Squaring his shoulders, he turned around and almost ran into Mae as she came through the door. Her face was pale, and she looked as nervous as he felt when her hesitant smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I was just coming to make sure you hadn’t snuck out the back door.”
“Would you think less of me if I told you the thought had crossed my mind?”
“It’s going to be fine.” Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. Then she hooked an arm through his to urge him out of the room and past a couple of offices toward the main gallery. “Everything’s going to work out tonight. It has to.”
The last words were muttered under her breath.
Merit shot her a frown, but she moved a step ahead of him and smiled at the waiter approaching with a tray of drinks. Mae took a water and handed him a glass of champagne. He hesitated at first, but the last time he’d had champagne was at Asher’s wedding, and that turned out pretty damn good, so what the hell.
He downed the contents in four long swallows, then switched the empty for a full as bubbly warmth spread through his belly.
“Take it easy,” Mae warned in a low whisper.
The alcohol eased the knots in his stomach, so he raised his glass for another drink, but kept it to a sip this time. As he swept his gaze from one side of the crowded room to the other, his stomach tightened all over again. “Shit. There’s a lot of people here.”
“Yes. Claudia is thrilled with the turnout. And everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”
He’d met the gallery owner earlier, who’d also assured him he’d remain a mystery.
Small groups gathered around the cocktail tables set up around the room. They seemed to ignore the art while they talked and laughed over the stubby centerpieces of red rose bouquets while enjoying drinks and small plates of appetizers from a side buffet table. Others milled from one display section to the next, actively studying and discussing each exhibit. There did seem to be a positive vibe in the room, yet he still couldn’t help wondering if they were admiring or criticizing.
He shifted his gaze back to Mae, finding it easier to focus on her now rosy cheeks and glossed lips than trying to read into the expressions of the people studying his art. He could do this with her at his side.
It was only one night, after all. Three hours. Piece of cake.
Merit set his glass down and moved closer to her side, lifting a hand to brush her blond hair back from her cheek before trailing down her arm to thread their fingers together. “No matter how this goes tonight, I’m grateful for all you’ve done, and for respecting how I feel about it, even if it may seem silly to you.”
The color drained from her cheeks, and her gaze darted away from his, toward the crowded gallery. “I don’t think it’s silly, I just…” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I wish you could believe in yourself and trust others to see the talent you have.”
Despite his best efforts, familiar defensive tension gripped his shoulders again. “It will happen when I’m ready, Mae. I promise I’ll let you know, but please don’t push this right now.”
Her distressed sigh was followed by a wince and sharp inhale. She pulled her hand from his to press against her stomach.
He frowned at the movement. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s nothing. Just a hard kick.”
This morning, he’d caught her leaning a hand against the bathroom sink as she took deep, measured breaths. She’d claimed it was Braxton Hicks, the false labor pains he’d read about in her pregnancy book. They started any time after the twentieth month, and she was in the middle of week thirty-three, but something about her tight expression and pale complexion made him doubt her brush-off.
“You don’t look so good.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He flattened his hand over hers. “You know what I mean.”
“Merit, the baby’s fine. Promise.”
Her smile was less than convincing, especially when she wouldn’t look him in the eye. A sensation of foreboding tingled along the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right, and if it wasn’t the baby…
“Mae, what’s going on?”
She glanced toward the doors, then turned toward him, her gaze fixed somewhere below his chin. “I, uh, might have done something I wasn’t supposed to.”
Concern shifted to heavy dread as the guilt dripping from her quiet words set off major warning bells in his head. “What?”
She flipped her hand under his, her grip tight and desperate. “Please don’t hate me.”