

I paused in front of a realistic fox in a vast forest.

Hidden in the trees, I found pops of color.

Then I found a fairy.

Each brushstroke pulled me deeper into its fantastical world.

The painting was a treasure trove. The more I looked at it, the more delightful tiny touches I found—a frog in a top hat, a mushroom with windows, a cat wearing a sweater.

I was mesmerized.

Even if I didn’t know the woman behind it, I’d love her art.

“How have you been?” she asked.

“Miserable I’ve missed you.” I spoke honestly, but none of those words felt like enough.

“I’ve missed you, too.” She turned to straighten a painting that didn’t need straightening.

This was it, the moment I’d been planning and waiting so long for.

“I’d like to show you something outside,” I said.

She surveyed the room one last time to make sure everything was in order. Then she said, “All right.”

I didn’t touch her as we walked down the hall, even though every fiber of my being wanted to.

I didn’t say anything, even though I wanted to fall to my knees and beg for her forgiveness.

I waited until we reached the right spot, with the perfect view of the rooftop.

My heart drummed against my ribs.

My muscles twitched with nervousness.

“I wanted to chase after you as soon as you left the apartment that morning,” I said. “But I wanted to get this right.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I never hated you. I felt so blindsided.”

“I know. It’s okay. It was my fault.” I took a slow and steady breath. “Aurora, you are my glitter.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “What?”

“I find you everywhere. I feel you every time I walk past the corner cafe that sells the muffins you love. I see you in the boxes of sprinkle-filled spoons that you inspired. I hear your laughter when I’m alone in the penthouse.”

Her blue eyes sparkled just like glitter.

A smile spread across her face.

“Are you still finding glitter between your toes?” she asked so softly it was almost a whisper.

“Yes. It’s in my keyboard and in my sheets and sprinkled throughout the carpet. And I love it, and it hurts, because it’s a reminder of you. You sparkle so bright, it’s blinding. You’re the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. The first thing I think about when I wake. And all I think about in between.”

Her cheeks turned red. She laced her fingers together.

And her always-honest blue eyes said everything her lips weren’t.

She’d been thinking about me, too.

She loved me, too.

Maybe that last bit was my imagination. Maybe it was too much to hope for. Forgiveness would be plenty, even if it took time. I’d do whatever it took to prove I was worth another chance.

“Our separation taught me what a life without you looked like. I hated it. It was my fault, and it happened because I held back. I won’t do that anymore.”

Her eyes glossed over. She chewed her lip.

I flexed my fingers at my sides so I wouldn’t touch her. “I have a small army of reporters waiting for the okay. They want to cover your show, but I didn’t tell them where to find it, in case it wasn’t what you wanted.”

She put her hand over her mouth and nodded.

“Is that a yes to the reporters? I’m going to need you to explicitly say it.”

She chuckled. “Yes.”

I sent the text giving the information I’d previously withheld. They’d be here when the exhibition started.

An electric hum filled the air.

“What’s that noise?” Aurora asked.

I pointed to the rooftop where Ruby gave us a thumbs up.

Behind her, a fifteen-foot t-rex inflated. On top of his head was a Santa hat. Between his tiny arms was a sign.

Glitter = Love

Aurora beamed up at the giant balloon. “This is surreal.”

“One more thing.” I slipped the red and gold envelope from my jacket pocket. “I have a gift for you.”

She took it and flipped it over in her hands. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

She unfolded the annulment paperwork that I’d signed.

“I should have signed it from the start,” I said.

“Then we wouldn’t be here, now.”

Snowflakes fell down from the sky.

She held the paper in her hands, her eyes glossy, and then she tore it in half.

I was completely baffled. “Why?”

“You know, I’ve had the best time of my life as Mrs. Bananas. I think I’d like to try it out at least a little longer.”

“Is that so?”

“You see, I’m madly in love with my fake husband.”

All the tension I’d been carrying lifted. My chest swelled with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

I kissed her.

I ran my hands through her hair and cupped her cheeks. She tasted like hope and happiness and a future filled with fun.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was a hope, a promise, and a declaration.

She kissed me back.

It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t chaste. It was bruising, teasing, and claiming.

We fit, like we were always meant to.

It was the magic of love.

It was the magic of Christmas.