The Girl in the Painting

He looks up to meet my eyes. “I thought you still had another two weeks to go…”

Two weeks. Sheesh. Why is pregnancy exactly ten years long?

“Are you trying to ruin my day?” I glare, and Bram has to fight his smile by biting down on his bottom lip.

“Ansel mentioned you were on a bit of a rampage today.”

My glare only gets stronger. “I’m sorry, Ansel said what?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, but the smile he fought so hard against is now present and shining on his face. “He said nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But you know what you are?”

“What am I?”

Grumpy? Sweaty? Miserable? All three would be apt descriptions of my current state.

“Fucking brilliant.” I quirk a brow, and he continues. “I heard the last half of your recording session, and it was perfect, Indy.”

Holy hell, a real, genuine compliment that has nothing to do with trying to make me feel better about not being able to see my feet and days away from pushing a baby out of my body…

It’s the unicorn of compliments and, instantly, I soften around the edges. “You really liked it?”

“Loved it,” he says and sits down beside Don, the producer of New Rules’s next album. He pats him on the back and grins. “Tell her, Donnie. It was perfect, yeah?”

“That it was,” he agrees with a quick glance and smile in my direction. “You and Mac brought your A game.”

Even in my cranky, uncomfortable, far-too-sweaty for doing nothing but standing here pregnancy state, I can’t not smile at that.

Six months ago, Bram came to me with an idea.

One that involved adding a small violin composition to the beginning of one of the tracks on New Rules’s next album. At first, I outright said no. But then, once good ol’ Mac Davis jumped on the bandwagon, I had to agree. Seriously. The only answer my stubborn, music-loving dad would take was yes.

And two months later, my dad and I composed something we were really proud of, and thankfully, New Rules loved.

Despite my initial resistance, I’m so thankful I ended up doing it. The whole process, working with my dad, creating music with my dad, has been a dream. An incredibly special and unforgettable experience.

Just over two years ago, I was a music teacher at a small private school in the Bronx, and I couldn’t even look at the violin. And now, I’m playing the violin every day and composing music for one of the most popular bands in the country.

Life is crazy, I tell you. Just crazy.

But life is also really draining when you’re carrying around a full-term baby inside your body. My feet ache inside my sandals, and I glance down to see the familiar puffy and swollen appearance that has become a staple of my life for the past few months.

“All right,” I announce and snag my purse from the closet. “I’m going to head home and relax a bit.”

Bram stands up to give me a big hug. “Love ya, sis.”

“Love you too.”

“And tell your sister I say hello.” He winks and flashes a little grin in my direction, and a laugh escapes my throat.

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to forget that.”

“C’mon, Indy,” he teases. “Just tell your beautiful sister I said hello.”

The last thing my sister Lily needs is Bram Bray.

He’s good-looking, of course, and charming, most definitely, but he is trouble with a capital T. And my sister gets into enough trouble as it is.

I’m just thankful Ansel and I didn’t end up having the big wedding we’d originally planned. Who knows what would have happened if Bram had a whole week of wedding activities to work his magic on Lil.

“Yeah, okay,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell her.”

“Promise?”

“Goodbye, Don!” I call over my shoulder as I turn for the door and promptly ignore my brother-in-law.

“Indy!” Bram shouts toward me on a laugh. “You better promise!”

“Bye, Bram!”

I open the door, and his responding chuckles follow me until I’m in the hallway and heading for the elevator.

When I spot Hank waiting for me outside, I sigh with relief.

Thank God.

The last thing this big preggo body wants to do is stand around and wait, or worse, walk several blocks because he can’t find a spot near the doors.

I swear I’m not usually such a diva, but I’m nine-and-half months pregnant. Surely, that provides me with some kind of free pass to be intolerable.

“Afternoon, Indy.” Hank greets me with his familiar friendly smile and helps me into the car with a gentle hand. Once he ensures I’m safely inside, he starts the engine and pulls out into the road, heading for home in Greenwich Village.

New York passes me by in a blur of skyscrapers and taxi cabs and people hurrying in various directions, and eventually, my mind slowly drifts off to one very special day that ended in “I do.”