From Bully To Beloved

Many months later

“Oh, dammit,” I swear as I turn around, only to knock something off the counter. It falls to the floor, meaning I can’t see what it is. Not withthispregnant belly. I told Coltonthat once something hits the floor, it’s dead to me.

“You all right out there?”

“Yeah, just throwing things around the room as usual.”

Coltonemerges from the bedroom. He looks hot in a pair of dark-blue form-fitting jeans and a black button-up. The sleeves are pushed past his elbows, and he’s left the top buttons undone so you get just a peek at his tattoos. I’m too busy admiring his hotness at first to realize he’s picking up a fluffy duck (an early baby gift from Kelly) that has fallen down.

Coltonpulls me into a hug from behind, his hands coming around to rub my belly. “You’re going to do great. I can’t wait to see it all put together.”

Everything is happening all at once. I love every second of it.

Excitement takes hold, and I squeeze Cal’s hands. “I still can’t believe I have an art show!”

“I told you, you’re talented and amazing.”

“What did you say? I’m not sure I heard you.”

Coltonchuckles and turns me toward the bedroom again. “Yes, you’re a star. Now get dressed. Dennis will be here in a few minutes.”

For the art show opening, I slip on a dark-blue maternity dress that is super adorable. I’m due in eleven days, but even though the timing couldn’t be more inapt, I didn’t want to miss the exhibition for the world. Part of me knows it was stupid to still say yes to the show after I found out about the pregnancy, and knowing the timing would fall together like that, especially given we were moving as well. But this was an important milestone for me. It could have been worse. Luckily, the date didn’t fall after the delivery-that would have been even more stressful.

Somehow, I’m happy to have my baby here with me in my belly. Yes, of course I’ve been having nightmares of giving birthright therein front of the art critic-that would make for another unforgettable article, I’m sure.

One day though, I’d be able to tell my child that she was right there with me that day.

Coltonhas already laid out my slip-on shoes (so sweet of him)-this way I don’t have to attempt to do it myself. Seriously, I can’t wait to be able to see my feet again.

Coltonwatches me from the doorway, a smile on his face. “I love you. I’m proud of you. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

We drive to the art show, holding hands in the back seat. I’m starting to feel more nervous than excited, and not even a smoothie from my favorite place is enough to calm me down. Cal’s hand draws lazy circles on the back of mine, helping me stay focused.

“Relax. You have nothing to worry about,” he tells me. “Don’t be nervous.”

“So, areyounervous too?” I ask him.

“No.” He arches an eyebrow. “What do I have to be nervous about?”

“People are going to see a ton of naked drawings of you. I mean a ton. Like, half the pieces being showcased are you.”

“Then they’ll all be jealous of Mrs. Sera Ashton’s trophy husband.”

I laugh, leaning over to give him a kiss. “You’re the best trophy husband a girl could ask for.”

“I know.”

We pull up outside the art gallery, and my heart does a little flip-flop. There are a lot of people around. And I mean, a lot. Fancily dressed people are filing into a building that has two large blown-up pieces of my artwork hanging on either side of the door, with my name in big letters.

“Showtime,” Coltonsays with a grin.

My jaw wants to drop on the floor, and it takes everything in me to act calm and cool.

Dennis pulls up to the curb and gets out to open the door for us. Coltonsteps out first and extends his hand to me. I graciously accept.

Everything after that is a whirlwind.

We’re swept inside where Mr. Amoria is waiting with flowers and open arms. Immediately, he starts to introduce me to people, and I smile and shake hands, trying to remember their names but knowing there’s absolutely no way to keep them all straight in my head. Especially with pregnancy brain.

Thank God Coltonis here.

“And, Sera, this is someone I’ve been dying to introduce you to,” Amoria says, leading us over to an older man. He’s about as tall as Cal, with salt-and-pepper hair slicked back from his face and glasses over his brown eyes. He’s wearing a sharply tailored suit with rings on almost every finger. “This is Mr. Pedro Piersanti,” Amoria introduces. “He’s the new art critic forArt Dream Monthly.”

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” I say, my heart skipping a beat. “Thenewart critic ofArt Dream Monthly?”

“Yes, yes, sadly, Osgood retired recently,” Pedro says with an impatient wave. Then he leans into me, and in a low voice, he says, “It was about time too, if you ask me.” He stands tall again, and continues in his loud voice, “I’m happy to meet you, Seraphine. I like your work.”

His eyes land on Coltonand go wide.

“My goodness…and is this your model?” he asks, sidling up to Cal, eyeing him up and down. “How do you do? Pedro Piersanti. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Colton Ashton,” Coltonsays as he extends his hand. “Model, stimulus, muse-and husband to this talented woman.”Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Oh. Well, color me jealous,” Pedro says, shaking Cal’s hand, not letting go. “Seraphine, you have smashing taste. Smashing. May I steal your husband away for a few minutes? Come, Mr. Ashton. Show me which one of these is your personal favorite.”

Giggling to myself, I watch Coltonget swept away by Pedro.

Mr. Amoria shakes his head. “Sorry, Pedro can be a bit much, but he means well and will give you an honest review.”

“I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with Professor Ramstraat anymore,” I say. “I was dreading the thought of him being here.”

“Sera, you have nothing to worry about. Just relax and enjoy yourself.”

That’s what Coltonsaid to me, and I feel silly for having stressed myself out way too much beforehand.

Mr. Amoria wanders off to mingle, and I take a moment to breathe everything in. I can’t believe it’s really happening. I’m standing in an art gallery, surrounded by my own work. I stare at the portraits, smiling at each piece as I take them in. Pedro and Coltonare standing in the center of the room in front of the one I did of Coltonsleeping all those months ago. I giggle again at Pedro’s playful staring and flirting, and Coltontaking it all in his stride.

Just as my shoulders relax, I see him only a few feet away: a white-haired man with a black hat pulled low over his forehead contemplating my art, his cane tapping against the polished wooden floor with each slow step. He’s wearing a black coat-and a stern expression. My body stiffens. I recognize him immediately. Professor Ramstraat. A recent article featured his photo front and center, portraying him as the “The Art Judge,” emphasizing the critic’s power to render a quick verdict on each work he encounters, and talking about how a positive review from him can make a career, while a negative one can destroy it. I even showed the article to Cal, just to get his hilarious, over-the-top eye-roll reaction.