Liana nodded. “Hello, Governor McClain, I’m well. Thank you.”

“Oh, please, call me Peyton.” My mother patted Liana’s arm then turned to me. “Now, where are your masterpieces?”

I pointed to an archway to our left. “There.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and brag a little,” she joked. My mother joked! The world was ending.

She waved at us then disappeared through the archway.

I looked at Liana with wide eyes. “I swear, an alien came an abducted my mother. That woman is not Peyton McClain.”

Liana laughed. “Come on, hon. Give her some credit. She said she didn’t want to lose you. She’s trying, and so far she’s doing great.”

Tears brimmed in my eyes. “She is.”

Liana and I went back to our side of the gallery, mingling and talking to people, explaining our thoughts when drawing this or painting that.

A waiter passed with a tray and I reached for a flute, but Liana stopped me. She held my hand and pulled me back.

“What?”

She was the one looking nervous now. “Don’t panic, but I see two professors, the assistant director, and the director of the arts program.”

“Holy crap.” My palms started sweating almost instantly.

“Act cool, be cool,” Liana said. “They will love the entire collection, you’ll see.”

Liana went ahead to greet them and show them her collection. Meanwhile, I clasped my hands together so I wouldn’t bite my nails or rip the decorative belt from my dress.

She didn’t tell them when she guided them to my collection. I hovered close by, trying to hear whatever they were saying about my paintings, but I only caught a few insignificant words here and there.

Finally, they stopped before the main painting and stared at it in silence for a long time. Behind her back, Liana beckoned me to join them. I took a deep breath and went to her. She linked her arm to mine and pulled me close.

“What do you think?” she asked them.

“The technique is exquisite,” a professor said.

“This is different from the rest of your collection,” the assistant to the director said. “In fact, the last few pieces all are different.”

“It’s because they are not mine,” Liana said with a big smile. “The last few pieces and this one were painted by my good friend, Charlotte McClain.”

My cheeks warmed as four pairs of eyes fell on me. “Hello,” I said and instantly felt lame. Seriously? Hello? That was all I could say? I cleared my throat and prepared to impersonate my mother’s daughter, to make use of my blood and the way I was raised, to woo them with my words.

However, the director spoke first. “Charlotte McClain. I remember your application. Very impressive, just like your paintings in this gallery, but a month late.”

My shoulders sagged. This had been a big waste of time. I would have to stay here and do practically nothing for an entire year other than be active in my mother’s life until I could apply for school again.

“Yes, sorry about that,” I said, wishing I could take it back, that I had never sent that damn application.

“Don’t be sorry,” the director said. “You have the talent and the drive, and it seems you fight for what you want and that’s a great quality.” He stared at the assistant director for a moment, then she nodded and I felt like I was interrupting a private conversation. “Unfortunately, most of our studio classes are full for this semester, but, if you’re willing, you can join the program and start with other core classes.”

My heart stopped and my mouth fell open. Liana squeezed my arm and squealed.

“T-this semester?” I asked.

He nodded. “Starting in one week.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Do you accept those terms?” the assistant asked.

“Of course I do!”

She smiled. “Congratulations, and welcome to the arts program at George Washington University.”

Liana squealed again and pulled me into a hug. “I told you they would love it.”

I was still in shock and probably imagined the director asking the assistant to see if they could schedule some private studio lessons for me so I wouldn’t miss the most important class of the entire semester.

It was heaven. The big thing I had been dreaming about happened and now I could breathe easier.

When Liana let go of me, the procession had already moved on to the rest of the exhibition.

“We need to celebrate.” She looked around the area. No waiters around. “I’ll go find us some champagne. Be right back.”

She left and I remained in my spot, admiring the main piece of my collection.

My mother stopped by side. “That’s a beautiful painting, Charlotte.” She touched my elbow gently. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“I must go now, get ready for a long dinner meeting.” She let her hand drop and whispered, “Even I hate those.”

I laughed.

Liana came back with two champagne flutes. “Oh, Governor McClain. I mean, Peyton. I didn’t know you were still here. Let me go get another flute.”

“No need,” my mother said. “I’m on my way out. You girls have fun.”

My mother walked away and Liana handed me a flute. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I said before sipping the bubbly liquid.

“Now, we’re only missing the big finale,” she whispered.

I tilted my head. “What if there’s no big finale?”

“I’m sure there will be.” She busied herself by drinking small gulps of her champagne.

“This isn’t a museum.”

I heard a known voice and I turned to it. Dressed in neat jeans and a white shirt with folded sleeves, Mason stood right under the archway dividing my exhibition from the others, just behind David, who was looking at me with a mischievous smile.

Mason’s bright eyes found mine, and his face paled a little. “Oh.”

“Hey, partner in crime,” David said, coming to stand beside me. “Hi, Liana.”

“Wait.” Mason approached us. “What did you do, David?”

“David,” Liana started. “How about we let these two talk?”

He offered his arm to Liana. “Sure. Will you show me your paintings?”

She put her hand in the crook of his arm. “Of course.”

They sauntered away from us, and I felt like digging a hole and disappearing inside it. The way Mason watched us, with a frown and his lips pressed tight, I wasn’t so sure this had been a good idea.

We stood before my painting, one avoiding the eyes of the other for a long time. I drank all of my champagne and willed a waiter to come back and bring more.

I was nervous and I was worried. For days, I had come up with plans on how to reconnect with Mason. Should I call him? Should I appear at his doorstep? Should I hang out outside his new job, wait until he walked out, and pretend it was coincidence? I talked about it with Liana, and she thought I should call him and invite him over. However, each time I held my phone with that purpose, my hands shook and my breathing grew erratic. What if he had moved on? After what happened, it was all in the air. By now, he could have forgotten about me, decided I wasn’t worth it. So many endless possibilities.

“Is this yours?” he asked.

I followed his line of sight. He was looking at the main painting.

“Yes,” I said.

“I … I can make out a man and a woman in those dark splotches.” He pointed his fingers to the right side of the canvas. “And in the background, the grayish, is their profile, right? I can see the pain in their expression, and also the love.” He shifted his gaze to me and I gulped hard. “Are they … people you know?”

I averted my eyes and nodded.

“Can you tell me who are they?” There was something like hope in his tone; it almost burst my heart.

“I can. I’m just afraid to.”

“Why?”

I didn’t answer because I didn’t know exactly. I was afraid that he would say he didn’t like me anymore. It wouldn’t be worse from hoping he still liked me. If he said he didn’t like me now, I would hurt a lot. But, with time, I would heal. I would probably never stop loving him, but I would learn how to live with that, and someday I would love again.

I hoped.

His expression hardened. “So, what am I doing here?”

“I want to apologize. For believing you had sent those pictures to the newspaper, for not answering your calls and messages, for not letting you explain to me what was going on, and for not coming after you right after I knew the truth.” I inhaled deeply. “I wanted to. I really wanted to. I just … I was taking my first steps by myself. I stood up to my mother. I moved out. I was changing majors. I was being myself for the first time in my life. I needed to get to know me before I introduced you again to me. Does that make sense?”

“Kind of.”

“I wanted to call you. I would hold my phone, almost calling you, for over a week, but …”

“But what?”

“I was scared you were mad at me for wanting some time.” I lowered my chin and watched a dark stain on the white floor. “I was scared you had moved on already.”

He stepped closer and my gaze shot to his face. “On TV, you said you were in love with me. Was it true?”

“It is.” Before I could come up with anything else coherent to say, Mason stepped into my personal space, slid his hand around my neck, and leaned down.

“I’m not moving on,” he said, his breath teasing my skin. Then his lips touched mine and I let out a happy sigh. He chuckled before crushing his mouth on mine. I opened my lips, letting his demanding tongue in. I clutched my hands on his hips, trying to steady myself against the heat-slash-desire wave bursting through me.

Someone cleared his or her throat, and we broke up.