“No.” He frowns. “Wrong choice of words. I mean, you’re showing me what I want as opposed to what I was supposed to want.”
“You mean my kids?”
“No,” he whispers. “I mean you.”
I frown.
“You’re everything I never knew I wanted. Feminine but strong. Your beautiful body.” He smiles softly. “Your selflessness with your boys.”
I watch him as my heart somersaults in my chest.
“You put everyone’s needs before yourself, Claire.”
My stomach clenches.
“And for the first time in my life, you make me want to put someone before me.”
I’m overcome with emotion. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For being everything that I thought you weren’t.”
He smiles. “No, thank you.” He raises his glass to mine. “For being exactly who I thought you were.”
I smile through tears. “Who, a bitch?”
He chuckles as he clinks our glasses together. “A raving bitch with a magical vagina.”
I laugh out loud.
It’s official—I do love this man . . . I really do.
I just wish I could tell him.
I straighten my dress. “Do I look okay?” I whisper as Tristan leads me through the crowd. We’ve just arrived at the auction and are weaving our way through the people to the other side of the room to meet his two younger brothers. I’m sick with nerves.
“You looking fucking hot, Anderson. Stop it,” he whispers as he strides through the crowd.
God, this is a nightmare. Why did I agree to this?
We are in a trendy art gallery warehouse; the crowd is eclectic and buzzing with excitement.
Huge abstract paintings are on the walls, and people are gathered in front of them, admiring their beauty. Loud funky music is being piped through the space, and waiters are circling with silver trays and glasses of champagne.
This is another world, far from the school homework I’m usually doing on the dining room table on a Sunday night.
We get to a clearing. “There they are.” Tristan smiles as he leads me toward two men standing and looking at a painting.
They are handsome and similar to Tristan: dark hair and tall and built—the family resemblance is strong. Dressed in jeans and sports jackets, they look as much like fashion models as their brother does.
“Hey.” Tristan laughs as we get to them.
They both spin toward us, and their eyes light up. “Tris.” They both laugh as they all shake hands.
“This is Claire.” Tristan smiles proudly. “This is Elliot and Christopher, my two younger brothers.”
“Hi,” I breathe . . . oh God, this is hell.