The soft scratch of my brush against the canvas was the only sound in the studio that afternoon. I dipped the tip into cerulean blue and swept it across the sky I’d been working on for days a horizon that looked nothing like the one I’d left behind.
1 pulled back to study it, chest rising with something new – not regret this time, not bitterness, but a quiet peace.
The gallery walls smelled like fresh paint and warm coffee, a combination I’d once dreamed about when I was too busy wiping spilled soup from Jasmine’s sheets or pretending to be a wife to a man who never even saw me.
Now it was mine. The gallery, the tiny café corner by the window, the freedom. Niccolo had done this – for me.
“You’re zoning out again.”
I turned, startled, paintbrush falling from my fingers. Niccolo leaned against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up, an easy grin on his face that always made my pulse flutter for reasons I still wasn’t used to.
“I wasn’t zoning out,” I mumbled, reaching for the brush. “I was planning.”
“Planning what? Which painting to hang next to your masterpiece?” he teased, stepping closer. He dipped a finger into the blue paint and dabbed it on my nose. I squealed, swatting at him.
“Niccolo!” I wiped my face on his shirt, and he just laughed, steadying my waist. “I’m serious! I need to make sure the café tables arrive before the opening. And the pastry supplier-”
“And the florist, the barista training, the invitations for your art collectors…” he counted them off on his fingers. “Nadine, breathe. We have a week before the launch. You’re going to run yourself into the ground if you keep going like this.”
I sighed, pressing my forehead to his chest. His heartbeat was steady under my cheek, like an anchor.
—
Sometimes it still amazed me that he was really here that I was here. That this wasn’t another dream I’d wake up from with Scott calling my name for Jasmine’s tea.
“You make it sound so easy,” I murmured.
“It is easy,” he said, cupping my face so I had no choice but to meet his warm eyes. “Because you’re not alone this time.”
And it was true. I wasn’t.
In the evenings, we worked’side by side, checking supplier lists, sorting invoices, finalizing the guest list for both the gallery opening and our wedding.
Some nights I’d catch him sketching in my notebooks terrible attempt at my profile.
–
ridiculous doodles of us, his
One night, I found an old photo wedged in the back of my sketchbook
– a picture from
11:43 Wed 13 Ju
when we were younger, fresh out of college, standing on opposite sides of an auction house, glaring at each other like sworn enemies.
I burst out laughing so hard that Niccolo came running in, hair messy from sleep.
“What? Did you ruin a painting?” he teased, squinting at the photo. “Oh, that. God, you were so dramatic. You used to hate me.”
“I did!” I grinned, tapping his nose with the photo’s edge. “I hated how you always outbid me. And you were so smug about it.”
“Admit it,” he said, lowering his voice as he leaned in. “You didn’t hate me. You just hated that you couldn’t stop looking at me.”
I smacked his chest, pretending to be offended, but my laughter gave me away. He caught my wrist, kissed my palm, and whispered, “And look where we are now.”
Sometimes the warmth of him still scared me. At night, when I lay awake, I’d wonder if this was too good.
If one day I’d look up from my easel and find a shadow in the doorway – a voice saying I was never really chosen. But every time I flinched, Niccolo would find me. And he’d remind me I wasn’t her. That this was mine.
A few days before the wedding, I sat by the big studio window, sorting through final sketches for the café logo when my mother came in. She had a tray of fresh tea, her eyes softer than I remembered them being for years.
“Mom?” I asked. “Did you need something?”
She sat down next to me, brushing a curl from my face like I was a child again. “You’re glowing, Nadine,” she said. “It’s the first time in years I’ve seen you so free.”
I felt my throat tighten. “I’m… trying. But sometimes I still feel like I don’t deserve it.”
She shook her head firmly. “You do. Niccolo loves you, you know. I always hoped he would be the one to stand by you, no matter what you put him through.”
She chuckled. “You were so stubborn, my darling. Chasing the wrong man when the right one was in front of you the whole time.”
“I know.” My voice broke, and I didn’t bother to hide the tears. “I was so foolish. But not anymore.”
My mother hugged me tight, warm and certain. “No more looking back, Nadine. You’re safe now. You’re loved. Be happy.”
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of the doorbell and a flurry of excited whispers outside my room.
When I stepped into the hallway, Niccolo stood there with the biggest grin, a long white box cradled in his arms like it held my entire future.
“What is that?” I asked, wiping sleep from my eyes.
He winked. “Open it and see.”
Inside, layers of delicate silk and lace spilled into my hands
–
my wedding gown.
Chapter 14
ཕཤ tM P
The one I’d once dreamed of wearing for a man who never looked back at me. But now, it would be for Niccolo the man who’d never once looked away.
I pressed my palm to the fabric, my heart so full it almost hurt.
This time, I would walk down the aisle not as someone’s secret, someone’s backup plan
but as the woman who had finally chosen herself.
And this time, I would be loved. For real. Forever.
–
11:43 Wed 28 Jut
