Chapter 53

Vivian

My phone buzzed non-stop in the little evening bag I knotted around my wrist. Pretty evening bags and I don't go together. The only reason I agreed to buy it was because its design was part goth-princess, part emo-artist and it, somehow, seemed to complement the outfit I'd chosen for the evening. All those gowns in the boutique, and I hadn't liked one of them. Finally, Q drew the stylist aside and whispered in her ear.

She returned with the clothes I'm wearing now. I was bemused and befuddled. How did he know exactly what I wanted to wear for my opening when I, myself, had no idea? And when she slipped the little clutch over my wrist, I balked. But he coaxed me into buying it, saying I could carry my phone in it. Which put me off the idea further, until he said it reassured him he could reach me wherever I was tonight.

So, I agreed to slide my phone into the bag and hang it over my wrist. And when it didn't stop buzzing all evening, I ignored it. Until Knox showed me his phone.

When he told me the news, I pulled out my phone and, sure enough, there were messages from Zoey and Summer, and our other friends. Now, I understand why they kept darting looks at me across the floor while the critics and reviewers swarmed around me and made a fuss over my paintings. Almost all of which were variations of the same theme.

Ravens and bleeding hearts and his eyes.

Some of them feature the outline of his profile. None of them have enough of his features for people to make a direct connection to him. But there are enough questions from them, asking who the mystery person in the picture is. To which I merely smiled and changed the topic. Easy when you're speaking with a bunch of shallow, self-obsessed, commentators who love to pontificate about their opinions on what I painted. Oh, the irony. And why had it seemed so important to get their approval in the first place?

Now that I have it, I realize it doesn't make an ounce of a difference to how I feel about myself. I"m my own worst critic. I compete with myself, and… for his attention. His approval is what I crave when it comes to my body and my emotions. When it comes to my creative endeavors, though, while his approval makes a difference, my own satisfaction with my work is more important. I also realize how much my art means to me. That it occupies as pivotal a role in my life as he does. And that his role as CEO within the Davenport Group is as much a part of his identity as being a former Marine.

All of these thoughts rushed through my mind as I absorbed the news headlines. And then, I elbowed my way past the woman with the painted face and botoxed lips who'd been insisting I was the future of the artistic community. The owner of the gallery tried to stop me, until she saw the look on my face. Then she beckoned to me to leave and managed the other woman, leaving me to slip past them and make my way through the crowd to him.

I barely notice Felix kiss my cheek before he leaves. I'm too taken in by the purposeful gleam in Quentin's eyes. He knows I found out about what he did. When I open my mouth to ask him again, he places his finger on my lips. I look at him in frustration, then grab his arm and urge him to follow me—out of the gallery, down the hallway, to a storeroom at the end where my paintings were stored before the showing. It"s empty now, and temperature controlled enough that the cool air embraces me like a friend when I step inside.

I release his hand and hit the switch on the wall. Warm LED lighting casts a golden glow over him. I beckon him in, then shut the door and lock it before leaning into it. He arches an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. I look at him in frustration, then cross my arms over my chest. It's a defensive gesture, but whatever. The silence stretches.

I may have taken the initiative by bringing him here, but he"s not going to make it easy on me. He's waiting for me to tell him what's on my mind, when he already knows what I'm going to say, and… Gah! I squeeze my eyes shut and draw in a breath. Another. When I open my eyes again, I'm marginally calmer.

He slips a hand into his pocket, his stance relaxed. He'll stand there until I tell him why I pulled him in here.

I sigh. "You're incorrigible."

His lips twitch.

"And you vex me," I fume.

The smile morphs into a smirk.

"And I shouldn't, but I find that hot."

He chuckles.

"And you shouldn't have done that." I scowl.

The smile fades. He takes a step toward me.

I hold up my hand. "No, let me finish, before I get distracted."

"Do I distract you, baby?" he asks in a tender voice, which is almost my undoing. As dominant as he is, and as much as that turns me on, this caring part of him is what lights a fire in my chest.

"You know you do." I clear my throat. "Why didn't you tell me you were stepping down as CEO?"

His gaze grows wary. "I was going to tell you. But I thought it would be best if I waited until after your show. I didn't want to distract you." He looks from me to the phone in my hand. "Goddam Arthur, I told him not to send out the press release until tomorrow, but he couldn't wait to spin this into another PR story."

He takes a step in my direction, but I shake my head. "No, no, we need to talk about this. Firstly, I'm pissed you didn't speak with me before you resigned."

His eyebrows shoot up.

"Secondly, why would you do this? It's what you wanted," I choke out.

"You are what I want."

His voice has a ring of authenticity to it. His features indicate he's giving me his full attention, and the intensity in his gaze, the way he watches me closely and with his entire body and mind and soul, turns that flesh between my legs into a mass of throbbing need. Oh God, he speaks to my mind, my body, and my soul. He speaks to me. Always.

"And you"re right."

Did he admit I"m right? Did Quentin Davenport, my alpha male, dominant and egoistical to the core husband agree with me?

"Excuse me?" I sound shocked... because I am.

He runs his hand over the hair on his head, hair which he's allowed to grow out of his military haircut because I prefer him this way. Another subtle nod toward taking my preferences into consideration.

"I wanted to wait until after the show to tell you I was stepping down as CEO, so it didn't distract you. I hadn't counted on Arthur, once again, releasing the information publicly and beating me to it. In fact"—he shuffles his feet—"I should have consulted you before I told Arthur." He lowers his chin. "And I promise to do so in the future. I promise to talk over such important changes before I make them."

"So, what stopped you this time?" I frown.

"I wanted to surprise you, and I truly didn't think it was so important that I should mention it to you before the first really important showing of your life."

"Oh, Q." I lock my fingers together. "What's important to you is important to me, too. You like taking care of me. Well, I like taking care of you too. But I need you to give me the chance to do so. I need you to trust me enough?—"

"I do trust you," he interjects.

"—to share all of your thoughts with me."

"And I will; I promise you, baby." His voice is soft, and the look in his eyes is so adoring, my stomach flutters, and a soft sensation overcomes my chest.

He's so damn charming, this man.

"That is the last time I forgive you for such an oversight," I warn, before I lose myself completely in those deep blue eyes of his.

"That's the last time I let myself commit such an oversight," he says fervently. "You're my better half. My wife. My partner. You're the most important person in my life. I promise to never make a decision affecting both of us without you."

A warmth spreads through my chest. My entire body feels lighter. I never thought I'd hear Q say that. That he'd discuss things with me, instead of making unilateral decisions on issues that affect the both of us? That's true partnership. A real relationship. A real... marriage.

But a small part of me insists he's saying what I want to hear. My husband's a wordsmith, after all. He knows me well enough to say and do things that'll sway me completely, right? Right? I shake my head, to clear it. "B-but the CEO position was important to you."

"Not more than you," he interjects.

"Isn't the reason you married me, so you could satisfy your father's stipulation and retain your position as CEO?"

"I married you because I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, and I didn't want to wait a second longer to make you my wife."

A thousand electric bulbs seem to light up my body. I'll never get tired of him telling me that. Never.

"Where you're concerned, I lose my sanity. You're my Raven. My North Star. The compass that guides me. Without you, I'm nothing. Without you, no part of my life makes sense. Everything else fades into insignificance. It's always been you, only you, from the moment I saw you. Everything in my life has been leading me to you. I did the right thing in asking you to marry me as soon as I saw you, but I should have come out and told you why. I was a coward."

Oh my god, that has to be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. If I had any doubt that he loves me, this little speech dispelled that. And it couldn't have been easy for him to say that. It couldn't have been easy to tell me what was on his mind and expose himself completely like this.

"You're not a coward." I half laugh. "You're the most courageous man I know."

"Because I put myself in danger protecting my country?" He shrugs. "That was my duty. But this"—he gestures to the space between us—"this is personal. This is the real thing. This is living with my full faculties, where there are no rules. This is me, by choice, standing in front of you without any words or gestures to hide behind. This is me, coming to you without any barriers between us. This is me, being honest, something I should have been from the beginning."

"And stepping down as the CEO? Was that?—"

His features relax. "That was so I could spend more time with you."

"What?" I rear back. Of all the things to say, that... is the most unexpected. "What do you mean?"

"It's simple. I have one goal in my life from now on. And that is to take care of my wife—to please her and make sure I'm there to feed her and attend to her the next time she's in creative flow, focused on hitting a deadline. And when the kids come along, I'll be a stay-at-home Dad to raise them, so you can continue to have time for your craft."

Those thousand electric bulbs in my body turn into laser beams which light up the sky. I have never felt this adored before. Never. I never expected Q to say that. Never expected him to look so sincere, either. He means it. He does.

Then the warmth fades away, replaced by doubt. "But becoming a CEO within the Davenport Group was your dream, Q."

"I thought it was, but then I met you." He sets his jaw. "I resent the time spent away from you. Nothing matters more than being with you, Raven." He closes the distance between us. "The more honest I wanted to be with you, the more honest I had to be with myself, too. The more I shared my feelings with you, the easier it was for me to accept my own vulnerabilities and my failings. Remember when I said that I was selfish in marrying you because our age gap meant I wouldn't be around for the latter half of your life?"

"But, Q?—"

He shakes his head. "It's the truth. I have to face the possibility that there's more of my life behind me than ahead." His gaze deepens. "And I want to spend every remaining moment I have with you."

"Oh, Q." I can't stop the tear that slides down my cheek.

I hate it when he speaks that way, and yet, I know it's a truth I need to face. I can't imagine life without my husband, but Q's being pragmatic for the both of us again. I'd thought Q's biggest fear was intimacy. But he seems to have overcome that and is ready to face one which haunts him as much, if not more... that of his own mortality.

This is true strength. To face your fears is true dominance.

This is my husband. He's fearless and he cares for me.

He wants me. He'll do anything for me, even give up a career that he's been groomed for since he was born.

This is my husband. He's mine. And I love him. I do. So, so, so much.

"I love you, Raven"—he swallows—"I love you so very much."

I allow the tears to come freely. "And I love you."

The next moment I move, and so does he.