She hadn’t told Zander she loved him.
That was Britt’s first conscious thought upon waking the next morning and realizing that he was gone.
He’d been here—all night. But now he’d left. And she hadn’t had the chance to tell him she loved him.
She’d meant to! Wanted to, badly. She’d been waiting until her nose wasn’t running and her eyes weren’t puddled with tears—
Oh no. The ceremony at the Pascal was today.
She could tell by the light creeping around the edges of her curtains that it was full morning. What if she’d overslept and missed it?
She lunged toward her nightstand and angled her clock so that she could see its face. 7:54.
Relieved, she flopped onto her back. She’d told her parents she’d be ready when they swung by to pick her up at nine o’clock. They were allowing an hour and forty-five minutes for the drive to Seattle, and another fifteen minutes to park and find their seats in time for the eleven o’clock ceremony. That left her a good hour to eat, shower, and get herself ready.
A paper crinkled beneath her elbow. She lifted it and squinted at the writing.
If you wake in time for the ceremony, I’ll see you there. If not, no problem. I’ll call you right after. Sleep is more important.
Zander was a fantastic man. Pure platinum! But he was also completely wrong. Sleep was not more important than today’s ceremony at the Pascal marking Young Woman at Rest’s return to the family and the museum where the painting belonged.
She’d fallen asleep when? Around seven thirty last night? She’d gotten more than enough sleep.
She levered upward to sit on the edge of the mattress. Her white duvet was still tucked beneath her throw pillows because she had slept in yesterday’s clothes on top of her made bed. Tentatively, she walked to her bathroom, then downstairs.
She felt unsteady inside still. Physically weak. But the scratching nervousness that had been trapped within her had finally quieted, thank God.
For the first time in days, she was hungry. Gloriously hungry. Sunlight slanted over her as she prepared coffee, bacon, a vegetable hash, eggs. Two butterflies lit on the flowers in the flowerbox mounted outside her kitchen window. One of them took to the air, wings flashing.
Yesterday’s panic attack/sobbing fit hadn’t fixed her in one fell swoop. She didn’t feel fully safe, even standing in her locked house inside her close-knit community. Nor did she feel one hundred percent like herself. But she felt more like herself than she had since the day she’d driven to Olympia to confront Zander at The Residences, and that was enough.
Yesterday had hollowed her out somehow. God had used the situation to perform spring cleaning. It had been painful. Very. But it had also swept away the debris that had been separating her from God.
Her breakfast gave her the energy she needed to shower, blow-dry her hair, do her makeup, and pick out clothing.
She sighed as she regarded her reflection in her bathroom mirror. She’d chosen her favorite lavender maxi dress and accessorized it with a long necklace. If anyone looked closely, they’d notice that her eyes were swollen. She slid her feet into a pair of gladiator sandals and made her way to the parking lot.
Right on schedule, her family pulled up in Mom’s white Suburban, Dad at the wheel. Britt climbed aboard. Mom, Dad, Willow, and Nora had all been adamant about attending the intimate, invitation-only ceremony at the Pascal, and her dad had been adamant about driving them there. Britt suspected that he’d insisted on driving because he wanted to make life easier for her in the wake of her abduction. Ordinarily, that would have grated on her. But accepting Zander’s help last night hadn’t been awful. So why not accept her dad’s help, too? There were worse things than relaxing in the back seat, flanked by her sisters on either side, just like in the old days.
When they arrived at the Pascal, they were shown to a ballroom at the back of the museum. The mahogany floors smelled of lemon-scented polish. The windows and chandeliers cast illumination over towering cream walls and the rows of guests. At the front, a podium equipped with a microphone waited next to an easel that supported the painting, currently covered with fabric. A security guard stood a few feet from it, hands clasped before him.
Among those present, Britt recognized some of Carolyn’s friends and co-workers. She pegged several guests as reporters and photographers. The rest must be connected to the Pascal family or to the museum.
At the stroke of eleven o’clock, an elegant woman dressed in a black pique suit jacket, tailored pants, and low-rise patent leather heels made her way to the microphone. She’d dyed her hair such a dark red that the shade reminded Britt of cherry cola. Each strand had been coiffed into a short and flattering style. Her very fair skin shone beneath modest makeup.
Annette Pascal. Eighty-seven years old and the epitome of girl power.
“Thank you for coming.” She didn’t fidget or stoop toward the microphone. “This is a grand day, a day I’ve been anticipating for thirty-four years.”
Where was Zander? As she’d been doing since she took her seat, Britt scanned the space like a child scanning the sky for Santa Claus. She didn’t see him.
Annette detailed her family’s colorful history with Young Woman at Rest.
Still no sign of Zander.
“I took over as museum director,” Annette was saying, “just a few months before the Triple Play robbery occurred. My father and grandparents had already brought the painting back to us once, after it was taken by the Nazis. In the aftermath of the Triple Play, it fell to me to do the work they’d done before me, to recover the painting yet again. My fervor to return Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s Young Woman at Rest to this place has never wavered, not for a moment. Even so, the painting remained elusive. Until this day.” She permitted herself a self-satisfied smile. “I can’t help but think that my father and grandparents are very, very proud this morning.”
The audience applauded enthusiastically.
“A family from Merryweather, Washington, located the painting. I’m sure that you may have additional questions about the painting’s discovery, but no details beyond those will be divulged. The family has declined the reward that our museum and the FBI offered. They’ve also asked that their identity not be made public and that their photo not be taken. I don’t mind admitting that I had to twist their arm a little to convince them to come today. But in the end, they honored my heartfelt request. Please welcome them.”
More applause. Britt twisted, clapping, to watch Carolyn enter. Then came Zander’s cousins, Courtney and Sarah. Then Zander. He wore a navy suit. White shirt. Pale blue tie.
Annette made more remarks, thanking the police and the FBI for their excellent efforts.
Britt could no longer concentrate. Indeed, she couldn’t move her attention from Zander. He stood farthest from the microphone and a little removed from his cousins—on the fringes, exactly where he’d so often existed in life. His hair was gleaming, his expression serious as his focus centered on her.
The tenderness in his eyes was for her. For her. The certainty of that caused goose bumps to tingle on her skin and her heart to lift.
He gave her a look that asked, How are you?
She inclined her head and smiled a little, assuring him that she’d improved from “basket case” to “a few notches above basket case.”
She didn’t want Zander to exist on the fringes anymore. She wanted to break his isolation over her knee like a brittle stick. She wanted to throw the pieces of that stick into a roaring fire until they’d turned to ash.
He was a diamond. And he was hers.
Annette persuaded Carolyn to speak. Carolyn expressed regret at the length of time that had passed since the painting was stolen. She informed the guests that she and her family didn’t desire thanks or recognition of any kind. She insisted that all the credit was due to Annette, law enforcement, and the research of her nephew Zander and his friend Britt.
Willow poked Britt with her elbow.
Carolyn told Annette how very grateful she was to see the painting reunited with its rightful owner.
Together, Annette and Carolyn gripped the hem of the fabric covering the painting, then lifted it up and over. The woman depicted on canvas was revealed with a dramatic whoosh. She peered at the assembled guests with her knowing smile.
The artwork gleamed even more here than it had inside the apartment in Olympia.
Carolyn stepped out of the way so that Annette could pose for pictures with the painting. Several important-looking people joined her for more pictures. Cameras snapped.
The ceremony ended, and the audience rose and began to mingle.
Britt looked down the row at her family. Willow. Nora. Dad. Mom.
“It was so inspiring to hear about the painting’s story,” Mom said. “What a remarkable—”
“Super remarkable!” Britt jolted to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go . . . talk to Zander about something. I’m sure he can give me a ride home. Thanks for coming with me. Really, thanks.”
They regarded her with startled bemusement.
“Uh . . . sure, honey,” her dad said. “You’re welcome.”
“I’ll see you in Merryweather,” she said. “Later. Not today. Another day. Soon.”
Britt hurried to the front of the room. Zander’s cousins and aunt were ensconced in discussions, so she was free to grab Zander’s hand. She towed him from the room like a teacher marching a misbehaving student to the principal’s office. Except faster.
“Hello,” he said dryly, when they were in the hallway.
She took a set of stairs. Dragged him down more corridors. Finally, she found an exit door. It emptied into a private walled garden.
Zander had told her that Frank and Carolyn had once eaten lunches together in this very same courtyard. Ivy climbed brick. Lilac trees dripped clusters of white flowers. A border of moss gave way to planting beds bursting with pink hydrangeas.
They were blessedly alone.
Their hands remained joined as he faced her. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m wobbly. But better than I was yesterday.”
“You look gorgeous.”
“You look gorgeous. Thank you for . . . everything, Zander. For staying with me so that I could sleep last night and bandaging my finger. And all the rest of it, too. Years’ and years’ worth.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “You’re welcome.”
He looked like what he was. Honorable. Dedicated. Smart. The lines across his forehead gave faint witness to his years and his hardships.
Wind riffled the trees. Her mouth went dry. “Renoir’s painting came home today,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Young Woman at Rest belongs here.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“In exactly the same way, you belong with me,” she said. “And I belong with you.”
Hard-fought hope fractured his expression.
Some things simply were. Like the seasons. The sun and the moon. The tide. She and Zander were like that. They were.
“I love you,” she said.
He stared at her in amazement.
“I love you,” she said again.
He took a step closer, looking determined and more than a little possessive. They were just inches apart.
“You belong with me,” he vowed. “And I belong with you.”
“Yes.”
He set his forehead on hers. They both closed their eyes.
Britt’s chest clutched with rightness and joy.
His fingers lightly cupped the back of her neck. She latched her hands around his wrists, feeling the warmth of his skin.
He pulled away just enough to meet her eyes. “Did you say that you loved me?”
She laughed. “I did.”
“You love me?”
“Yes.”
“You do?” he asked again, as if he needed to make positively certain.
“Yes. I love you, Zander.”
“And you’re never going to tell me you need a break from me again?”
“No. In fact, if you ever decide to finish your Grand Tour, you’re going to have to take me with you.”
“If you love me—”
“—which I do—”
“—then my Grand Tour is finished,” he said. “And I’m glad because my time overseas brought me to the conclusion that you’re the only thing worth traveling for. I’ve loved you since I was fourteen, and I’ll love you for longer than eternity lasts. All I want is the chance to show you that and tell you that every single day.”
She blinked at him, speechless.
He bent and gave her a kiss so sweetly passionate that a lilac blossom felt its vibration and shook loose to ping off Britt’s arm.
Zander walked her backward until her shoulder blades settled against ivy. He planted one hand on the garden wall and continued to kiss her.
Their kisses flowed from hurried kisses filled with impatience, to soft kisses filled with exploration, to deep kisses filled with promises too profound for words.
She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer. She wanted to weep and laugh and dance. But mostly she wanted to kiss him and kiss him some more—
A drumming noise and muted shouts interrupted them.
They both looked in the direction of the ruckus.
Her family stood at a window a floor above them, hooting and pointing at them and grinning.
This walled garden wasn’t quite as private as previously supposed.
“Never mind them,” Britt whispered, her lips hitching up at the corners. “Give me the longer-than-eternity-lasts speech again.”
“I’ll love you for longer than eternity lasts.”
“And all you want . . .” she prompted.
“Is the chance to show you that and tell you that every single day.”
She released a blissful sigh. “That’s a very, very good speech. I love you, Zander.”
“I love you, Britt.” Then he spoke the word that would become their shared pledge for the rest of their lives. “Always.”
“Always,” she murmured, in the instant before his mouth lowered to hers.