Seriously?”
Andrew’s eyes widened. “I know, I know, Serene,” he said. “But it’s the muse that called.
When I started the mural, I had to finish it. You understand, don’t you? You know how it is, my love.”
I wanted to be angry.
I wanted to remain upset and scream until I felt better. But I didn’t know how to be upset with Andrew. I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I ran to my fiancé and threw my arms around him, laughing and crying all at once. “This is the best wedding gift I could’ve imagined,” I whispered. “Good,” he said, holding me close.
We all returned to the venue together, where Andrew explained the entire thing to our bewildered guests. My dad even raised a toast to Andrew during the reception, admitting that he might’ve misjudged him. It turns out, sometimes love isn’t about perfect timing or logic.
It’s about trust, creativity, and a little bit of risk. And Andrew?
My goodness, he didn’t just become my husband. He was the masterpiece I never saw coming.
After our wedding, we lazed in a hotel room, eating strawberries covered in chocolate. “I was scared,” I admitted. “When you didn’t answer my calls or show up at the wedding, I was…
scared. I thought that my father had finally run you out of town.”
“Oh, Serene,” he said, smiling. “Nothing will send me away from you.”
“I have a wedding gift for you, too,” I said.
“What is it?” he asked, reaching for a bottle of champagne. “When we get home, I want you to pack your studio up. I’ve bought you a space, just for your art.
Your own studio. It’s bigger, and the lighting is beautiful… and there’s a gallery attached to it.
So you can show off your artwork whenever you want.”
Andrew was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if I had overstepped. “That’s… everything to me, Serene.
You’re my muse, you know that, right?”
