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Her showing has been a resounding success. All her paintings sold out, and above asking price. There was a bidding war on all but one of the twenty-five. I hadn’t expected anything less.
And no, I didn’t buy any of the paintings.
I would not deprive my wife of this chance to come into her own power. Over the past few days, as I stepped back and gave her space to focus on her painting, I gradually came to the realization that, not only do I want to care for her and keep her safe, but I also want to see her grow. I want to nurture her talent. I want to nurture her... And it's not the age difference between us bringing out this need in me to see her flourish. It's because I knew she's capable of more.
For too long, she held herself back. For too long, she sacrificed herself for others.
This is her time to shine. Her time to realize her full potential. The satisfaction I get by encouraging her and seeing her actualize her talents is as heady as the rush of having her submit to me in bed, perhaps more so.
I want her to realize how fucking talented she is. Enough that she doesn’t need her husband stepping in to buy her paintings.
The twenty-fifth painting—the one I caught a glimpse of in her studio before she fainted in front of it—was sold before the showing opened.
It’s the most spectacular of the lot, with buyers ready to pay three times the asking price for it, but she hasn’t relented.
My guess is, Raven bought it for herself, and if that’s the case, I’m bloody proud of her for doing that.
She has the talent, the ambition, the determination, and now, the name, to make it in her chosen field.
As for me? I’ll never stop wanting her. Never stop loving her. Never stop needing her. Never stop… wanting to make her submit to me. But only if that’s what she wants. She holds the power in our relationship.
I might be dominant, and I may be older than her, but her happiness is all that matters.
"She’s something, huh?" Felix slips into the space next to me. "She’s more gorgeous than the last time I saw her."
I shoot him a glance and am about to tell him off, when I notice the expression on his face is one of admiration, devoid of possession.
"She’s coming into her own; the look suits her,” he adds.
I look at my son in a new light. He’s more astute than I’ve given him credit for.
"It does," I agree.
He turns to me. "How are you doing?"
His question takes me by surprise. When was the last time my son asked after me? Never? Another change in the relationship between us. Since the day he walked her down the aisle and pressed her hand into mine—and I should give her and him credit for that—the dynamic between my son and me has mellowed. We’ll never have a traditional father-son relationship, but I hope it’s, at least, one of friends. It doesn’t mean we call and text each other daily, but he’s agreed to join the family business and work his way up the ladder, which is something I never thought would happen.
And part of this new relationship between us means, I'm going to be honest with him. "I’ve been better," I admit.
His glance turns watchful. "You look tired, Dad," he offers.
I blink at the rush of emotion that crowds my chest. Since Shiloh’s big reveal, he’s continued to call me so. Guess that encounter with her did more good than not. It helped us realize we're on the same side.
"I’m okay," I grab him by the scruff of his neck and haul him close for a hug, "Everything's going to be fine."
Someone clears his throat next to us. "What’s with the two of you indulging in this very un-Davenportlike behavior?" I step back and release my son, then turn to face Knox’s sneering features.
"You mean, why are we hugging each other instead of backstabbing?" I drawl.
"You said it, uncle dearest." Knox glances around the space. "Is there any booze, other than the girly drinks they’re serving, you think?"
"I’m sure the bar would be happy to oblige." I nod in the direction of the far side of the room.
He eyes the crowded room with distaste. "So I’ll have to walk through that?"
"It might do you some good to rub shoulders with artists," I drawl.
"Artists?" His frown deepens. "A bloody waste of time, if you ask me—your wife not included, of course."
