Where My Love Never Reached Chapter 06
Six months later, I had gone from being a gallery assistant to an independent curator. My French had improved dramatically. I no longer needed anyone to translate or proofread for me.
I hosted an exhibition titled “Reconstruction” at a gallery near the Champs-Élysées. On opening night, many prominent figures from the European art world attended.
I wore a perfectly tailored black velvet gown and held a glass of champagne as I chatted fluently in French with a collector from Paris.
“Ms. Calhoun, your French has a remarkably classical quality to it.”
The collector looked at me with admiration.
“Thank you. I owe that to a very thick Old French dictionary I once spent a great deal of time with.”
I smiled and raised my glass. Then I felt a burning gaze from the entrance.
I turned. Then I saw Jeremiah standing in the doorway.
He had lost a noticeable amount of weight. An air of exhaustion hung over him. He wore a black trench coat and carried a bouquet of daisies.
My favorite.
Too bad he had never remembered that before.
One Valentine’s Day, he had bought me red roses. I told him roses felt cliché. He had called me picky. “At least I bought you flowers. Isn’t that enough?”
Now he had finally chosen the right flowers. But I no longer wanted them.
He stared at me, his eyes filled with a humility and longing I had never seen before.
I looked away. After apologizing to the collector, I turned and headed toward another exhibition space.
Jeremiah remained rooted where he stood, holding the bouquet that seemed strangely out of place. He stayed for the entire exhibition.
From the corner of the room, he watched me move confidently through the crowd. He watched me manage the event in flawless French.
When the exhibition finally ended, I headed to the lounge area to collect my coat.
Jeremiah approached me.
“Gigi.” His voice was cautious, almost afraid.
“Mr. Rowland, the exhibition is over. If you’re interested in purchasing a piece, please contact my assistant.” My tone was polite and distant.
“Gigi, don’t call me that.”
He stepped forward and reached for my hand. I took a step back.
“What else would you like me to call you?”
He drew a shaky breath. His eyes had reddened.
“I fired Vanessa,” he said hurriedly. “I removed her from the project team. I know what kind of person she really is now. I know how terribly wrong I was.
“Gigi, please forgive me. Let’s start over.”
Looking at the desperation in his face, I suddenly found it almost laughable.
“You fired her. What does that have to do with me?”
“Gigi…”
“Jeremiah, do you really think that once you got rid of her, I’d still be standing here waiting for you?” I cut him off. “You’re wrong. Vanessa was never the problem. You were. Your arrogance. Your selfishness. You took other people’s devotion for granted while refusing to give them even the smallest amount of respect.”
He staggered slightly, as though every word had drained the strength from his body.
“I know I was wrong.” He lowered his head; his voice broke. “I really do.”
“It’s too late. For five years, Jeremiah, I gave you countless chances. Every single time, you chose someone else.”
Then I met his eyes and spoke each word clearly.
“Now, I’m choosing myself.”