I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found(24)

I stood up and stepped back, closing my eyes for a moment, and then re-opening them. It was an old trick I'd been doing for years - something to reset my brain and give me a fresh look at something I'd been staring at for far too long.

It was beautiful.

I'd never admit that I thought so, but it was. Everything about it - the composition, the light and shadow, everything - there was absolutely nothing about it that I would change.

Of course, this was after I'd already sent everything away to the galleries. Of course. It was just my luck that they'd never see my best work.

I'd been in such a rut, art-wise, for so long. I could admit that now. Nothing I'd drawn in the last two years was as good as this. Why? Was there something about feeling isolated and alone that really brought out the best in me? That was pretty damn depressing.

I was startled to hear someone tapping on my door frame. I turned around to see Daniel and Genevieve standing there, Daniel looking a bit sheepish.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Thorne," said the journalist, coming into the room, her eyes glued on my drawing. "I didn't want to disturb you, but…that's absolutely beautiful, were you working on that just now?"

"Yeah," I said. "What, do you want to write about it?"

"Actually," she said, "I was thinking of whipping up a little human interest story about both of you. This would be perfect. Would you mind if I photographed you with the drawing?"

I frowned a little, my hands instinctively going up to smooth my hair. "I don't know, maybe I'd better go…touch up," I said.

"Don't be ridiculous, you look stunning." Genevieve gestured towards my drawing stool. "Why don't you sit down there, pick up your pencil. Just - yes, like that, sit at a slight angle. Let me get my camera." She ran out of the room.

"You do your own photography?" Daniel called after her.

"Absolutely, whenever they'll let me." She hurried back, fiddling with a lens that was practically the size of my forearm. "It was my passion, actually, but the photography program at my school was incredibly competitive. I just studied it on the side while I went after a career in journalism, but let me tell you, sometimes I wonder if I ended up in the wrong field."

"Oh, I doubt that." Daniel was smiling. I let out a massive sigh.

"All right, now just…yes, yes, that's perfect." Genevieve lifted her camera and I heard the shutter snap a few times. "The lighting in here is absolutely wonderful. This is going to look amazing."

"Did you want a few of me?" Daniel asked.

Genevieve seemed to consider this for the first time. "Hmm…well, I guess it wouldn't be bad to get an exclusive of you. I was just thinking I'd use one of the archive photos, but…sure, I can do something. Maybe something sort of homey and relaxed-looking, something to make you look like an ordinary person?"

Daniel looked down at his shoes. "Should I change?"

"Maybe take your jacket off," Genevieve suggested. "Roll up your sleeves, sit at the kitchen island with a mug? No - you know what would be even better? Maybe if we moved that basil planter over to the island and you were watering it. Nice and domestic."

"You really think that's going to change my image?" Daniel asked, but he was following her directions already, tossing his jacket onto the back of a chair. I followed them both out to the kitchen.

"It can't hurt," said Genevieve. "Anyway, you were the one who wanted your picture taken."

She snapped a few of the pose she'd suggested. When she was done, she gestured me over and showed me the view screen on the camera.

"There," she said. "Is that the Daniel Thorne you know and love?"

I could feel his eyes on me as I looked at the incredibly domestic, incredibly fake image - Daniel posing with an empty watering can, over a plant he barely even knew existed. His lips were slightly parted, as if he were in the middle of a conversation with someone just out of frame. I studied his face like I was seeing it for the first time - his cheekbones, high and sharp, and those deep green eyes framed by long (but not too long) lashes. Paired with heavy eyebrows and a strong jaw, they somehow made him look both strikingly gorgeous and unmistakably masculine.

People were going to look at him, and then they were going to look at me, sitting next to my stupid little drawing, and think: her?

I shook myself out of it.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, that's perfect."

***

The article ran just a few days later, but I found I couldn’t look at it. One afternoon, I came home from grocery shopping after having almost successfully forgotten about the whole thing, only to be reminded of it in the oddest way possible.

Just as I was hanging up my purse, I heard a buzzing noise coming from deep inside my pocket. It was my phone going off. The number was local, but I didn't recognize it. I almost ignored the call. But for some reason I couldn't explain, I picked it up, took a deep breath, and answered.

"Hello?"

There was a beat.

"Hello - Madeline Thorne?" The voice on the other end sounded…almost familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

"Yes?"

"This is Curtis Gossard, I own the Starra Gallery downtown?"

I had to stifle a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. Of all the times for this to happen.