At least that much is true, I thought. I did want to be home with Dad, it was just that I wanted to be with Bastian more.
Chapter 24
I plopped the groceries onto the counter and stared at them for a moment, trying to summon the energy to put them away. Usually, I loved putting groceries away. The act of organizing and filling my fridge and pantry always seemed to make me feel ready to tackle anything that might come my way. But not today.
I stared at the sliced cheese and thought of Bastian's grilled cheese. The tomatoes made me think of him. So did the bacon. Everything in my bags reminded me of him somehow and how far away he was. Four days away from him and he was still all I could think about. I wished I could hear his voice.
But he was respecting my wishes and leaving me alone. Just as I had asked. I hated it.
“You okay, Ava?” Jackie asked, coming into the kitchen. She frowned slightly and pushed her short gray hair out of her bright blue eyes. “Want some help?”
I smiled. “That would be great.”
She came over and began efficiently taking all the food out and putting it right where it belonged. Even though Dad was long past needing an overnight sitter, Jackie had been staying at the house. I rather liked her here. Dad and I had moved into this house after Mom died and it had always felt like it was missing something. Now that Jackie was here, I realized that what it had been missing was Jackie. She was meant to be here. With Dad. I was now the piece that was missing.
“Oh, there's some mail for you on the table,” Jackie informed me, putting the tomatoes in the sink to wash. “I can finish up in here if you want.”
“Thanks,” I said, knowing that I hadn't done anything to help put stuff away in the first place. I smiled at her and wandered out to the living room. Dad was sitting in his recliner watching some history show on TV. I shook my head and went to pick up my mail.
In addition to the usual assortment of bills, advertisements, and random coupons, there was a large, professional-looking envelope. I set the rest down on the messy table, deciding to open the interesting envelope first, since whatever was inside of it had to be more fun than an electric bill.
The letter inside was on heavy, high-end paper. It reminded me more of a wedding invitation than actual letterhead, but it was obviously business related. I leaned up against the wall and began to read.
Dear Miss Ava Fairchild,
I am contacting you today to request your professional appraisal services for a piece of art. I have recently acquired two impressionist paintings and wish to sell them. However, due to their historical nature, I am in need of further reference as to the appropriate buyer.
I grinned. Maybe this was something that could take my mind off of Bastian.
The pieces in question are one by Claude Monet, as well as a smaller piece by Berthe Morisot, both with photos attached. There are several museums and several other interested buyers, but due to a lack of time and knowledge I am unable to determine the best location for this artwork. As such, I am requesting your services.
It will take 6-8 weeks to meet with all the museums and possible buyers. All expenses, including airfare, food, and lodging in the various museum locals, is included, as well as payment for taking you away from your business.
Included is the list of museums and their locations. I understand that this is a large undertaking, one that will force you to learn about the museums wishing to purchase said piece as well as any collections it may join.
Please contact Charlotte Page with any questions. She will follow up with you at a later date to arrange your transportation to New York to view the pieces as well as your international itinerary.
Sincerely,
Sebastian Belrose
My hands shook. I could barely hold the paper as I turned to the next page. A picture of Berthe Morisot's A Corner of the Rose Garden painting fluttered to floor followed by one of Monet's Water Lilies.
I went to my knees to retrieve it, staring at one of the most famous pictures in art history as well as the one Bastian had claimed as his favorite before looking at the list of potential buyers. The Louvre, Musée d'Orsay, the Marmottan-Monet Museum, and a whole page of others that I couldn't read because my eyes started to blur. I couldn't breathe. This was everything I had always dreamed of. This was the trip my mother and I had spent years hours upon hours dreaming of before she died, with more than we could have ever hoped to have seen.
And Bastian had just given it all to me with a billionaire's all-access pass. He had actually been paying attention to me that night I had told him about Paris. He had remembered.
“Ava?” Dad called, his chair creaking as he stood and then hurried over to where I sat on the floor. “Ava, are you all right?”
I handed him the letter, my mouth opening and closing like a fish and making about as much noise. Dad skimmed the letter, his eyes going bigger with every paragraph.
“Holy mother...” he finally whispered, handing the letter back to me. He grinned and started to laugh. I just sat, still in shock. “It's everything you and your mom used to talk about. You have to do it, Ava.”
I let out a sob and quickly covered my mouth. “Why would Bastian do something so wonderful for me? Why? I don't deserve someone like him.”
“Bullshit,” Dad contested, wrapping me up in his arms and hugging me tight. “You deserve someone who makes you happy.”
“But...” I couldn't wrap my head around it. Why would Bastian do this? I had hurt him. I had pushed him away because he deserved someone better than me, yet here he was, giving me the best gift I had ever received. He still cared about me.