Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
That’s when I see it, and I stop walking, my mouth dropping open.
Feet rooted to the floor, I stare at the massive canvas painting on the wall in front of me.
“It’s mine,” I whisper.
Nico’s voice is low and smooth. “Yeah, baby, it is.”
It takes a moment for me to find the words because it’s almost too surreal to understand what I am seeing.
I turn to look at my husband. “But how?”
“I spoke with Andrey—”
“Oh God, you didn’t force him to sell you the gallery, did you?”
“No.”
“You paid him to show it?”
“No. I simply mentioned that my wife was the most talented artist in New York City. He asked to see your work, so I invited him to view your pieces, and he loved them.” He points at the abstract art of acrylic, rust, and patina on a textured surface of marble dust and plaster of Paris, I called, Secret of the Sea Bed. “He especially liked this one and asked if he could show it.”
“Are you sure this transaction didn’t involve a gun and some intimidating Mafia threats?” I ask almost light-hearted with happiness because my artwork is actually hanging in a gallery.
“Luckily for him, he loved your work, so I could keep my gun holstered.” Amusement toys with his lips, then his face grows serious. “This is all you, Bella. I only showed your work to Andrey. Your talent did the heavy lifting and made him fall in love with it.”
I feel giddy with excitement.
He hands me a business card. “Call him Monday. He would like to talk to you about your art and discuss viewing other pieces.”
Stunned, I can only whisper, “Are you serious?”
Tears fill my eyes, and he grimaces. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”
When I nod, he theatrically rolls his eyes as he pulls me in for a hug.
“This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I cry.
He pretends to be annoyed, but I know that somewhere in his black heart is a radiant piece of goodness.
“Just don’t tell anyone that,” he says. “Next thing I know, my rivals will be brokering peace treaties with fucking pinky swears and do you like me, yes or no, notes.”
I look up at him through my tears and kiss him. “You pretend to be a monster, but you’re not really.”
His expression darkens.
“Oh, I am,” he growls, trailing his thumb across my lips. “But I’m your monster, and I’ll do whatever the fuck I have to do to keep you safe and make you happy.”
I kiss him again and fumble with his shirt buttons.
“Does this mean we’re back together?” he asks as I peel his shirt off his muscular form.
I keep my lips on his as I reply, “Oh yeah, you’re stuck with me, Don De Kysa.”
When I lower his zipper, he growls and hoists me in his powerful arms.
And as he fucks me against the wall of the art gallery next to the artwork I created in his penthouse, he obliterates any doubt I have about who I am and who I’m supposed to be with.
47
Bella
After calling Andrey the following Monday, the flamboyant art curator invited me to meet him over wine and brandy at a bar in Manhattan called Poison Me, and the two of us clicked like old friends
It turns out, he’s crazy obsessed for textured abstract art and had already decided I was going to be his new star.
A month later, and here I am, about to attend the opening night of my very first exhibition.
It’s crazy to even try to pull off a small exhibition in a month, but thanks to my ability to thrive in chaos and the steady support from my biggest fan, who I just happen to be married to, I’ve made it to opening night with my nerves intact and just a mild case of insanity.
Dressed in a short, glittering dress of shimmering white crystals, I stand in front of the gigantic mirror in our bedroom to put on a pair of chandelier earrings and clasp a thick Swarovski crystal bracelet around my wrist. Tonight’s shoes are limited edition Louboutins which lift me three inches off the floor and make my legs look crazy good.
I know the moment my husband sees me in them, he’ll get hard, because seeing me in a sexy pair of stilettos never fails to get him all worked up.
And of course, there is only one elixir for it.
Which wouldn’t be such a bad idea right now, considering my nerves are tied up in knots and making me antsy. I could do with the distraction.
I hear the door to the bedroom open, and Nico looms up behind me, wrapping his strong arms around me. Just as I thought, dark appreciation flares in his eyes as he takes in my bare legs and high heels. “Goddamn, you are fine. Are they new shoes?”