Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(86)

“It’s a reverse mullet,” I’d told Jonah over the phone earlier that day. “Party in the front, business in the back. Do you think it’ll be appropriate?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “My main concern is how easily it comes off.”

The joke was a relief. Jonah had been distracted, nervous and stressed this last week of the load-in. I hadn’t yet seen the finished product, and anticipation threaded through my stomach as I piled my hair on my head, letting some loose tendrils fall down. I applied my usual makeup with smoky eyes and bright red lips, and then paced my little living room, waiting. One glance out the window revealed a sleek black limousine pulling to the front of my building, just as my phone chimed an incoming text:

Here, but running late. Meet me downstairs?

I raced down and got to the curb just as the driver opened the passenger door and Jonah climbed out. He froze when he saw me, jaw dropping open for a beat.

“I got this,” he said to the driver, who tipped his cap and returned to sit behind the wheel.

“Good evening,” I said.

“You look…” He shook his head as he came closer and slid his arms around my waist.

“You don’t have to,” I said. “I love your silent compliments.”

“Every time I see you, I think, This is it. She cannot possibly look more beautiful than she does right now. And then I see you the next time.”

Tears jumped to my eyes as I ran my hands down the lapels of his dark gray suit. “You look…so handsome, Jonah. God, what’s wrong with me?” I pressed the back of my wrist carefully under one eye, then fanned my face. “I don’t know what this is about. It’s a special night for you and I’m so happy and proud…Excited to see your beautiful glass. Shit, I should get a box of tissues to carry around. I know I’m going to need it.”

Jonah bent and kissed my mouth. “Thank you for being here with me.”

I could feel the tension coiled in his muscles. His expression was troubled, like he had a thousand thoughts on his mind and wanted to say more. But the street lights flickered on above us. Night had begun to fall, and Jonah turned to usher me into the limo.

“Courtesy of A-1?” I asked.

“God, no,” Jonah said, sliding beside me. “Eme sent it for me. It’s sort of ridiculous, but I couldn’t send it away and ruin the driver’s night. But I’m glad it’s not from A-1 or I would never hear the end of it from the guys.”

“I love Eme for doing it,” I said. “You deserve it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jonah said.

The limo pulled away from the curb and Jonah turned to watch Vegas go by outside the window. His leg jounced and I slipped my hand in his. He held it tightly the entire ride over, and then gave it an almost painful squeeze when we arrived at the Wynn.

“Holy shit,” he muttered.

The front of the hotel was a rotating cavalcade of sedans, limos, and cars, spilling out guests dressed in semi-casual attire.

“I didn’t think there’d be so many,” Jonah said. “Eme must’ve invited half of Vegas.” He turned to me, his handsome face twisted by panic. “What do I do if they hate it?”

I started to tell him they weren’t going to hate it, but I knew from my own experience of putting my soul on display, pouring my heart out into a song and then handing it to someone else. Of course they won’t hate it wasn’t much of a stopgap against that kind of anxiety.

“Do you love it?” I asked. “Is the installation everything you envisioned?”

Jonah nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

I smiled and shrugged. “There you go.”

He barked a short laugh. “Well, that was easy.” He stroked my cheek, studying me intently, and opened his mouth to say something more. He kissed me instead, just as the driver opened the door for us and it was time to go in.

The long wing of the L-shaped gallery displayed the individual pieces for sale, each standing on plain, oblong stands of varying heights. Bottles and vases ribboned with color in complex yet precise patterns. Spheres and cubes that contained impossible bouquets of flowers. One cluster of purple and yellow wildflowers had bees hovering over it. Another looked as if it were suspended underwater, blurred and fluid in its shape. Other pieces hung from the ceiling in twists of multi-colored glass. Some were lamps, their bulbs hidden among the coils.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek as we walked through the formally-dressed people taking in Jonah’s gorgeous work. They sipped champagne from crystal flutes or ate delicate finger foods off the trays of passing waiters. A current of muttered, awed conversation wove through the shifting crowd. Every direction my head turned, I heard guests exclaim how beautiful the glass was and how much they’d willingly spend to take a piece home with them.

Jonah looked straight ahead, his hand holding mine tightly, as we made our way to the short end of the L, where his installation hung. We rounded the corner and joined the gathered crowd, all of their voices and gasps pointing up toward the ceiling.

A sea…

I stared up, too. Ten feet up to a waterfall of glass in every shade of blue. Ribbons and curls of it, some bearded in opalescent foam. It poured from under a sphere set at the center. A sun of orange, red, gold and yellow. A fireball full of molten lava.