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“Hello.” He leaned down, kissing her warmly before pressing the mug into her hands. “You looked like you could use this.”
“Thank you.” She stifled a yawn as she noticed the package in his hands. “Did it come already?”
“Delivered by Beatrice and Jean this morning. Would you like to unwrap it?”
She laid a hand over his. “Thank you. But I think you should.”
He nodded once, breathed in deeply and set about unwrapping the brown paper package tied up with string.
“Griffith...” She stared at the painting in his hands. “It’s beautiful.”
A sandy beach glimmered beneath a blazing sun. White chalk cliffs stood guard, including a familiar-looking arch that plunged into the deep blue sea just off the coast. The waves had been textured with a palette knife so that they rose up, almost as if they were about to swell off the canvas. A couple stood on the beach holding hands.
“Mary did well.” Griffith held it up. “In the library? What do you think?”
“Perfect.”
Rosalind smiled. The woman Griffith had spoken to on his first tour of the studio had grown from acquaintance into friend over the months. Seeing Griffith support her through her recovery, from taking her out for coffee to accepting her invitation to stand by her side at the unveiling of the exhibition, had made her even prouder of how far her husband had come in such a short amount of time.
“How is she doing?”
“Good.” He smiled, pride evident in his voice. “She’s been sober for ten months. She’s still in counseling, but she said they’ve made a lot of progress. If things continue this well, her daughter said she’d like Mary to move in later this summer. Her and her husband are talking about trying for a baby this fall and want Mary to be involved with her grandchild.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“She’s volunteering at the clinic on Thursdays, too.”
Rosalind didn’t bother to hold back her smile of contentment. The nine months since Griffith had proposed to her had been a whirlwind. They’d celebrated an October wedding in the rose garden of the chateau, with Griffith flying her father and brothers over for the ceremony. The designer whose clothes she’d worn during that incredible week they’d first spent together had custom designed her wedding gown. The full skirt was colored the same pale blush as the pink Hermosa roses that had bloomed just before their wedding ceremony. Sparkling beads and light blue flowers threaded as the skirt and the sleeve that had covered one arm. The other arm had been left bare, adding a touch of sexiness that had made her feel all the more beautiful as she’d walked down the makeshift aisle to Griffith.
He’d also made headlines in his role as CEO, from expanding Lykaois Shipping’s routes to his generous contributions to clinics, treatment programs and volunteer organizations. His philanthropy, especially in light of his father’s passing, had been lauded.
Few knew how much those first steps had cost Griffith, how hard it had been to start down the road to forgiveness. A road that hadn’t been entirely smooth, either. The first time he’d opened a letter from the man who had crashed into his car, he’d only made it a couple paragraphs in before he’d tossed the letter on the table and gone out for a walk. It hadn’t been until after Christmas that he’d managed to make it through a whole letter.
Progress was progress. A phrase she told him as often as he needed to hear it, especially when he vacillated between the raging emotions of loss and the expectations he now set for himself.
And, she thought to herself with a small smile, a phrase he repeated back to her as she worked to get her firm up and running. Griffith had repeatedly offered to finance it, everything from payroll to office supplies. She’d turned him down flat on the money. She had, grudgingly at first, accepted his offers to help in other ways, including painting the walls of her new space and filing all the necessary paperwork to get started. Old habits, including the need to prove herself, had been hard to break. Yet as the months passed and her client list grew, she had come to recognize his support as the strength it was instead of a weakness on her part.
“How much did you pay for it?” She nodded toward the painting.
“A gentleman never tells.”
Recovery had been an astounding success, running through the month of March with record numbers of guests paying the extra price for admission. It had been so wildly popular the museum had extended it by four weeks and promised to bring it back with new paintings.
The silent auction, too, had netted incredible results, with many of the artists receiving thousands of dollars for their work.
He carried the painting inside and returned a moment later. She scooted over, making enough room for him to join her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.
“Feeling better?”
“Much.” She let out a sigh. “It would be nice if Mary’s daughter had a baby next year.”
“It would.”
“It would be close in age to ours.”
“Yes...” His voice trailed off as his head whipped around. “What?”
She grabbed one of his hands and guided it to her stomach. His fingers spread across her shirt, his eyes wide, his face full of wonder and disbelief.
