Park Avenue Prince(83)

I grasped the brown paper package I’d brought in both hands and headed across the street.

“Sam Shaw,” I said to the security guy at the door. He swiped his fingers over the screen of an iPad and nodded at me. I waited for a group of four men to leave, then stepped into the gallery.

I scanned the faces of the guests, trying to find Grace. I didn’t want to disrupt her evening, so my plan was to hang around until everyone else had left. In the meantime, I had a delivery to make.

I made my way to the back of the gallery, trying to get to the secret area where she kept her favorite pieces. But something had changed. The layout was different, not as big. She’d put an additional wall down the middle of the gallery and the hidden area had disappeared. Shit. What was I going to do now? That was where I’d wanted to leave my gift.

From where I stood, the gallery looked smaller. The art was bold and modern and it ran the length of the space. I turned my head to see a pass-through, larger than a doorway, in the middle of the wall. She’d split the store? I looked around but there was still no sign of her, so I headed toward the opening. The other side was Grace through and through. I could tell this was the art she really loved. I grinned. I saw her in every piece. Her secret collection wasn’t so little anymore, and it certainly wasn’t secret.

Good for her. She was doing what she loved. Even though I had no right to be, I was so proud of her.

I crouched, set down my gift, and tore at the twine. I’d deliberately tied the wrapping with string so I could get it off quickly, but now the knot wouldn’t loosen.

I twisted the string, trying to soften the knot, but the light was dim and I couldn’t see what I was doing properly.

“Sam?” Grace asked from behind me.

I dropped my hands and stood, steeling myself for my first look at her. Even though I’d prepared myself, when I turned around the sight of her was almost too much. I’d forgotten how her generous spirit showed on her face, how her warmth was infectious.

“Hi,” I said. “You look . . .” Like the love of my life. “Beautiful.”#p#分页标题#e#

“What are you doing here?” she asked, stepping back as I moved toward her.

“I came to apologize and explain. I just need a few minutes.” I didn’t expect her to forgive me, not right away, but I had to believe I had another shot with her. Whatever happened, I’d keep loving her my whole life.

Her expression was blank but she wasn’t asking me to leave. I had to take my chance. I took a deep breath. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever loved and the only one I ever will. I messed up.” And I would pay forever if she didn’t forgive me. “If I’d known I’d meet you, that I’d feel how I do, I’d have practiced. Made my mistakes, gotten them out of the way before you came along. But I had no idea what love could feel like. You are beyond my imagination, Grace Astor.”

My eyes flickered down her body. She wasn’t giving anything away. But while she would let me, I would continue to state my case. “You taught me to see myself as an optimist. And I know myself to be a fighter. I’m not giving up on you. Ever. I love you.”

Her chest rose as she drew in a breath. “I brought you this,” I rushed out, indicating the painting, half opened and resting against the wall. I had to put off her inevitable rejection as long as I could.

Grace shook her head. “Sam, no, I don’t need anything.”

Christ, she didn’t even want to receive a present from me. “It’s yours.”

“No, you don’t have to buy—”

“It’s yours. Whatever happens, it’s yours.”





Chapter Twenty-Four

Grace





Sam’s gift was so unnecessary. All I wanted was him—to see in his expression that he still loved me. His eyes were wide, his hair mussed and longer than I’d seen before, but he was still my Sam. He always would be. Through everything, I’d never doubted Sam’s feelings for me. So I’d waited, hoped and prayed and believed he’d come back to me. Back to us.

“Please, Grace, just open it.”

I kneeled and slid the string off the brown paper. The edges were hard, like a frame. Had he brought me a painting? I discarded the paper, then the bubble wrap and tissue that was the last layer of packaging. Just a glimpse of the frame told me what he’d done. Tears began to roll down my face as I revealed the canvas. How had he found it?

“My Renoir,” I said, my gaze flitting about the piece, trying to take it all in. “You brought it back to me. How did you find—oh, Sam, the cost.”