Chapter 19 - The Rebirth of the Hawthorne
Two months later, in late May, the Hawthorne Gallery celebrated its grand re-opening.
The exterior was draped in white silk ribbons and fresh greenery. The broken glass from the winter assault had been replaced with floor-to-ceiling reinforced quartz crystal that flooded the grand hall with the warm, golden light of early summer.
Sophia, now in her thirty-sixth week of pregnancy, stood near the center pedestal, glowing in a flowing ivory silk maternity gown that swept gracefully around her ankles. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves over her bare shoulders, completely free of any jewelry except her wedding band and a simple diamond pendant Dominic had given her that morning.
The gallery was packed with art critics, gallery owners, and friends from her old life who had watched her transform from a reclusive curator into one of the most respected cultural patrons in the city.
Near the champagne bar, Eleanor Vale was holding court with the director of the Art Institute of Chicago, proudly introducing Sophia’s curated collection of modern landscapes as if she had discovered the artists herself.
Dominic stood near the entrance, flanked by Caleb. He wore an impeccably tailored navy suit, but his eyes never strayed more than ten feet from Sophia’s radiant figure.
“Everything is clear within four blocks, boss,” Caleb reported quietly. “The new perimeter systems are fully integrated. Even a stray cat doesn't cross the street without facial recognition.”
Dominic barely heard him. He was watching Sophia laugh with a young painter whose work she had just sold for three times the asking price.
Her smile was dazzling, untamed, and entirely free of shadows.
Dominic walked across the polished marble floor—the same floor where, seven months ago, a cheap pregnancy test had rolled beneath Liam Prescott’s shoe.
He stepped behind Sophia, wrapping his arm possessively around her waist, pulling her back against his broad chest. His hand settled naturally over the magnificent, heavy swell of her belly.
Sophia leaned her head back against his shoulder, sighing with contented pleasure. “Dominic, people are watching.”
“Let them watch,” he whispered against her ear, inhaling her scent of jasmine and warm skin. “Let every person in this room see that the most beautiful masterpiece in the Hawthorne Gallery belongs to me.”
She turned slightly in his arms, her eyes dancing with affectionate humor. “I am not a painting to be acquired, Dominic Vale.”
“No,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that dark, velvety cadence that still sent shiver down her spine. “You are the artist. And you painted light into my life.”
Before she could answer, a sharp, sudden tightening gripped her lower abdomen.
Sophia gasped, her fingers clutching Dominic’s lapels with sudden, fierce strength.
Dominic stiffened, every muscle in his body instantly snapping to attention. “Sophia? What is it?”
A warm rush of water splashed against the marble floor beneath the hem of her ivory gown.
Sophia looked down at the puddle, then looked up into Dominic’s suddenly terrified, wide eyes.
A breathless, joyful laugh escaped her lips.
May you like
“Dominic,” she gasped, another contraction rippling across her stomach. “I think our daughter is done waiting.”
***