The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (mind reading books .txt) 📗

Something about the paintings she’d sent, something urgent. Shit, had something been ruined in transit?

A breath-holding grin grew on her expression, about to burst with something. After another few minutes of nodding and accepting and clarifying, she hung up. “Um,” she began. “That was the gallery in Rome.”

He crossed to her. “What happened? Everything okay?”

She bit her lips, the smile too massive to be contained. “They loved the paintings I sent. They had intended to add whatever I sent to their routine stock, but they are running a show highlighting warriors, and they’re hoping I can come to mingle as a featured artist... But it’s tomorrow.”

“That’s incredible. Really. Shit, Freya, that’s so amazing.” He pulled out his phone to check flights. While he searched, aching with the strangest sensation of pride he had no idea he could feel for someone, he said, “I'll find the next flight out while you pack.”

“They booked me a flight already.” She glanced at her phone, her breath rushing out through pursed lips. “I’m sorry, I–”

He tugged her close and plastered his lips to hers.

His parents slowly filed in the door, as puzzled as they’d been for most of the morning.

Freya grabbed her suitcase and started loading up, frazzled and frantic and vibrant.

“Need a ride to the airport?” he asked, eager to do something helpful, standing with his arms crossed and leaned against the door jamb, feeling completely useless.

She shook her head. “Apparently, they hired a car for me. It should be here any minute.” Leaving her suitcase on the bed, she rushed toward the door. “I need to invade Sophie’s closet,” she grinned on her way out the door.

Within twenty minutes, he was loading the trunk of the fancy-ass sedan that came for her. Thrilled, bouncing and glowing, she plastered him with a fierce kiss that set his hair on fire, then dove into the car and took off.

Breath rushing from his lungs as she left, the adrenaline of the last few hours crashed and left his head pounding and stomach in knots. Fucking shit. She… this was exactly the moment she deserved. The moment she’d been waiting for. Not simply an auction that went well. Not just a few sales. But a feature, to be invited and flown out.

The dust from the unmarked black sedan had yet to settle when a postal car came puttering down the drive. As he stood at the base of the stairs, a uniformed delivery woman dashed up the stairs and handed him a priority envelope. “Have a nice afternoon,” she smiled, ignoring the distant look on his face.

Mindlessly, he opened the package as he strolled into the apartment. His parents were still uncharacteristically quiet, thank fuck. They made themselves at home in the kitchen, pouring a trio of beers, as if their son hadn’t lost the love of his life to her career. Which was so incredible for her, why the hell would he not support this, unlike the other assholes she’d committed to? With all this attention, no way she would want to come home. She shouldn’t; the limelight was there, and she was going to be fucking amazing in it.

Glossy bright photographs spilled from the package and onto his bed as he hid to avoid his parents while he got a grip on what the hell was going on. Shuffling the loose photographs together, that stupid fucking pang gripped every organ in his trunk and nearly suffocated him. Burning behind his eyes, flooding his sinuses, he felt memory after memory wash over him. Still a blur, but that feeling, that wholehearted affection… a gust of fresh air rushed in the window, a bizarre inkling of hope he’d hesitated to consider filling him.

On top of the stack, an eight-by-ten captured that look. The look he knew so well and craved more than the mountain air around him. In her stunning blue dress, her hair loose around her shoulders, his ring on her hand that rested on his chest, Freya gazed at him. And he looked back at her, unmasked joy in his grin, his arms holding her close.

No judge would see that photograph and think them anything but a couple decidedly entering marriage with clear heads and forever intent.

He flipped through a few more. Damn, they had an incredible photographer. Or they had been so fricking happy, it would have been impossible to miss. In another, he stood behind Freya, his arms wrapped around her middle, they both were laughing about something, moving synchronously in the candid shot.

A few more, all fricking amazing. And then the shocker. The ceremony. Her parents standing witness, beaming and, well, as tipsy as they were. Did they not remember either?

He snapped a pic and texted it to his in-laws.

A half a second later, his phone rang. Closing the bedroom door, he answered Eamon’s call in private.

“The pictures finally arrived?”

What? Zane’s sigh was heavy, his heart still totally unsure how to beat, his head spinning from the effort. “Yeah. You knew?”

“I wasn’t sure where you two were at with all this. Honestly, it’s a huge blur for Tammy and me, but the pictures on my phone brought things back clear enough.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We wanted you two to decide what you wanted without any input from us. Freya’s had enough pressure in her relationships; we certainly have pushed where we shouldn’t have and it was time to step back and trust. Has Freya seen them? We were hoping she’d get to see those before the court date.” A soft chuckle, “We’ve tried to not indicate our preference, but we have been hopeful.”

“She’s on her way to a huge event in Rome.”

“Is that what’s going on? Tammy’s on the phone with her now and hasn’t gotten to read her text from you. Um… she’s now jumping up and down and giggling.”

“The gallery