To Sir, with Love

“Quick toast to our lady of the night,” Alec says.

“Well, that makes her sound like a prostitute, but sure,” Lily says, earning what I’m pretty sure is a quick pinch on the butt from her husband. She giggles. Actually giggles, and it’s the best thing I’ve heard in forever. It’s like a front-row seat to happily ever after after.

“To Gracie,” Alec continues, his arm around Lily’s waist as he smiles at me.

We all lift our glasses, and my eyes water a little at the near perfection of the moment.

“You’re a hit,” Rachel says, coming up behind me. “I’ve been doing regular laps of the room, and the Sold signs are going up like crazy.”

“My personal favorite painting was sold before we even got here,” Lily says with a little pout.

“Which one?” I ask in surprise. From the moment I’d arrived, Myron and Hugh swept me into a flurry of introductions and who’s who and heaps of praise, the latter of which had made me feel like flying, even as I try not to think about the one person who won’t be here—and the one person who will.

“I just love the one of the couple in Central Park at night. I don’t know what it is, but it gave me goose bumps,” my sister is saying, giving a little shiver. “It’s so romantic.”

“My favorite is the one of the woman on her phone,” Michelle says. “Am I right in thinking that’s the only self-portrait of the bunch?”

“Yes, actually,” I say, surprised but not displeased that Caleb’s lovely new girlfriend is so astute. “I mean, it’s stylized. My legs aren’t that long, I never wear heels, the hair’s a bit too glamorous, but yeah. Me!”

“That one also sold before we got here,” Alec says.

“Really?” I say, genuinely surprised. Not because I don’t think they’re good—they’re my favorites—but because they’re less flashy than the rest.

Lily shrugs. “Hugh—or Myron, I didn’t catch who was who during the flurry of introductions—said one of their regulars came by earlier today and offered twice the asking price. They accepted, hoping it would give a sense of urgency to the other potential buyers.”

“Well, it worked,” Rachel says gleefully. “You’re never going to be able to keep up with the demand now, Gracie.”

“Of course she will,” May says. “But we’ll figure all that out later. I think what we all want to know is why is he a no-show.”

All of my friends’ and family’s eyes swing toward me, plainly curious, and I smile even though my heart feels like it’s beating a million miles an hour in anticipation. “Not a no-show,” I explain. “I told him to arrive an hour after this whole thing started. I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to meet everyone Hugh wanted me to. And to spend time with you guys.”

“Okay, we’ve got—” Lily tilts Alec’s wrist toward her so she can see the time. “Well, any minute now.”

My stomach flips, and it takes all my self-control not to turn and stare at the front door until he comes through it.

“Or, he could already be here, mingling among us, planning his move,” Caleb says, rubbing his hands together and peering at the crowd, which has gotten noisier and noisier as the champagne’s been flowing.

“He’s not.”

“Well, respectfully, babe, you wouldn’t know,” Rachel points out.

“We agreed on a visual cue. He knows I’ll be wearing a pink-and-white dress—”

“Which is stunning on you, by the way.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling at Caleb’s girlfriend, who’s obviously looking for brownie points with the family, but I don’t mind it in the least. “And he will have… well I’m not going to tell you; you’ll think it’s corny.”

“Probably,” Caleb confirms as I continue to scan the room for the agreed-upon signal.

Me in a pink-and-white dress, him with a single pink rose in his suit pocket.

It had been Sir’s idea, and at the time it had seemed like a good one—romantic. But now, pink flowers make me think of the bouquet sitting on my kitchen table, which makes me think of Sebastian…

“Oh, excuse me,” I say in apology to my group as I see Hugh pointedly waving me over to where he is speaking with a white-haired man.

“Gracie, this is Doug Frey,” Hugh says. “One of our most enthusiastic patrons.”

The older man shakes my hand with a firm grip and friendly smile. “I was just asking Hugh here if I might be able to commission something like this.”

He points, and I turn to the Central Park–bench painting Lily had taken a fancy to. The one that was so quick to sell.

“My grandson proposed to his girl on a bench in Central Park a few weeks ago. I wasn’t there, obviously, but they had a friend take a photo, and it wasn’t too unlike this, though he was on one knee.”