Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
It wasn’t a long drive. I was too nervous to say anything, so we sat for five minutes in a painfully awkward silence before we pulled up to a prewar brick building in Lenox Hill.
It was perfect—not too far from the park or the Met. She could take a cab or even walk to either. It was five stories and used to be a ballet school before it was turned into a family home, and now it was going to be hers.
When Harrison called me and told me she wanted to teach art, I had several real estate agents searching all five boroughs. One had found this beauty. It had been renovated in the past month, with no expenses spared.
I got out of the car and waved off the driver. I opened her door and offered my arm to her. She took it and stood. That little line between her brows was there again as she tried to figure out where we were.
“What is this place?” she asked as we headed up the little cobblestone sidewalk.
“Why don’t you go find out?” I pointed to the brass plaque that was covered with a white cloth.
She pulled down the sheet and gasped as she read “The Amelia Mae Astrid Children’s School of the Arts.”
“What?” She looked back at me, eyes wide. God, I hoped it was just shock and not shock and outrage.
“Before you say anything. Let me give you the tour,” I said, wiping the sweat on my palms off on my pants. Never, not in school, during multi-billion-dollar business deals, never had my palms sweated. But now, I was a terrified shaking mess.
She said nothing, her face frozen back in that mask of indifference I loathed. However, this was, in all likelihood, somewhere between a coping mechanism and habit. Still, it made my nerves worse and my stomach ache.
“The first floor has a reception area and a gallery. The basement actually has a top-of-the-line kiln. There are several studios, some big enough for full classes, others for private studios on the second and third floors. The fourth floor is mostly offices, and the fifth floor is your studio.”
“My studio?” She took a few steps in and looked around. I still couldn’t read her expression.
“Yes, your studio. You have the budget to hire a receptionist, as well as a few other art teachers and an event planner. Your operating costs will be covered for the first five years.”
“Why?” She was walking around the polished wood floors, her heels clicking subtly with each step as she looked around. Then her eyes landed on a painting hanging on the wall—a beautiful garden landscape, one she had painted.
“Because I thought this would make you happy. Making you happy makes me happy, and Amelia, I haven’t been happy since you left. In fact, the only time I have ever been happy was the night you and I spent eating s’mores and making love in front of the fire.”
She turned to look at me, opening her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. If she was going to reject me, fine, I would accept it. Harrison had made damn sure I knew I had to respect her choices, but I had to explain first.
“This is not a bribe. This school, and the accounts associated with it, they’re yours. My name no longer appears anywhere on the deed, the contracts, nothing. Everything is owned by the non-profit, and it is all yours.”
She looked around some more, saw a few other paintings she had done, as well as a charcoal sketch Rose had insisted on framing and hanging by the door. I hoped eventually Amelia would draw another one without horns and hang it in her office.
“How did you get my paintings?”
“Rose. I came to her with this idea, and she has been an enormous help. She is the one who oversaw the decorators and the more cosmetic renovations to the building. Harrison has overlooked and approved all the legal paperwork to make sure that I can never take this from you, no matter what happens between us or doesn’t.”
“This is all mine?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She crossed the floor to where I was standing. “I don’t understand.”
“Because I’m a man who doesn’t allow himself to make mistakes. I demand perfection in everything I do, and I achieved it. Until I met you. When it came to you, to us, I didn’t know it at the time, but I was given the opportunity to have something far more valuable than money or power. I was given a chance at loving a woman who could see past my bullshit, a woman I wanted to be by my side in all ways. Then I fucked it up.”
“Luc—”
“No, I fucked up. I want to be a better man for you. I will change, I’ll be less controlling, less forceful, whatever you want…” I took a deep breath and looked into her beautiful eyes. “This is my way of apologizing, of trying to make up for the hell I put you through, and to show you I will always lo—”