His Contract Bride for Christmas

Eight

Dani:

I was in the middle of cleaning my brushes when I heard the knock. It was firm, deliberate—too confident to be someone from town, too kind to be Will. I wiped my hands on my jeans and hesitated before opening the door.

Standing there was a man who looked completely out of place on my porch. He was tall, with sharp features and an impeccably tailored coat, though his windswept hair suggested he'd been in a hurry.

"Dani?" he asked, his voice smooth and polished like he belonged on a stage or behind a podium.

"Who's asking?" I replied, folding my arms and leaning against the doorframe.

If this was another man from the bank, I would likely knock his a.s.s back into the yard.

He extended a hand. "Julian. Julian Adler. I'm a gallery owner in the city."

I didn't take his hand. Instead, I gave him a skeptical look. "And why is a gallery owner standing on my porch in the middle of nowhere?"

He chuckled, lowering his hand. "Fair question. I'm here because of your painting."

My stomach tightened. "What painting?"

"The one Ryan brought to me," he said, his expression softening. "It's extraordinary, Dani. Truly. I've never seen anything like it. I want to showcase you in my gala." This must be the gala Ryan had spoken of.

I blinked, the words not fully registering. "You… what?"

"I want to exhibit your work," he repeated, his tone patient but insistent. "Your painting deserves to be seen. It's raw and emotional and tells a story people need to hear."

I stepped back, shaking my head. "No. I'm not interested."

Julian frowned but didn't seem surprised. "I understand this might feel overwhelming, but—"

"Overwhelming?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "You don't know me. You don't know why I painted that. It's not just some piece for rich people to gawk at while they sip champagne."

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "You're right. I don't know you. But I know art. And I know when something has the power to change lives."

I stared at him, my chest heaving. The idea of strangers staring at my work, dissecting it, and judging it made my skin crawl, my head swim, and my chest feel too tight.

"I'm not some gallery artist," I said, my voice trembling. "I'm just trying to survive."

Julian took a step closer, his gaze steady. "I'm not asking you to change who you are. I'm asking you to let the world see what you've created. You have a gift, Dani. Don't hide it."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "I… I don't know."

He nodded, sensing my hesitation. "Think about it. No pressure. But if you change your mind, here's my card."

He slipped a sleek business card into my hand before stepping back. "And for what it's worth, Ryan believes in you. He didn't just bring me your painting—he brought me your story."

Before I could respond, he turned and walked back to his car, leaving me standing in the doorway, clutching the card like it was a lifeline.

I glanced down at the name printed in elegant letters: Julian Adler, Adler Gallery.

My eyes drifted to the painting in the corner of the room. Ryan believed in me. So much so that he had gotten in touch with one of the contacts he had spoken of.

I closed the door, the card still clutched in my hand. I stood there for a long moment, staring at it like it might combust in my palm.

I tossed the card onto the coffee table and sank onto the couch, staring at the painting propped up against the far wall. No matter how hard I tried, it was the one thing I couldn't hide. It was emotional, messy, and unapologetically honest—a reflection of everything I felt but could never say out loud.

The thought of strangers staring at it made my chest tighten even worse.

Would they see what I saw? Or would they pick it apart, reducing it to brushstrokes and color palettes?

I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, and buried my face in my hands.

"What do I do?" I whispered into the silence.

The house didn't answer. It never did.

I spent the rest of the day trying to distract myself—cleaning, organizing, and even attempting to paint something new. But nothing worked. My thoughts kept circling back to Julian's words. You have a gift. Don't hide it.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I was exhausted but no closer to a decision. I sat on the porch steps, the cool evening air brushing against my skin, as I stared out at the quiet street.

I thought about the bills piling up on the counter, the mortgage payments I couldn't make, and the creeping fear that one day I'd lose this house—the only thing I had left of my family.

But more than that, I thought about Ryan.

He'd seen something in me that I couldn't see in myself. He'd taken my painting to share it. He believed I deserved more, but the thought of it all, the idea of being the center of someone's passing attention, was horrifying.

You're stronger than you think, Dani. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

His words echoed in my mind as I stood and went back inside. I picked up Julian's card from the coffee table and stared at it for a long time before finally dialing the number.

It rang twice before a familiar voice answered. "Julian Adler."

I hesitated, my heart pounding. "It's Dani."

There was a pause, and then his tone softened. "Dani. I'm glad you called."

"I'm not agreeing to anything yet," I said quickly, my voice firmer than I felt. "But… I want to talk... about the gala. About what this would mean."

"Of course," he said, smiling. "We can take our time. I'll answer any questions you have, and maybe you could show me more of your art. Is tomorrow okay?"

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "That'll be fine." I was breathless, but my voice didn't betray me.

"Dani. I'm glad you called." He added before the line between us went dead.

Sleep slipped through my fingers. The silence in the house was too much, and the images of vivid colors suffocated me, begging me to put them onto canvas.

Before I knew it, it was morning, and Julian's knock was pulling me from the cup of coffee I had been guzzling like it would keep me from the nightmares I feared waited me in sleep.

I swallowed hard, gripping the door like it might steady me. I had done a lot of thinking all night, and if I don't say it now, I may back out. So, I parted my lips, speaking my thoughts before he said a single hello. "I've been thinking about what you said about the paintings. And… I want to sell them."

There was a brief pause as he stepped inside. "Sell them?"

"Yes," I said quickly before I lost my nerve. "I'll sell you the paintings—and others if you want them—but I don't want to be part of the gala or… anything else. I just need the money."

Julian's voice was calm but probing. "May I ask why you don't want to be part of the gala? The piece Ryan showed me—it's not just a painting, Dani. It's a story. People need to see it, to feel it. You have something powerful to share."

"I'm not interested in sharing," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "I painted it for me. Not for strangers. Not for a crowd who'll stand around sipping wine and pretending they understand something they don't."

Julian was quiet for a moment. "I understand your hesitation," he said finally. "But you're selling yourself short. This isn't just about the money—it's about your voice, your presence. Your work deserves to be seen, and so do you."

"I don't want to be seen," I snapped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I just want to keep my house. That's it. So if you want the paintings, that's fine. But I'm not going to the gala and not putting myself on display."

Julian sighed, but his tone had no frustration—just a quiet persistence. "Dani, I can buy your paintings. That's not the issue. But I think you're underestimating what being part of the gala could do for you financially and emotionally. It's a chance to take control of your story, to show the world who you are on your own terms."

I clenched my jaw, my nails digging into my palm in an attempt to stay in control. "I don't need the world to know who I am. I just need to survive."

Another pause. When Julian spoke again, his voice was softer, almost cautious. "If I agree to buy your paintings outright, will you at least consider letting me keep this door open? I'm not saying you have to be in the spotlight, but maybe… one day, you'll want to step into it. And when you're ready, I'll be here."

I didn't respond right away, my mind churning. His words were kind but also felt like pressure—a subtle nudge toward something I wasn't ready for.

"I'll think about it," I said finally, my tone clipped. "But for now, I just want to sell the paintings. Nothing more."

"Understood," Julian said, though I could hear the disappointment he was trying to hide. "Why don't we start with something you are willing to sell? I'd be happy to take a look. We can discuss pricing and logistics whenever you're ready."

I let out a shaky breath, some of the tension in my chest easing. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Dani," Julian said, his voice warm again. "I mean it. You're making the right choice—for now. And if you ever want more, you know how to contact me."

I nodded, leading him toward the small room I used as a studio. The air smelled faintly of turpentine and linseed oil, and the walls were lined with canvases of varying sizes, some finished, others abandoned halfway through.

Julian's gaze swept over the room as he stepped inside, his expression unreadable. "This is where it all happens, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, crossing my arms. "It's nothing fancy, but it works."

He didn't respond right away. Instead, he moved toward the nearest canvas—a piece I'd finished a few months ago, a swirling mix of blues and greens that I'd poured my heart into.

"This is stunning," he said, his voice low. "The movement, the emotion—it's alive."

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "It's just something I was messing around with."

He turned to me, one eyebrow raised. "Dani, don't downplay this. It's extraordinary."

Before I could respond, he shifted to another painting, leaning against the wall. He pulled it out carefully, revealing a portrait of Ryan.

My stomach dropped as he turned the canvas.