Chapter 300 Garrett and Aslan

Chapter 300 Garrett and Aslan
Five years later.

Garrett

“Did the caterers check in?”

“Yes.”

“Security?”

“Downstairs.”

“The assistants know which guests need to be taken to the private viewing room?”

“Garrett.”

“And the champagne arrived? Because I ordered twelve cases, but the invoice only showed—”

“Baby.” Aslan caught me by the front of my jacket and forced me to stop pacing. “Everyone is here. The artwork is hanging, the caterers have food, the assistants know what to do, and nobody has called to say the building is burning down.”

“Yet.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re making me nervous.”

“You’ve changed your shirt three times.”

“Because we’re opening our official gallery in freaking Paris!” He released me and checked himself in the mirror again. “How do I look?”

I moved behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Like a ridiculously hot French art curator.”

“Does the beret look stupid?”

“Completely.”

He reached to remove it, but I caught his hand. “I love it.”

He laughed, turning in my arms. “Do you have your speech?”

“Baby, I’m not accepting an Oscar.”

“No, you’re opening our official gallery in freaking Paris!”

“You already said that.”

“I’m still processing it.”

Honestly, so was I.
Five years earlier, our Providence gallery had been an empty storefront full of spider webs. We’d opened with borrowed collections, nervous artists, and enough of my settlement money invested in the business to give Olivia heart palpitations.

Now it employed twelve people, represented artists from six countries, and handled private sales I once would’ve been afraid to discuss without three lawyers in the room. My Renaissance blog had grown into the gallery’s international platform, while Aslan’s exhibitions, catalogues, and guest-curating work had turned him into the person museums called when they wanted history to feel alive instead of trapped behind glass.

Paris was our second location.
We already had a director and permanent team here, which meant we didn’t have to abandon Providence. We would spend summers in Paris, return for major exhibitions, and use the studio above the gallery whenever we needed to escape normal life.
Assuming normal life ever found us.

Aslan straightened my collar. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Good. Me neither.”

We kissed once for courage, then went downstairs together.

The entire gallery erupted the moment we entered.

Our friends and families stood among collectors, artists, journalists and people important enough to make me check twice that I’d buttoned my shirt correctly. Momma Rivers was crying beside Kate. Olivia and Coach were holding hands, the Valsecchis had somehow found the catering staff and were already giving them advice, and James stood with Fran near Aitor and Linnea.

Same couples. Same loud, amazing friends.
They had remained part of every version of our lives. We attended concerts, games, weddings, openings, and whatever other excuses we could invent to see one another. We still returned to Crownwell to help Coach with the new wrestlers, although he claimed we had become soft from spending too much time around expensive paintings.

Gerald stood beside Olivia. He had never stopped trying, and over the years, coffee had become occasional dinners, phone calls, and something that wasn’t quite the relationship we might’ve had but was slowly becoming one of its own.

I had visited Mother several more times too. She no longer needed hospital care, but she remained in a supervised residential community in the countryside. Some visits were clear. Others weren’t. I had learned to accept whatever version of her was able to meet me that day.

Today, everyone who mattered was here.

I hugged Aitor before turning to Linnea. “How’s international stardom treating you two? We watched the Vienna concert twice.”

“Only twice?” Linnea looked offended.

Aitor rolled his eyes. “She’s impossible now, with fame and all that...”

“You married her anyway.”

“Best suffering I have ever endured.” 

A member of our Paris team came to tell us it was time, saving Aitor from Linnea’s elbow.

Those two loved each other so much…

Aslan and I stood together before the entrance while cameras flashed and our friends shouted advice nobody had requested. We thanked our team, the artists, our guests, and everyone who had helped turn one completely insane idea into two galleries on different continents.

Then we cut the ribbon together.

For the next several hours, everything moved too quickly. Speeches, photographs, interviews, sales, and introductions blurred together until the final guests left and our team closed the doors.

Aslan found me on the balcony outside our studio with two glasses of champagne. He handed me one and leaned against the railing beside me.
Paris glowed below us.

“We did it,” he said.

I wrapped an arm around him. “We actually fucking did.”

He lifted his glass, and I kissed him before either of us could make another speech.
My life had become more than I’d ever allowed myself to imagine. I had work I loved, friends who remained family, and the most beautiful man in the world sharing every part of it with me.

Nothing could possibly make it better.
Except one tiny thing…

Aslan

A few days later, after everyone had gone home and Paris had finally quieted down, I stood in the cozy art studio above our gallery, painting on one of the canvases we had bought for the place.

Garrett and I were already in the process of buying the studio together. It would be ours whenever we returned to Paris—a little sanctuary filled with art, music, terrible cooking experiments, and whatever else we collected over the years.

At that moment, it was mostly filled with my mess. Paint covered my hands, both arms, and the new turquoise gown I wore to protect my clothes. I was adding another shade to the canvas when Garrett came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

He kissed my neck before resting his chin on my shoulder. “That’s beautiful.”

“Finally!” I turned my head and kissed him. “Look who’s ready to join me.”

I passed him the coffee I had already waiting, then lifted my own mug. We tapped them together before I took a long drink.

Garrett watched me over the rim of his cup. “Before I join you in the mess, I have something for you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you look suspicious?”

“I always look suspicious.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

He reached behind his back and pulled something from the waistband of his jeans. Before I could see it properly, he placed it on my head and adjusted it with a ridiculous amount of concentration.
A turquoise beret.

“For your collection,” he announced. “It matches your new gown.”

I laughed and threw my arms around his neck. “You weren’t kidding when you said I’d have one in every color.”

“I take my promises seriously.”

I tilted my head dramatically. “How do I look?”

“Sexy as fuck.”

I kissed him, still laughing. My paint-covered hands landed on the back of his shirt before sliding down to grab his ass. “Talking about sexy...”

He groaned into my mouth but caught my wrists before I could pull him any closer. “Before we both get completely sidetracked, I have something else for you.”

“I know! A periwinkle beret.”

“Not exactly.”

He took my coffee and placed both mugs beside the paintbrushes. Something in his expression made my smile fade.
“Babe?”

Garrett reached into his pocket. The second I saw the small box, my heart forgot how to work.

“Oh my God.”

“Try not to have a cardiac episode. It would really ruin the mood.”

“Garrett...”

He lowered himself onto one knee. I covered my mouth, probably smearing color across half my face, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I could only stare at the beautiful man kneeling in the middle of our messy studio.

He opened the box. Inside was a simple silver band with a small dark stone set into it.

“Seven years ago, I didn’t know how to love you,” he said. His voice shook, and his eyes were already filling. “I barely knew how to love anyone, including myself. You still saw something in me worth fighting for.”

My vision blurred.

“You’ve been my enemy, my best friend, my boyfriend, my home, and the biggest pain in my ass I’ve ever known.” He smiled through his tears. “You gave me a life I never thought I was allowed to have. I don’t want to imagine one day of it without you.”

I dropped to my knees in front of him.

Garrett laughed softly and took my paint-covered hands in his. “We’ve already had seven years, lion. I’m ready for seventy more. Providence, Paris, every gallery, every disaster, and every stupid beret we collect along the way.”

A sob escaped me, but I was laughing too.

“Aslan Rivers, will you marry me?”

I grabbed his face and kissed him before he could finish breathing. He nearly fell backward.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, yes, yes! And a hell of a fucking yes.”

Garrett laughed against my lips and pulled me into his arms. We ended up sitting on the studio floor, hugging, kissing, laughing, and crying. Eventually, he managed to slide the ring onto my finger.

A few years earlier, loving each other had seemed impossible. Now we had a home in Providence, a sanctuary in Paris, and an entire life ahead of us to make as much of a mess as we wanted—together.

THE END

Author’s Note:

Thank you so much for following these characters on their journey and for all the love you’ve shown them.

I hope you enjoyed reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

If you’ve already read Royal Temptations and Crossing Lines and you’re ready for more chaos, look for my next book, "Off-Record," right here. Depending on when you’re reading this, it may already be waiting for you!

Love,
Medusa Stone