Sweet Love - Mia Kayla Page 0,82

take, so I patted his lapel down. “They’ll love you. Just like I do.”

Connor

The exhibit was packed with art buffs and spectators, all perusing and enjoying my girlfriend’s creations. As Charlie fidgeted by my side, I fiercely held her hand as people congratulated her, and asked her about specific pieces.

The walls were painted a faint, light gray, and all around, her paintings were hung up. Mostly abstract, but some of people, men, and random photos.

No doubt she was nervous. It was in the way her shoulders cowered inward and the way she nodded with this forced smile, but what she needed to do was push out her chest and own it, own her talent and not be shy.

Part of me wanted to scoop her up and take her somewhere, away from all this anxiety, and the other part of me knew this was good for her.

I stepped back and watched as two people approached her.

They pointed to a painting where the blues and greens and yellows splattered into a ball that exploded like fire. After a beat, she dropped her hands and gestured to the work of art. The more time that passed, the more animated she became, to where her shoulders shook from laughter as she pointed to the painting.

I had to ask her what that was about, where she had gotten her inspiration.

When someone shoved at my shoulder, I flipped around to find my brother sporting a sly grin.

“Look at you, all suited up, and it’s not even your show.”

My focus went back to Charlie. “Meeting the parents.”

Kyle let out a low, hoarse whistle. “That’s pretty serious stuff, dude.”

“Yeah.” But we were pretty serious stuff.

“So … you’ve convinced her to move to New York with you?”

“Not yet.”

He laughed, and it irked me. “What does that mean?”

“I’m still trying to convince her, and I’m not giving up.” When was there ever a time where I didn’t get what I wanted? “She just upped and left her life in Wisconsin to move here, and I get that, but that doesn’t mean she can’t adjust to New York. I just have to persuade her that there are better opportunities in Manhattan. Plus, if I talk to her mom and—”

“Don’t go there.”

I flipped to face him, my muscles tightening.

He grimaced. “I’m telling you right now, you go there, and it will be bad.”

I huffed, frustrated, knowing I didn’t have that much time left to convince her. “And of course, I’m going to feel her mom out first before I tell her about New York.”

He paused, opened his mouth, and shut it again. “Okay, your funeral.” After a shake of his head, he patted me on the shoulder. “Please, do not use feel her mom out in the same sentence.”

Normally, I would have laughed, but his earlier comment had put me in a foul mood.

Thirty minutes later, I was still watching Charlie from afar. She had a dozen people lined up to meet her, the artist, and I stood, taking it in like it was my very own exhibit.

When my phone buzzed in my pocket, I reached in and put it to my ear.

“Connor, honey? Where are you?”

It was Nui, and my eyes searched for Charlie at the far end of the room. “It’s in the Theatre District—232 Madison. Are you here?”

“I landed at O’Hare an hour ago, and it was a pain in my ass to get an Uber. When I finally did, he looked like a creeper, so I hopped out of the car and got into another Uber. Then … it was just bad. Anyway, I’m here.”

“You’re here? Okay, come in. I’ll get Charlie.”

I started walking toward Charlie, but there were a few people talking to her. When I waved at her, her eyes met mine. She placed a hand on the older woman’s forearm and excused herself.

“Hey, baby.”

Charlie’s smile was so relaxed and at ease until I ducked my head and whispered in her ear, “Nui is here.”

“What?” Her eyes went wide.

“She’s walking in.”

Charlie gripped my hand with such force that it cut off the blood flow. “Where?”

I tipped her chin up. “She’s in the front.”

She gritted her teeth together, and before she had the time to muster words of nervousness, Nui appeared in her four-inch stiletto heels and her Louis Vuitton purse, which I was sure was the latest version.

“Connor …” she cooed as though we were the best of friends. She pressed her cheek against mine and then to the other cheek like the Europeans we weren’t.

When