CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The gallery was a contemporary space in SoHo squeezed in between a sushi joint—that left Emma with a deep and abiding regret that Blue Moon had no such fare—and a jazz club that billowed clouds of blue smoke every time the front door opened.
The gallery was packed by the time they arrived fashionably late. The grip on her hand was the only indication of Niko’s nerves. With one settling deep breath, he opened the glass door and guided her inside. Within a matter of seconds, they were surrounded. Niko switched her to his left arm so he could keep her close while shaking congratulatory hands and accepting the accolades.
She met Niko’s agent, Amara. Emma guessed at the Korean heritage in her gorgeous, exotic face. She wore her dark hair in a razor sharp bob. Her purple framed glasses gave her a trendy, artsy vibe, and after thirty seconds with her, Emma could see why Niko liked her. Amara didn’t deal in bullshit. She made connections, pushed when necessary, and seemed to have great patience for the artist’s temperament.
“I’ll admit I was a little skeptical when you told me what you wanted to do, Niko. But as usual, you were right.”
“Proving once again why I’m the client and you’re the agent,” he teased.
Amara rolled her dark eyes. “Yeah, well, smartass, you’ve already sold seven pictures and had four offers on the one that’s not for sale. Which reminds me, Emma, you’ve got a lot of people asking after you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Take a tour around and you’ll see,” Amara said circling her finger in the air. “Gotta go circulate and earn my keep.”
As soon as Amara drifted off into the crowd, Vadim and Greta appeared, all smiles. The resounding slap Vadim laid on Niko’s back had Emma’s eyes going misty. The man’s turning me into an emotional basket case, she thought.
“Nikolai, it’s wonderful. You have such a talent,” Greta gushed, and Niko grinned.
He dropped a kiss on each cheek. “Thank you. I’m excited you both could be here.”
“We would not be missing this,” Vadim said. “Not the exhibit of my son.” He made the last statement proudly at announcement volume so that several heads turned.
Emma laughed, well familiar with embarrassing parental pride.
“Not too shabby, Nikolai,” a cool voice announced behind them. The unsmiling Katrina was dressed in Manhattan’s favorite uniform, head-to-toe black. Her sexy sweep of platinum hair was set off by dangling earrings with stones that glittered. She crossed her arms and studied him.
“I’m glad it meets your approval.” Niko’s sarcasm was playful.
“I’ve seen worse,” she mused.
“That’s a ringing endorsement from Katrina,” Greta told them with a wink.
Amara reappeared with a photographer. “Hey, let’s get you and your family and your muse together for a shot.”
It was more of a command than a suggestion. And Emma was starting to get anxious about what she would find on the walls if she was labeled Niko’s muse. They clustered together, all smiles, and when Katrina tried to step back out of the shot, Niko pulled her back in. “Come on, sis, it’s family. Smile nice.” Emma grinned as Katrina shot him a look that could have frozen a pond solid in August.
In the blur of introductions and greetings and photo ops, Emma had yet to make it more than ten feet inside the door to glimpse any of the actual art. A leggy brunette strutted up in suede thigh-high boots, a micro-mini dress, and a pout. Emma recognized the look in the woman’s eye. An ex-lover, she was sure of it. It was confirmed by the way Niko’s gaze slid from Slenderella’s face to Emma’s.
Okay. She could do this, Emma decided, blowing out a quiet breath. Internal pep talk time. No, she wasn’t six-foot-one and eighty-seven pounds. But she was the one who’d spent last night naked and satisfied in Niko’s bed. She was the one whose hair he’d held while she vomited profusely. She was the one he’d put on the walls of his exhibit... though she’d yet to see those pictures. God, what if he’d taken pictures of her barfing?
No. Get a hold of yourself, Emmaline Freaking Merill. She’d held up during understaffed Friday dinner service with a twenty-five top with no reservations. She could do this.
Slenderella didn’t wait for Niko to finish his conversation. She was a woman who waited for no one.
“Neekolai! You disappeared on meee,” she purred in an Eastern European accent.
Emma almost laughed when she realized Niko was running through his memory banks for a name.
“Vladia. So nice to see you. I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Emmaline,” he said, reeling Emma into him like a trout on the line. “Emma, Vladia is a model.”
“I can see that,” Emma said, offering her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Vladia.”
Vladia stared blankly at her hand and blinked at Niko. “Girlfriend? Her?”
Niko’s friendly smile chilled a few degrees, and he made a show of sliding his arm around Emma’s waist. “I couldn’t believe I got this lucky either.”
“You are not joking?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Afraid not.” She hid her snort when Vladia slowly accepted Emma’s hand and shook it.
“Well, it is nice show. Where is the bar?”
Amara stepped in and ushered her off with a smirk.
Niko leaned down. “Okay. That was awkward,” he whispered.
Emma raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t even ask because I have no idea what I was thinking,” he admitted.
Emma glanced back in the direction Vladia had loped off in. “Oh, I think I have an idea of what you were thinking.”
“Smart ass. Are you okay?”
Emma nodded. “It helps that you didn’t immediately shove me to the floor and start kissing her feet.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but she has huge feet. Size thirteen if memory serves. She pissed off a creative director once by acting like an entitled asshole, and the guy told her to get her canoes off his set.”
Emma snorted and clamped a hand over her mouth. “You’re horrible.”
“Technically, she’s horrible. I was just stupid.”
There were two other awkward introductions. One to a stunning Swedish swimsuit model whose bubbly laugh added to the blonde bombshell image and a sweet, six-foot-tall Southern belle with glossy chestnut hair and a Miss America smile. Thankfully, neither woman was rude enough to give Emma the once over. In fact, Gone with the Wind was sweet enough to introduce them to her fiancé, a short, thin man with glasses and a shy smile. Emma felt an immediate kinship with him when he sized up Niko and lost a bit of color in his face. It was hard being normal and facing the spectacular past of one’s lover.
Deeming the worst over, and with Vladia nowhere to be seen, Emma convinced Niko to let her wander around to see what all the fuss was about.
The gallery was, by design, a blank canvas. Stamped concrete floors butted up against plain white walls or rough brick. Lighting on wire tracks shed light on key points for the optimal art experience. In this case, it was familiar faces everywhere she looked.
The first picture she spotted was Aurora sitting on her knees under a table at the wedding, the skirts of her dress poofing out in a mound of tulle. She was staring at the hefty wedge of cake she’d stolen as if it was the love of her life. The perfect sliver of the time of her life, Emma thought with a soft smile.
She walked a path and took it in, picture by picture. Ellery’s supreme concentration at the Knit Off, a goth girl knitting a goth blanket. There was Julia doling out a rainbow of juice samples at the farmers market. Willa, her hair long and free and a dreamy smile on her face as she stared off into space. Phoebe, the beautiful bride, laughing with her sons at the brewery. There was the one of Emma and her sisters with Franklin on the dance floor at the wedding.
Joey on Apollo, mid-gallop, a wicked grin on her face and the trees behind her a blur of speed and movement. Reva, straight-faced and so quietly pretty, leading a speckled pony into a sunbeam in the indoor riding ring.
There was Summer sharing a belly laugh on a quilt with sweet Meadow and Gia cuddling Lydia and Aurora on her yoga mat. Eva, a whirl of color and energy on the dance floor with Evan, while Donovan looked on longingly.
She didn’t know why, but her heart felt so full looking at these moments, these slices of life. There were more, so many more. Phoebe listening with the rapt attention of a grandmother to Caleb as he chattered on about something clutching the stuffed pony Emma had given him. Mrs. Nordemann, eyes wide, behind the cover of what was sure to be a very graphic erotic novel. Rainbow Berkowicz and Bobby from Peace of Pizza laughing over glasses of wine at Shorty’s.
There were more of her. The mid-twirl before her father’s wedding. An artsy black and white shot of her clad in black leaning against the brewery’s bar as if surveying her domain, a look of smug satisfaction on her face.
But the piece that came next was more, so much more. It seemed to hold the rest of the exhibit together, serving as a keystone of sorts.
The canvas was huge, wider than she was tall. It was a shock to see herself beyond life-size. He’d taken this shot of her in bed at her cottage. Soft focus, filtered light from the nightstand lamp. The sheet draped over her like a gown. One hand in her hair, a riot of curls spilling over skin and pillow and sheet. Her face was the focus. Eyes closed, the slightest curve of her rosy, swollen lips. She looked like a goddess, a well satisfied one.
She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. Was this how Nikolai saw her? This languid, powerful beauty?
“What do you think?” Behind her, his voice purred low and raw.
She didn’t turn away from the photo but brought her fingers to her lips. “I don’t know what to say, Niko. These all are so wonderful, so beautiful. It’s like… it’s like you love us.”
He turned her then, gently forcing her to face him, nudging her chin up until she met his gaze.
“I do.”
She sucked in a breath as if she’d taken a hit. The words echoed inside her like a wave that kept crashing against the shore.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“I mean I’m in love with you Emma. And this is how I thought I could best show you. Do you see it?”
Emma inhaled on a gasp. There wasn’t enough oxygen here. Too many people, too much noise. She turned away from him and back to the picture of herself. But that was too much, too. She couldn’t live up to those expectations, those ideals. She couldn’t give herself up to a love like this. She’d lose herself. Who knew where she’d end up if she gave the reins to Niko. Did he expect her to give up everything she’d worked toward to follow him around the world?
It wasn’t fair. It couldn’t work. She couldn’t give herself over to someone like Nikolai Vulkov. She’d end up broken and damaged, just like her father had.
“Emma?” Niko’s touch was gentle on her arms. “Just tell me what you’re thinking. I know it’s a lot to take in. I know we weren’t planning this. But you are it for me, and I’ve known that for a long time.”
She shook her head trying to block out the words. “I can’t do this, Niko. I can’t be this woman.” She gestured at the picture. “That’s not me. That’s some filtered, edited version of me.”
“Emma.” Niko’s voice carried a warning now. “I understand this is a lot to take in, and I’m not asking you for a permanent commitment right now. I just need you to know that I love you. That?” He pointed at the picture. “That’s not some edited ideal. That’s you. That’s how I see you. I know you, Emma.”
“Niko, I can’t do this.”
“What can’t you do?” He skimmed his hands gently over her shoulders and down her arms. “Tell me what you need.”
She pulled away and it cost her. “I need space. I need to think.”
“Baby—”
But she was already backing away. “I’m sorry, Niko. I don’t mean to ruin your night. Your work is… amazing. But I can’t be here.”
He grabbed for her arm. “Emma, you can’t just leave. I’m not letting you wander the streets of New York alone.”
“I’m going home.”
“What? How?”
“I’ll take a cab to the train station,” she decided. “I just have to go. I’m sorry.”
She bolted out the exit she spotted and found herself in an alley. Blinded by tears, she ran toward the streetlights. Behind her, the door bounced off the brick, and she heard footsteps running after her.
He caught her easily, yanking her back against him and then forcing her against a wall. His breath was ragged in her ear, yet he said nothing. When she trembled against him, choking out a sob, he ever so gently turned her to face him. With supreme care as if he was holding fragile glass, he tucked her under his chin and wrapped his arms around her.
“I know you’re scared, Emma. I know you are. It’s a scary thing—frankly, I’m fucking terrified, too—but I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” His lips moved against her hair, his broad hands stroked her back gently as she sobbed into his chest.
She wanted him. She wanted to love him, wanted to just throw caution to the wind and jump. She wanted to follow him, to build a life with him. Desperately. But she couldn’t do that. That’s how people ended up damaged. Nikolai could break her. Long ago, when she’d had her heart broken, she’d vowed to never let anyone put her in that position of vulnerability.
But here in Niko’s arms, all of that resolve blurred. Everything she knew to be true wavered.
“I love you, Emma,” he whispered the words as he held her. “I’m not going to let you go.”
That’s what she was afraid of.
“I can’t stay here like this, Niko.”
His hands stilled for a moment before beginning their soothing path up and down her back. “How about I take you back to my place?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you to leave. This is a big night for you. I’d feel like the worst human being in the world if I dragged you away.”
“You’re what’s important to me,” he argued.
“I’ll take a cab,” she offered.
“I’ll call you a car if you promise you’ll be there when I get home tonight.”
She nodded, still not sure that she was telling the truth. All Emma knew was she needed to be alone, needed to think. Niko didn’t follow her rules.
He reached into his pocket and dialed the car service.
“I’m going to wait with you out front until the car comes for you.” He left no room for argument.
“I’m sorry, Niko,” Emma whispered. She wished she could be what he wanted, wished that she could love him and worry about the rest later.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said, stroking a hand through her hair. “I’ve got you.”
The car arrived mercifully fast, and Emma slid into the backseat, once again promising she’d be there when he got home, once again not knowing if she was lying or not.
--------
She slept, fitfully, in Niko’s bed, barely registering when he crawled in next to her. In her sleep, she had no issues with snuggling up to him, resting her head on his chest and throwing her leg over his. In her sleep, she knew she was safe with him.
Nikolai woke in stages, the low-grade headache that usually followed an event was present and nagging. Last night came back to him in a flood of color and feelings. The show, his father and Greta, Emma. Emma. He hadn’t expected it to go perfectly. He’d known a declaration of love would throw her. But he hadn’t quite anticipated the abject panic he found in her eyes. That had stung.
He wasn’t about to let that stop him from chipping away at her resolve. Obviously she had trust issues, had earned the right to be cautious. But he had found the woman he loved, and he wasn’t going to let her get in their way.
He rolled to take her in his arms, to reassure them both, and found the bed empty. Her bag was missing. His feet hit the floor, and he prowled naked into the living room, scouring his place for evidence of Emma. She was gone. And in her place she’d left a politely apologetic note for him on his table.
She needed time and space to think, the note said, and she hoped he would understand. He crumpled the paper in one hand and flung it in the direction of his trashcan.
He grabbed his phone, checked his messages. Amara had left him about a dozen texts and voicemails demanding he call her back, but there was nothing from Emma. He resisted the urge to throw his phone across the room.
Emmaline Merill was about to learn an important lesson about pissing off a temperamental artist.